Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“This is nothing I do not know.”

“But should the ransom delivery fail, we are given additional time to find Lu Hao before the others.”

“A man’s ears are never shut,” Yang said, looking at Feng for the first time in the past twenty minutes.

“We have the video and audio recordings of Chu Youya in her apartment. She clearly received corporate books of a suspect nature from a woman professing to be Marquardt’s assistant. This alone could get her fired. Perhaps even investigated by banking authorities.”

Yang nodded, beginning to follow. A smile struggled onto his otherwise anguished face. “Yes.”

“The videos could be delivered, anonymously, of course,” Feng said. “I also have photographs of Chu Youya taking lunch with the waiguoren. Papers exchanged here as well, and we have waitress as witness. The waiguoren might find himself sought for questioning as well, making the ransom exchange impossible.”

Yang nodded. “You are shit for brains, but your shit smells sweet at this moment. I mentioned such tactics earlier,” Yang said, always needing to claim authorship.

“Of course you did. I am only reminding you of your worthy recommendation. It was stupid of me not to recognize its brilliance at the time.”

“The authorities will not take kindly to such third-party surveillance. The recordings must not be traceable back to us. Not ever.”

“It will be handled like eggshells. All measure of secrecy and security.”

“You will handle this yourself.”

A career death sentence for Feng should it fail. He’d be a department store rent-a-cop if he failed.

“I am honored to be valued with your trust,” he lied.

Yang’s mobile phone rang where he’d left it on his desk. He checked the caller ID.

It was his secretary, Katherine. Late for her to be calling. Perhaps she’d reconsidered his most recent advances. He waved Feng out of his office dismissively.

In the distance, the flashing lights of a jet descended into the Pudong airport-another plane full of waiguoren, no doubt. The poison continued.

They spoke in Shanghainese.

“Yes?”

“I have had a call from the woman, Chu Youya. She wishes to meet with you.”

Yang thought it had to be some kind of disturbing joke, he and Feng having just spoken of her.

“Sir?”

“You’ve spoken to her directly?”

“Yes. Tonight, if possible. I informed her I thought you available.”

He found his voice. “My office. Fifteen minutes.” He checked the clock. “Can you arrange it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I will want you here at your desk.”

Face.

“My pleasure,” she said.

“Make it thirty minutes,” he said, giving Katherine added time to reach the office building. “Bring her up the private elevator.” He tossed a crumb her way: no one used the private elevator but him.

She said brightly, “Thirty minutes.”

“You’ve done well.” Another crumb. If he played his cards right, he might even win her services by the end of the night as well.

He called Feng back into his office. “You will have video or audio set up in this office in the next thirty minutes.”

“But it’s-” Feng caught himself glancing at his watch, his mind reeling. “Right away,” he said.

1:15 A.M.

THE BUND

“An unexpected pleasure,” Yang Cheng said, addressing Grace in Shanghainese.

She reached into her purse and came out with the thumb drive. “Lu Hao’s accounts,” she said in Mandarin, finding Shanghainese too coarse and rapid for business negotiations.

Yang’s eyes flared slightly. Otherwise, he was a picture of executive comportment: interested, but not overly excited. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”

“Perhaps not,” she said, returning the drive to her purse. “And since you do not, and might be considering other means to explore the topic, let me just say the drive’s contents are encrypted-highly encrypted-the key to which requires me to make a certain call from a specific phone at a specific time. And not before lunchtime today, at any rate.”

He nodded glumly. “Let us assume I can imagine what you mean by ‘Mr. Lu’s accounts.’”

Grace eased her purse shut, its magnet snapping sharply.

“I require a bid in excess of one hundred thousand USD by nine A.M. Delivery before noon.”

Yang smiled, cat-like. “Is that so? I warned you about working for Mr. Marquardt. You should have accepted my job offer.”

“Perhaps it is not too late.”

“It is very much too late. Selling corporate secrets is a punishable offense, Ms. Chu.”

“So is buying them, I imagine,” she said. She looked around the office. “And for the sake of whatever recording devices you have in place,” she said, “let me just say you are the one calling these files corporate secrets, not me. To my knowledge, these files are not from a corporation but an individual, one Lu Hao, and I believe you will find he grants me access to these files insomuch as he is presently captive and in dire need of funds to secure his safe release.”

Yang felt his forehead perspiring. If the camera hadn’t been running he might choke the life out of this pest. She’d been nothing but trouble for him.

“What you ask…it is a great deal of foreign currency to raise on such short notice,” he said. “Perhaps yuan would suffice?”

“USD,” she said. “Highest bid wins. Nine A.M.”

“One hundred thousand? A week or two at the earliest. The banks, you see? Noon today? Never.”

“Noon,” she said, standing. “Katherine has my phone number.”

“She will show you out.”

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Tread lightly. This is a great risk for you, Chu Youya.”

She quoted a proverb that translated: How can you catch tiger cubs without entering the tiger’s lair?

“How many others?” he inquired.

“Enough,” she said.

“Same conditions?”

“I will accept bids up until nine A.M. The cash, by noon.” She nodded. “If I’m followed from here-and believe me, I’ll know it-you are off the list.”

2:10 A.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Grace microwaved some frozen Bi Feng Tang barbecue pork buns. She and Knox ate on the half balcony of the safe house apartment overlooking other people’s laundry. They drank beer.

“You are dressed in all black,” she said. “You have been sweating and your eyes are dilated from adrenaline.”

“As are yours,” he said.

“Did you confront him?” she asked. “The Mongolian? Was he there?”

“Tell me about Marquardt. Yang Cheng?”

They both sipped their beer.

She said, “I am waiting.”

“As am I?”

“This is childish,” she said.

“I paid a visit to the Mongolian’s room as we discussed. And, yes: I made sure he wasn’t there,” Knox said. “I had a look around.”

“And?”

“If you crossed a monk with a Marine you’d have this guy nailed. Neat and tidy, and very few possessions, if you discount the false wall behind the prayer rug,” he said.

“Please explain,” she said.

“Four screws in a false panel. The man’s a pack rat.” Knox’s wound made him wince. “There was a video camera hidden in there. A professional camera. Pretty beat up. Two handguns-both Russian. And a considerable amount of yuan. Maybe eighty or a hundred thousand.”

“The missing cameraman,” she said. “The one the Iron Hand seeks.”

“Yes. And if he’s as damaged as his camera, we can cross him off the list of the living.”