Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

A framed bedside photograph of Peggy and a two-year-old boy won Knox’s attention, stopping him. He studied it, then removed it from the frame, but found nothing. For show, he gathered a pair of pajamas and placed them in his backpack along with two paperback books. He would show these to the security man.

He took photos with his iPhone and disassembled the apartment’s phone, looking for eavesdropping bugs. He collected a power supply from behind the desk, taking note of the absence of dust on the power strip where a grounded plug had been connected-Danner’s laptop. Also plugged into the strip was a lonely charger cord, its power supply marked “Garmin.” A GPS. He zipped it in his backpack as well.

He found the Garmin’s owner’s manual in a desk drawer, along with another for a Honda 220 motorcycle, and one for the elliptical trainer.

He called the security man inside and showed him the few items he was taking out of the apartment, but did not reveal the Garmin power cord. The man nodded, not asking for Knox to sign anything.

“The other man or men that came here,” Knox said calmly. “Chinese or waiguoren?”

“I did not say other man come here.”

“Same question.”

The man didn’t answer.

“It is up to you,” Knox said. “The issue of the computer being removed will have to be addressed, of course.”

“Waiguoren.”

“Tall. Hair shaved close. U.S. Consulate credentials.” It was the only person outside of a fellow Rutherford Risk employee whom Knox could imagine talking his way inside and leaving with something like Danner’s laptop computer.

Still, the man said nothing.

“Did he sign for it? Is there an inventory of what else was taken?”

“No one here. No one take anything. No need to sign.”

“I beg your indulgence,” Knox said, keeping it polite, “but I believe you may be mistaken. You see, Mr. Danner asked me to collect his laptop computer for him. And yet it’s not here. Do you see his laptop computer anywhere?”

The security man squirmed.

“If he did not sign for it, did you search the waiguoren?” He hardly paused. “No, I didn’t think so.”

The man’s lips pursed and his eyes darted about.

“I mean no disrespect. But you see, my job is complicated by the laptop not being here.”

“I said this man took nothing.” The man’s voice faltered.

“My mistake.”

Now in the elevator, Knox handed over the two hundred yuan. Again, he spoke Shanghainese. “The waiguoren asked you to contact him if someone like me made inquiries.”

The security man stood stoically.

“If you want to become further involved with the U.S. Consulate, then go ahead and make that call.” He offered two more hundred-yuan bills. “As for me, I do not wish to be bothered, cousin. My government can make life hard for me. Same as your Party can make life hard for you. Neh?”

The bills disappeared.

Knox fixed his gaze onto the man for the rest of the slow elevator ride. The man stared straight ahead at their reflections in the polished metal. Then the doors opened and Knox left the building, his baseball cap brim held low against the eyes of the cameras as he entered the darkening dusk of Shanghai.

4:50 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The door to Allan Marquardt’s corner office was flanked by two mahogany desks occupied by efficient-looking twenty-something women with rigid spines and beautiful faces. Though most employees were gone for the weekend, not all had departed. Marquardt was not taking any days off, given the current crisis. Neither were his secretaries.

Grace checked in with an executive assistant named Selena Ming, who approved her visit and rose to open the office doors for her. Grace squared her shoulders and brushed her hands over her gray suit, double-checked that her collar was peaked properly, and fingered her modest string of pearls. Selena Ming trailed behind her with a steno pad in hand.

As the door closed behind them, Marquardt rose to greet her.

Grace wished he hadn’t.

“Ms. Chu,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Better, she thought.

The office was paneled in walnut, with hand-knotted rugs overlaying the parquet flooring. Crowded bookshelves gave it the feel of a private library. In the corner, a gleaming black lacquer tray held cut-glass bottles of colorful liquors and upside-down glasses. She felt as if she’d stepped back into Shanghai at the turn of the twentieth century.

“What a breathtaking view,” she said, crossing the spacious room and shaking hands with him.

Marquardt indicated an armchair. It was covered in red raw silk embroidered with hummingbirds. The smell of sandalwood incense hung in the air. Selena Ming delivered green tea and there was five minutes of small talk.

Finally, Marquardt said, “You have filed a grievance with Human Resources.”

His executive assistant took shorthand.

“A minor misunderstanding is all, I assume,” Grace said.

“You are displeased with your accommodations?”

“I believe it is nothing. I was informed my residence would include lobby security and workout facilities.”

“Yes?”

“In fact, my present accommodations do not.”

“I am deeply sorry if there has been a misunderstanding,” he said.

“No misunderstanding. It is in writing.”

“We will resolve this immediately, Ms. Chu. With your permission, we will have your belongings transferred to a new residence”-he checked a note on his desk-“to the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence serviced apartments in Pudong by the close of business today.” He passed Grace a brochure. Selena Ming looked up from her steno pad, clearly intrigued, then lowered her head. “The keys will be on your desk before you leave for the day. I trust that will be satisfactory.” His tone and demeanor were pitch-perfect.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Now,” he waved away Selena, “please allow me to show you the view.”

Selena left, and Marquardt led Grace out onto a narrow balcony, closing the elegant French doors behind them.

She spoke softly. “I mentioned before that I need access to the end-of-year records-more than just the GA. I would appreciate the passwords required for access.”

“You’ll have them,” he said.

Fifty floors below, the traffic crawled ant-like through intersections. The smog-encrusted skyline was broken by towering cranes, the air alive with the percussive sounds of construction and the steady drone of traffic.

He pointed. “To the right of the Jin Mao Tower, just past the World Financial Center. You see the building with the yellow crane on the very top?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ours-the Xuan Tower.”

“Yes,” she said.

Marquardt nodded proudly. “It’s a beautiful building. And so far we’ve been tolerated by your government, though clearly our participation is unwelcome.” He turned and looked at her. “We are Beijing’s token foreign construction project, authorized only to show the rest of the world they don’t favor their own. We’ve pissed off a lot of Chinese, Grace. I know we have. But just how far, I had no idea.”

“It appears nearly finished,” she said, noting the building’s upper twenty stories were wrapped in a green fabric, strung over elaborate scaffolding, noting that he thought the kidnapping directly related to the construction of the tower.

“There’s much yet to be done. Is it coincidence that as we near completion, Lu Hao is abducted and therefore the incentives stop, and we encounter problems? We’re only a couple days into this and we’re already experiencing costly slowdowns-materials, labor. Our vendors and suppliers aren’t getting their payments.” Marquardt paused to make full eye contact with Grace. “Our problem is, only Mr. Lu knew their identities. This is critical work you’re doing, Ms. Chu.”