The other man kept to just outside the guardhouse, a gap in the entrance for pedestrians-nannies and ayis-blocking this as well.
Grace slowed, wishing to appear cooperative. She swung a leg off, but remained balanced on the left pedal, the bike coasting. A matter of yards from the guard at the pole, she hopped off and launched the bike into him, running for the surprised booth guard. He, too, comically raised his hand for her to stop. She broke his left knee; drove her own knee into his nose as he wrenched forward. He went down hard.
The guard who’d gone down with the bike was up and running. He caught sight of his buddy reeling, and when Grace turned to face him, stopped stiffly, unsure how to proceed.
She juked a hard step toward him and he flinched backward. She knew she had him.
“I am not worth it,” she said, speaking Shanghainese. “Jilted mistress. Nothing more. I will put your nut sack in your intestines if you come after me.”
She turned, but did not run. The guard took several steps toward her, but as she shot him a look, he stopped again. His friend groaned. He turned to help him.
Grace lowered her head and fought to contain her adrenaline, wanting so badly to run, but knowing it would only give her away. A dark blue van slowed to turn into the compound-two Chinese in the front, the right age and look for corporate security.
She waited for the van to turn into the gate area and then took off at a run.
In the distance, a bus approached the bus stop.
11:50 P.M.
HUANGPU DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
In the glow of dimmed ceiling lights, Yang Cheng paced past an oil painting by Eddie Lim, a violent eruption of red, white and black. Behind him was the panoramic view of the Huangpu River, and the colorful neon from the tourist ferries plying its waters. Rain pelted the window.
“I am most disappointed in you,” Yang Cheng, brimming with anger, said to Feng.
“I understand.”
“Do you know where I was just now? A dinner with two investors from Brussels. They have agreed in principle to supply me up to one billion euros in capital for the New City construction. One small problem. I have not yet won the bid. Reason I have not yet won the bid? I have not submitted bid. Reason I have not submitted bid? Tragic Lu remains in captivity of kidnappers in possession of Magic Number. Pearl Lady was connection we needed, and now…where is Pearl Lady?”
“I am to blame,” said Feng, still suffering from the pain of the bruises inflicted by the Mongolian. “Inexcusable. I offer my resignation.”
“I will not let you off so easily.” Yang Cheng continued pacing. “One man?”
“A northerner. Mongolian, perhaps.”
“Scum. Inbreds.”
“Of course.”
“Pearl Lady?”
Feng said nothing at first. “We must assume the Mongol has her. In our favor: she will be of no help to him for another twelve hours. Perhaps longer.”
“Not an entire failure then.”
Feng awaited more admonishment. When it wasn’t forthcoming he dared to say, “If I may suggest-?”
“No, you may not.” Yang spun his wedding ring. “Go ahead,” he said.
Feng considered his words carefully. “If the ransom exchange takes place, if Tragic Lu is recovered alive, then likely the New City bid number-the Magic Number-if in fact Lu Hao has it, as we suspect, is in Marquardt’s possession.”
“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.
FRIDAY
17
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.”