Among those not going anywhere were Knox and Grace.
With Knox having contacted Primer, they slept in shifts awaiting a return call, waiting for bids for the Lu Hao accounts from Marquardt or Yang Cheng.
At seven, they showered, ate baozi from a street vendor and drank Starbucks coffee. The sun shone brilliantly though Knox had read the forecast-the receding edge of typhoon Duan, a storm that had devastated the Philippines three days earlier, was on track to sweep onto the mainland by afternoon and stall, dumping rain amid hurricane-force winds.
For construction projects like the Xuan Tower, the timing of the storm couldn’t have been worse. With no manpower due to the holiday exodus, there was no labor force to secure the hundreds of sites, to batten down equipment or secure scaffolding. The government put out a call over the radio and television for all workers to return to the city. It would go largely ignored.
Grace’s iPhone rang. She and Knox stared at it briefly before she answered.
“Hello? Wait please…I will put it on speakerphone.”
“…you out of your mind?” Primer’s voice was tight. “Extorting a client? Pitting him against his competition?”
Knox heard the man’s venting, but thought only of Dulwich holding out an identical phone and showing him the tracking location of the Mongolian.
Without introduction or apology, Knox said, “You got my text about demanding a final proof of life?”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“Any progress with push-back?” Knox asked calmly.
A long pause on Primer’s end. “I don’t deal with rogues.”
“If we’d gone rogue, we wouldn’t have recommended you require a final proof of life and we wouldn’t have answered your call. Ask Marquardt about Chongming Island. He’s been withholding on us. We’re fucked here. We could use someone with some spine. We need the deets of the drop.”
A long pause. Then, “Time is clearly their bugaboo. They’re in a hurry. We negotiated it down to a hundred K. It’s to be Grace only. She arrives fifteen-thirty with the money and no one following. People’s Square Metro station. It’s a Dirty Harry. A run and drop. The proof of life will be a storefront video with real-time tags. Hostages to be released within twenty-four to forty-eight hours following a successful drop. It works for us.”
Knox scribbled out the details. The storefront proof-of-life intrigued him.
“What the hell were you two thinking?” Primer asked.
Knox answered. “Without Guangzhou, we’re a little light on funds, and it occurred to us with the hostage’s accounts turned over, the value of the hostages diminishes. Substantially.”
“We’re contracted to make the drop.”
“You are, yes,” Knox said. “We’re committed to extraction and we’re a little short-handed here. Sarge’s situation, our own situation…we’re improvising.”
“Marquardt can raise forty.”
“It’s not nearly enough,” Knox said.
“You will not auction off the accounts.”
“I’m afraid we will honor whichever bid comes in higher. But more importantly, we can now eliminate Yang Cheng from our suspect list for the kidnapping. If he had Lu Hao, he wouldn’t need to pay for the accounts. He’d have beaten it out of him.”
Primer’s breathing could be heard. “I can see that.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
“Grace,” Primer said. “Turn the accounts over to Allan. You know the drill.”
She looked into Knox’s eyes. “I am afraid I…that is, we, must accept the highest bid.”
Knox relaxed noticeably, and smiled at her.
“Shit.” Primer had tried to keep it from being heard.
Knox said, “The plan is for extraction. By the time the drop is made, I should have them back.”
“Don’t be a fool. You’ll get them killed. Wait! You know their location?”
Knox reached over and ended the call.
Grace suppressed a smile. “I should have taken Yang’s offer of employment.”
At 8:45, Grace’s personal phone rang and she clapped it up, answering immediately.
“Ms. Wu,” she said, so that Knox understood it was Yang’s assistant, Katherine Wu. She listened. “Yes. Thank you. I will call you right back.”
She disconnected the call.
“Two hundred thousand, U.S.”
“Impressive on such short notice,” Knox allowed.
“But I am afraid we must not accept it,” she said.
“Because?”
“Mr. Primer. The Berthold Group is the client. We do not know the repercussions of turning that information over to Yang. He could use it so many ways. No matter what, he is certain to use it to destroy The Berthold Group. This is our client. Much face would be lost. An American firm accused of bribing officials? This is not good for anyone.”
“First, the kidnapper is our client. We serve the kidnapper. Second, they are expecting a hundred thousand. Do you want to deliver Marquardt’s forty? We take forty from Marquardt and sixty from Yang. We’re up front about it: we let them both know the other guy is getting Lu’s accounts. We give Marquardt an unencrypted version. It’ll take Yang days or weeks to decrypt. That gives Marquardt time to be ready for whatever Yang throws at him. It’s the best we can do.”
“We promised it to the highest bidder.”
He shrugged.
“It is an interesting compromise,” she said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Knox had been unable to raise Amy; his concern for her compounded with each passing hour. But he’d hired Randy to consult on the proof-of-life’s delivery to a storefront.
“We’re good? You and me?” he asked Grace.
She nodded. “We are good.”
11:00 A.M.
ZHABEI DISTRICT
A blue Buick minivan pulled to the curb, cutting through a thick column of bikes and scooters and motorcycles, all burdened with extra passengers and belongings. Knox threw open the side door. A duffel bag was strapped by seatbelt into the captain’s chair.
Knox unclipped it and swung the door shut. The van sped off.
He and Grace met three blocks to the east. She arrived carrying a similar duffel. They sat side by side on a park bench, the hundred thousand U.S. on their laps.
Knox kept a constant watch, his eyes shielded by a pair of knock-off Ray-Bans.
Grace said nervously, “The Metro station. I am expected there for the drop.”
“It’s a runaround,” Knox said.
“I heard Mr. Primer refer to this. I do not understand, exactly.”
“It’s Dirty Harry.” He could see her disconnect. “A movie-a character in a movie-a cop. Inspector Harry Callahan. He had to make a drop. He’s forced to run pay phone to pay phone to separate him from his backup.”
She inhaled sharply, as if she’d been punched.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Scared?”
“Maybe a little.” But her eyes said differently. He saw concentration, heated thought. Anything but fear.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” she said.
He nodded. Whatever had shook her up, she’d quickly recovered and did not want to discuss it.
But the question remained.
Melschoi rubbed the stubs of his two fingers lost to frostbite over eighteen months earlier, warding off the shooting pain that foretold an impending storm. He praised the gods for his good fortune, grateful to be moving on his motorcycle instead of caught in traffic. As he headed toward the intersection, he’d received a call from Feng Qi’s man, his Yang Cheng insider. It was the fourth such call he’d received from the man.