Now he moved with deliberate haste down the crumbling lane to the Mongolian’s door. He never considered knocking; he threw the sole of his shoe into the door and it exploded inward.
The Mongolian sat on the edge of the floor mat that served as his bed. He raised his head defensively, hands out in front, but the fight had been beaten out of him. Shen could see it in his eyes.
“Special Police,” he said slowly in Mandarin. “You understand?” He displayed his ID. “If you strike me-”
The Mongolian swung his right leg deceptively fast. Shen blocked it and undercut the effort by hooking the man’s leg. He threw the Mongolian over backward. Shen placed his foot into the man’s crotch and kneeled, pinning the arm holding the knife. With his free hand, he seized the man by the throat. “If you strike me,” he began again, “you will face charges and serious jail time, you yak-fucking Mongol piece of shit. You understand?”
The Mongolian glared.
Shen could feel his opponent’s strength returning.
He rolled the man over and cuffed him, facedown.
“You so much as twitch,” Shen said, “and I’ll use your own knife to castrate you.”
He searched the small room methodically and quickly, coming across the panel in no time. He used the Mongol’s knife as a screwdriver and loosened the screws. U.S. currency fell out as the panel gave way.
“What the fuck?” the Mongol moaned.
Shen complimented the waiguoren. He’d underestimated the man’s resourcefulness. An excellent strategy! He’d have to compliment the man once the police captain had had the snot beaten out of him.
His day was looking up.
There, behind all the money, he located his prize: the video camera. He smiled privately. Nearly a week of gumshoe work and worry, and now this. He took a photograph of it in the secreted hole with his phone’s camera. Several more as he emptied the cash into a duffel lying there. The Mongol was screwed: the duffel would no doubt show up on one or more surveillance tapes involving the ransom drop. The waiguoren had framed this guy well.
“This is not mine!” the Mongolian shouted.
“Shut your hole!” Shen hollered. “Fuck but it’s a lot of money.”
Shen considered the amount. It had to be fifty, sixty, seventy thousand U.S. dollars. A fortune. Retirement passing through his hands. He had carefully navigated a career prone to bribery, had turned it down, waiting his turn. Instead, he’d worked the system using guanxi and favor. But this amount…his throat went dry at the thought. He regarded the piece of shit on the floor. Temptation plagued him.
Even more currency in yuan: perhaps two hundred thousand.
He discovered a plastic bag containing a Mongolian passport, some family photographs and a small amount of Mongolian currency. Alongside the passport was a policeman’s ID wallet.
The sight of it stopped him briefly.
“Ah ha!” he said. “I see we are brothers.” He sat down on the mat, surrounded by money-drugged by it-the Mongol’s head at his feet. “So let me ask you this, brother: put yourself in my position. All this cash. You are alone with a suspect who is a spineless kidnapper, an illegal foreigner, and, by the existence of this camera, more than likely a murderer. Huh? Do you wait for the long arm of justice, or take matters into you own hands?”
The Mongol shook his head and squirmed.
“For the sake of conversation,” Shen said. “Humor me. What’s your next move?” He eyed the money. Five years salary? Ten? Twenty? He’d avoided the penny-ante stuff all these years, but now the jackpot. Was he supposed to turn it over to someone only to have them make it disappear, and maybe him along with it, just to tidy things up? He could strike a compromise: share it with a superior and ensure no one questioned his sudden retirement.
“Actionable intelligence,” Shen said. “You tell me all you know and then we take a drive, you and me. Okay, brother? A small ferry on the Huangpu. A man I know. If I am happy with your cooperation, I deliver you to the police over in Pudong. If I am not happy…then no one can save you.”
“I have someone I have to call,” the Mongolian said. “One call and we are both rich, and you promoted. This, I promise.”
“A call?”
“To Beijing.”
Shen Deshi’s blood flowed hot. What had he walked into? Beijing?
He eyed the money, and then regarded his hostage, wondering what to believe.
28
5:40 P.M.
LUWAN DISTRICT
Danner was asleep on the floor by the time Grace finally overcame her anger. She sat down next to Lu Hao, his hands and ankles bound by plastic ties.
Concealing her true emotions, something every Chinese child learns at a young age, she said calmly, “What have you done, Lu Hao?”
“A thousand pardons, Chu Youya. I beg your forgiveness. I have made a mess of everything, my family’s honor most of all. I deserve whatever punishment you wish to bring upon me.” He kept his head down, staring at the stained carpet squares.
“Explain yourself before I turn you over to the American and allow him to do to you what I, too, feel you deserve.”
“It was a matter of bad luck, nothing more. Happenstance. I saw a face-a man I knew from my deliveries for Mr. Song, for The Berthold Group. The employment you offered me. I should have left it at that.”
“You paid out large sums to the Mongolian.”
Lu’s eyes went wide, impressed with her. He nodded. “Yes. All for the envelope that is now in my back pocket. Four hundred thousand U.S. All for a number.”
“A number?”
“I swear. All that money for a single envelope. A number, nothing more.”
Grace fished the red envelope from the man’s pocket, refusing to believe the events of the past week could have their origin in nothing more than a number. She examined the envelope.
“You opened it,” she said.
“Fourteen billion, seven hundred million. What does it mean? What was I to do? Once inside the building, he beat a man. Beat him until he fell. Killed him, I assure you. While the other one watched-the government man.”
“What government man?”
“He arrived in a government car. I saw the plate-the number six. Nothing more. A high-ranking government official. I was scared! Terrified! I trusted no one. I called you, Chu Youya. Who else? You got me this work. You of all people must know. Did you not get my call?”
She remained silent.
His eyes pleaded with her for an explanation.
She had none.
“The second delivery-two hundred thousand-I was told to accept an envelope. But this man…the look he gave me during the exchange. I must have betrayed myself. I swear he knew I’d witnessed him and the other man and the killing. Don’t ask me how.”
The video, she was thinking. Just as she and Knox had identified Lu.
Lu Hao sounded on the verge of crying. Little Lu Hao. Always depending on his brother or father to pull him along. “I envisioned a story. I would be kidnapped. The envelope’s contents would give me great value to my employer, certainly in excess of four hundred thousand U.S. I would demand a ransom and my father would be returned the money I owe him. Then, of course tragedy would strike. I would be believed killed, my body never found.” He paused. “My parents regain their future and our family, face. I vanish. Australia. America, perhaps. It was a plan not without sacrifice.” He looked over at the sleeping Danner. “Then…him.”
Grace looked over as well. “Slow down!” she said. “A number?” Staring at the envelope.
“I’m telling you. Four hundred thousand U.S. for that.”
She looked at Lu Hao, puzzled, while thinking back to Selena Ming’s explanation of Marquardt and Song traveling together: due diligence on future projects. The Mongolian’s reported connection to Beijing, where all important decisions were made. “Dear God,” she mumbled, taking in the size of the number. Too big to be a bribe. But a bid on a government construction project? It was large, extremely large, but not out of the question.