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  Marquardt looked anxiously between the two.

  “This person,” Primer said, “happens to be the one who recommended Mr. Lu Hao’s services to your company in the first place. Which means she has a personal connection to Mr. Lu. You need to know that, to approve that, going in. It’s not SOP for us, but China presents us with…unusual difficulties and restrictions.”

  “You’re forbidden from doing business there. Yes. I’m well aware of that,” Marquardt said.

  “Of having any professional presence whatsoever within the PRC,” Dulwich said. People’s Republic of China.

  “David will put together a freelance team-people not on any security company payrolls, including our own-to try to find Mr. Lu’s accounts, and to perform the ransom drop and/or extraction. You need not know, and should not know, the details. It’s imperative that you trust us and, more than anything, that you cooperate fully with us.”

  “Of course.”

  “With the help of your HR division, David is prepared to put our person in position today. You may communicate with her as you wish, but only where and when she determines it appropriate.”

  “I understand. Who is she?”

  “Grace Chu. She’s a Chinese national. Convenient for our purposes. She took her undergraduate in Shanghai, a master’s in economics at Berkeley and another in criminology at UC Irvine. She works here in Hong Kong as a forensic accountant. Technically, as far as the Chinese are concerned, she is a private contractor, not our employee, and untraceable to us. But she’s one of the best forensic accountants we’ve worked with. You will meet her in a moment.”

  Primer gestured to Dulwich, who left the room. Little was done by telephone inside Rutherford Risk-interoffice communication was accomplished through runners.

  “We have never officially signed an employment agreement with Ms. Chu,” Primer continued, “nor has she ever been on our payroll. Ms. Chu can enter China as a recent hire of The Berthold Group with no one the wiser. She can lead the search for Mr. Lu’s records, as well as aid your accounting department as necessary. She can also make adjustments to correct ‘discrepancies’ in your public accounts. She’ll know what to do with Mr. Lu’s books as well, when they’re found.”

  “You sound so…confident,” Marquardt said.

  “David should have a second person on the ground in Shanghai by tomorrow. Ms. Chu will be in place by this evening. Noon tomorrow, at the latest.”

  “The sooner, the better,” said Marquardt. “After all, we only have until-”

  “The first of the month,” came a woman’s melodic voice.

  Grace Chu entered the room with Dulwich, who closed the door. Her gray, tailored business suit complimented a figure that for most Westerners needed some help up top. Marquardt rose and the two shook hands. She took a chair immediately to Primer’s left.

  “Honestly,” she said, “I would have thought the eighth. We Chinese believe in the power of numerology. Eight is good yunqi-good luck.”

  She had a wide face, peaceful and serene. Her shoulders were broad, the muscle tone in her arms taut and impressive. Her skin looked airbrushed. But it was her nearly unflinching eyes that unnerved Marquardt.

  “You will forgive me, Mr. Marquardt,” she said. “I have made a cursory examination of your company’s general accounts for the past quarter. Lu Hao’s contract-the incentive money-is paid from your GA, your general accounts ledger. It averages one hundred seventy-two thousand U.S. dollars per month. I will need to see the rest of your accounts, the end-of-year, to know how to better conceal these expenditures, because right now you’re open to questions. Questions your people may have difficulty answering. I have drafted some recommendations, at the request of Mr. Primer.” She handed Marquardt a clear plastic file folder.

  “Thank you, Grace,” Primer said.

  She took this as a dismissal and stood from her chair.

  “Please…” Marquardt said, motioning for her to stay seated. “You knew Mr. Lu?”

  “I know Mr. Lu,” she corrected.

  Grace checked with Primer, who nodded. She leaned forward.

  “He is the younger brother of a close friend of mine. I helped in the selection process when you requested a person to pay out the incentives for you.”

  “Do you have any idea where we might find his recordkeeping? As I understand it, that’s possibly key to his and Mr. Danner’s survival,” Marquardt said.

  “Ideas? I follow money. Money that wants to be followed; money that doesn’t want to be followed. I will start with the obvious, proceed to the likely and continue to the possible. It’s a process of elimination.”

  Dulwich said, “You two will likely need to discuss this more thoroughly once you’re back to Shanghai. We need to work out how to do that in a believable way. Grace? Ideas?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but a Chinese employee such as an accountant,” Grace said, “would rarely if ever be in direct contact with the CEO. So we must find a believable way for us to come together without arousing suspicion. Pardon my impertinence, but do you take a mistress?”

  “What?” Marquardt blushed.

  “If your secretary or assistant is aware of such a companion, then it would make things easier for us. I could assume that role-platonic, of course.”

  “No. I’m married. Happily married.” Marquardt rolled his wedding band. “As to our Chinese employees…”

  “Below the level of vice president,” Grace specified.

  Marquardt stammered.

  Dulwich said, “Face it: your Chinese employees are invisible, right? Grace’s U.S. education helps us a little, but there’s still no good excuse for the two of you being seen together. Unless you’re jumping her, that is.”

  Nonplussed, Marquardt said, “It can’t be this hard.”

  “More difficult than you can imagine,” Dulwich said. “You are already likely being monitored by a variety of competing interests-the police, the kidnappers, your competitors, possibly even the press. There are eyes and ears within your company-we can count on that. This kidnapping is on the street.”

  “Good God, you can’t be serious.”

  “Your every movement will be under constant surveillance for the next week. We have little doubt you were likely tracked to this building.”

  Marquardt looked clearly out of his depth as he glanced from face to face around him.

  “Might I suggest,” Grace said, awaiting a faint nod from Primer, “that I file a complaint with HR within hours of my taking my position? Nothing sexual, not harassment. But something of a financial origin. Breach of contract, perhaps? Dissatisfaction with whatever lodging has been arranged? Mr. Marquardt, anxious to keep me, could request an audience with me to settle the complaint. Following this initial meeting, he will then upgrade my housing, and we might have reason to follow up on occasion.”

  Primer checked with Dulwich, then Marquardt.

  “I like a woman who can think on her feet,” Marquardt said.

  “Better on my feet than the alternative,” Grace said.

  For a moment it appeared Primer might reprimand her. Instead, he laughed.

  “Grace did service with the PRC’s army for two years. Was assigned to Intelligence for her final eleven months. She’s trained in surveillance, hand-to-hand combat, small munitions and communications.” He smiled at her. “In the workplace, you’ll find her passive and demure. One-on-one, well, let’s just say she’s no shrinking violet.”

  “You’re a welcome addition, Ms. Chu,” Marquardt said.

  “When next we meet,” Grace said, “remember, it is for the first time. You may or may not be taken with my appearance, as you wish, but you will be in no mood to accommodate my accusations of breach of contract. It’s best if I have to fight you at least somewhat for that victory.”

  “Understood.”

  She stood and they shook hands again. He held on to hers a little too long, but she made no attempt to separate. Instead, she hung her head slightly, suddenly a di
fferent woman. “Pleasure’s mine.”

  She backed up a step, pivoted smartly-a hint of sandalwood and cinnamon-and waited for Dulwich to open the door for her before leaving.

  3

  4:05 P.M.

  BAN LUNG

  CAMBODIA

  Accompanied by a local guide and driver, a mosquito-bitten John Knox had been traveling for nine days through the jungles of Cambodia on a buying trip. He had packed the back of his Land Rover to the ceiling with tribal arts and crafts, primarily hand-carved stone boxes and some hammered bronze. He had spent the past two days in Virachey National Park, the most direct route to Ban Lung.

  Knox checked his appearance in the Land Rover’s rearview mirror before climbing out. He’d run out of soap three days earlier and his beard had grown in quickly, the dark stubble contrasting sharply with dark blue eyes that shone richly in the afternoon light. His hair was oily, his shirt sweat-stained and soiled. He ran his tongue over teeth, cleaning up some of the gorp that had sustained him over the last forty miles, and washed it down with a swig of warm water from a plastic bottle.

  His driver spoke some Thai, the one language common between them. “Unpack car?”

  “Find yourself a room,” Knox said, handing him a considerable amount of cash, knowing the man would keep it and sleep in the car. “Unload everything into my hotel this evening. We’ll ship it in the morning.”

  The village was a mix of aging concrete blocks and palm-frond-roofed huts on stilts. Knox refocused on the front porch of the small hotel and a line of chairs beneath water-stained sailcloth paddle fans turning lazily against the heat. He met eyes with the man occupying one of the chairs. A grin swept painfully across his chapped lips. He licked them.

  David Dulwich lifted his sweating beer bottle and gestured to an unoccupied chair.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” said Knox, mounting the steps.

  “You look like shit.” Dulwich, a former army sergeant, had as a civilian managed the trucking contractor that had hired a young John Knox as a driver to convoy supplies from Kuwait into Iraq. The runs paid eighty thousand dollars a month, hazard pay that Knox had banked to cover his brother’s long-term medical expenses back home.

  The two men shook hands and slapped each other on the back. Dulwich signaled a waiter for two beers.

  Knox simply stared, waiting him out.

  “What? I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you were, Sarge.”

  “I wanted first dibs on the teapots, or prayer wheels, or nose flutes, or whatever the hell it is you’ve stolen off the unsuspecting locals.”

  “Only Tommy knew I was coming to Ban Lung,” Knox said. “You took unfair advantage.”

  Knox had lived his entire life protecting and defending Tommy, about whom many jokes had been cracked. “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” “Room temperature IQ.” Knox had heard them all; had broken a few faces over them.

  His brother suffered from bouts of epilepsy-controllable by medication-migraines and moderate learning disabilities. With proper oversight, Tommy could function as Knox’s business partner, but he also possessed a savant-like ability in math and computer sciences. He displayed remarkable processing speed and bandwidth, while often proving himself socially immature and inept despite his thirty-one years. Tommy was the one and only absolute in Knox’s life. The two were joined at the hip, the wallet, by blood, and by telephone and Skype.

  Dulwich shrugged. “Tommy sounded great. Told me he’s running the online sales.”

  “Which he’s good at, as it happens.”

  The beers arrived. Knox was tired and hungry. He cautioned himself about drinking the beer too quickly. He needed to remain on his toes given his present company. He pledged to sip, not gulp.

  Now it was Dulwich’s turn to stare. Cutting. Penetrating.

  “I’m not interested,” Knox said, the bottle finding its way to his lips a little too quickly. It didn’t take a giant leap for Knox to understand what was at play. He’d turned down the offer of joining civilian convoys in Afghanistan more than once. He’d been lucky to get out of Kuwait intact-he realized that now. Others, including Dulwich, had injuries that had nearly taken their lives. Now he and Tommy had a business up and running. With their parents both gone-or as good as gone-it was important that Knox stay alive and the import/export business continue to succeed. But it was also paramount to keep Tommy supervised, something that required a constant stream of money. At present, things were decent. Not great, but decent. No doubt the man sitting across from him had run a credit check. Dulwich did due diligence. No doubt he knew of Knox’s desire to set up a fund to cover his brother’s medical costs. No doubt he knew he and Tommy were walking a knife’s edge, that an infusion of capital was exactly what the doctor ordered. Shithead.

  Dulwich showed him a photo and told him a long story about a kidnapping in China that had involved someone named Lu Hao. The story ended with, “I had a guy shadowing Lu. He got caught up in it. They took him hostage along with Lu. It’s Danner.” Dulwich unfolded a photocopy of the ransom demand and passed it across to Knox. “This was part of a lunchtime take-out order delivered by a Sherpa’s guy to the construction company’s CEO, a man named Marquardt. Runs a construction firm called Berthold.”

  Knox glanced at the note, then back at Dulwich. Sherpa was a popular food service delivery company that delivered from dozens of city restaurants.

  “Not interested,” he lied. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “DNA swab accompanied the ransom note, along with a photo. We need a comparison sample.”

  “Danny’s DNA,” Knox said.

  “Yes.”

  “Try Peggy.”

  “We don’t involve spouses until we have confirmation.”

  “Is that common? A DNA swab?”

  “No. First time for us.”

  “Young.”

  “Yes,” Dulwich said.

  “You have a photo,” Knox reminded.

  “Ever heard of Photoshop? We need a DNA sample. This is Danner.”

  “Can’t help you.”

  “It’s Shanghai,” said Dulwich by way of explanation. “You work out of Shanghai.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Six trips there in the last fourteen months.”

  Knox eyed him for a moment. Dulwich’s new gig gave him access to far too much information for Knox’s comfort. “I like China.”

  Looking at Knox, people might have taken him for a nomad, but few would imagine the extent of it. When not living out of a tent in some trading outpost, he called hotels and rentals home. Tommy ran the online side of the company back in Detroit, unaware the guests at the house were paid home health aide supervisors, while Knox roamed all corners of Asia, from the Middle East to eastern China, parts of South America and Eastern Europe as their buyer.

  With the death of their father three years earlier, Knox had assumed full responsibility for Tommy. He’d left the high-paying, high-risk work, forming the more manageable trading company and bringing Tommy in on it. So far, so good.

  “What do you make of the ransom demand?” asked Dulwich.

  Knox studied the photocopy.

  “Left-handed. Under thirty.”

  “Because?” Dulwich leaned forward.

  “Writing Mandarin in simplified characters began in the nineteen-twenties. It didn’t take hold until the fifties and sixties. This character,” Knox said, circling one with his finger, “was modified more recently than that, and began being taught in schools in the late eighties. That gives us the relative age of the writer. As to the calligraphy-the tails are from a lefty. I can’t tell from the photocopy-was this written in ink or pencil?”

  “Pencil.”

  “The continuity of the lines, the lead, suggests a mechanical pencil. Common enough there, but maybe he works as a draftsman or engineer, or he’s a bean-counter. The date, the first of the month, is Western notation, not Chinese. That’s interesting. Why not Chinese notati
on?” Knox slid the document back across the table with his index finger. “But you know all this already.”

  “Some of it, not all. I need you, Knox. Danner needs you. We need a hair sample, an electric razor-anything with his DNA for verification.”

  When he was first getting to know Dulwich back in Kuwait, Knox had read him as a steak-and-potatoes guy. The kind of person who got his reading from the back of shampoo bottles while on the can. But over time, he’d revealed a deeper intelligence and far broader interests than Knox had initially suspected. Now Dulwich had the resources of a major security company-Rutherford Risk-at his disposal. Companies like Rutherford Risk operated like a private CIA or NSA. Knox knew better than to get sucked into one of their operations.

  “I see two people.”

  “In his capacity as a consultant for The Berthold Group,” Dulwich continued, “Lu’s main job was incentivizing certain individuals and companies involved with the construction job.”

  “You mean he was paying out bribes.”

  “Yeah.” Dulwich shrugged. “He’s known to have kept a set of books of these confidential payments. One theory is that one of the individuals receiving the kickbacks realized how valuable a man like Lu Hao was to Berthold and snatched him up. Another-”

  Knox cut in. “Listen, I feel horrible about Danny. I do. But I’ve got Tommy in a good place. I can’t afford to step out on the business, even for a short time. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re SERE trained. I paid for it in the first place.”

  Few civilians were allowed into the military’s Survival Evasion Resistance Escape training program. A lifetime ago for Knox, Dulwich had arranged for him and six others to go through SERE training, as well as the FBI’s Quantico course. It made Knox a uniquely qualified civilian.

  “You know plenty of others with SERE training. Ex-Air Force. Hire one of them.”

  “They don’t do regular business in Shanghai,” Dulwich said. “This is Clete Danner we’re talking about, man. Maybe I judged you wrong.”

  Knox sighed, looked away. “Maybe so.”

  “You ever seen the inside of a Chinese prison?” Dulwich asked.