train.
But the body language was wrong—a Chinese, and in that instant she realized the hat had been given away by the first man wearing it.
He was
very, very
good.
She caught him, hatless, in profile at the base of the escalators. He fit the description she’d been given by David Dulwich. Relief flooded through her.
“Losing the ball cap was a nice touch,” she said from behind.
The man spun around. He studied her and smiled a kind smile. Hewas tall. A well-lived-in face, tanned and lined, under a sprinkling of gray in his short, dark hair.
“Nice,” he said, glancing once more at the train and the doors about to shut. “Very nice.”
“Grace Chu,” she said through the mask. They shook hands.
“John Knox. The scarf and mask… I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Next time,” she said, “you should pay more attention.”
5:25 P.M.
PUDONG DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
Three men in coveralls carrying toolboxes approached the receptionist desk in the spacious lobby of building 4 in the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence. The lobby receptionist was a round-faced girl of twenty wearing a crisp navy blue suit and a plastic tag that bore the name SHIRLEY , a word she could not pronounce.
The first of the men spoke Shanghainese. “Chu Youya. Home theater installation.”
The receptionist double-checked her logs. “So sorry. I show no such appointment for Ms. Chu.”
“Then you will please tell Chu Youya why we left, little flower, when she asks tonight about home theater installation. Good luck with finding a new job.” He signaled the other two. “That is it.” He circled his index finger. The three turned for the street.
“Wait!” the receptionist called. “I will make an exception.”
With the lead man’s back to her, the young receptionist missed the wry smile that crept across his lips before he turned to offer a shrug of indifference.
Yes or no?
he seemed to be asking.
She picked up the phone and he feared the involvement of a higher-up. Always a higher-up, and after that, another.
“You make this a committee, I am leaving,” he stated, calling across the lobby. “I have not got all day. Your decision, little flower.”
Reluctantly, she hung up the phone.
Five minutes later, the lead man dead-bolted the door to Grace’s apartment. It did not escape them that luxury apartments such as this were often bugged by the government. That they were bugging an already bugged apartment was the source of great amusement.
They went about their business expertly. One handled the video while the other installed the audio. The team leader chose the placements. Five microphones, three prying eyes. A pressure sensor beneath the carpet at the front door capable of turning the devices on and off in order to conserve battery life.
The lead man used his mobile phone to log in to a secure website. Moments later, he was looking at a miniaturized color image of himself staring at the phone.
On the way out through the lobby, his men avoided looking at the receptionist, as ordered. The fewer recognizable faces, the better.
The leader raised his arm. “All is well, little flower. Hopefully we not see you again.”
“Your card!” she called out, having overlooked this requirement earlier. She needed a record of exactly who had visited.
The lead man hesitated, then returned to the desk and handed her a business card. He could sense her palpable relief as she read the card from a Best Buy in the Changning District: a card he’d received from a show floor salesman on an earlier visit.
On his way out to the parked van, he lit a cigarette and dialed from his mobile phone.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Record everything,” a man’s voice said.
On the other end of the call, Feng Qi lowered his voice as he stood at the entrance to Xiangyang Park. Wiry, well-dressed and carefully manicured, he had not yet seen the Chu woman leave the MW Building. As the chief of security for Yang Construction, he was the man
But the body language was wrong—a Chinese, and in that instant she realized the hat had been given away by the first man wearing it.
He was
very, very
good.
She caught him, hatless, in profile at the base of the escalators. He fit the description she’d been given by David Dulwich. Relief flooded through her.
“Losing the ball cap was a nice touch,” she said from behind.
The man spun around. He studied her and smiled a kind smile. Hewas tall. A well-lived-in face, tanned and lined, under a sprinkling of gray in his short, dark hair.
“Nice,” he said, glancing once more at the train and the doors about to shut. “Very nice.”
“Grace Chu,” she said through the mask. They shook hands.
“John Knox. The scarf and mask… I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Next time,” she said, “you should pay more attention.”
5:25 P.M.
PUDONG DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
Three men in coveralls carrying toolboxes approached the receptionist desk in the spacious lobby of building 4 in the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence. The lobby receptionist was a round-faced girl of twenty wearing a crisp navy blue suit and a plastic tag that bore the name SHIRLEY , a word she could not pronounce.
The first of the men spoke Shanghainese. “Chu Youya. Home theater installation.”
The receptionist double-checked her logs. “So sorry. I show no such appointment for Ms. Chu.”
“Then you will please tell Chu Youya why we left, little flower, when she asks tonight about home theater installation. Good luck with finding a new job.” He signaled the other two. “That is it.” He circled his index finger. The three turned for the street.
“Wait!” the receptionist called. “I will make an exception.”
With the lead man’s back to her, the young receptionist missed the wry smile that crept across his lips before he turned to offer a shrug of indifference.
Yes or no?
he seemed to be asking.
She picked up the phone and he feared the involvement of a higher-up. Always a higher-up, and after that, another.
“You make this a committee, I am leaving,” he stated, calling across the lobby. “I have not got all day. Your decision, little flower.”
Reluctantly, she hung up the phone.
Five minutes later, the lead man dead-bolted the door to Grace’s apartment. It did not escape them that luxury apartments such as this were often bugged by the government. That they were bugging an already bugged apartment was the source of great amusement.
They went about their business expertly. One handled the video while the other installed the audio. The team leader chose the placements. Five microphones, three prying eyes. A pressure sensor beneath the carpet at the front door capable of turning the devices on and off in order to conserve battery life.
The lead man used his mobile phone to log in to a secure website. Moments later, he was looking at a miniaturized color image of himself staring at the phone.
On the way out through the lobby, his men avoided looking at the receptionist, as ordered. The fewer recognizable faces, the better.
The leader raised his arm. “All is well, little flower. Hopefully we not see you again.”
“Your card!” she called out, having overlooked this requirement earlier. She needed a record of exactly who had visited.
The lead man hesitated, then returned to the desk and handed her a business card. He could sense her palpable relief as she read the card from a Best Buy in the Changning District: a card he’d received from a show floor salesman on an earlier visit.
On his way out to the parked van, he lit a cigarette and dialed from his mobile phone.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Record everything,” a man’s voice said.
On the other end of the call, Feng Qi lowered his voice as he stood at the entrance to Xiangyang Park. Wiry, well-dressed and carefully manicured, he had not yet seen the Chu woman leave the MW Building. As the chief of security for Yang Construction, he was the man
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