“Can I see it?”

Koo reached inside his coat. He removed his handgun, a QSZ-92, the twin of the 9mm Smythson had just given him. He handed it to her.

Smythson examined it. At the end of the muzzle, a small silver bead, like the round head of a pin, was affixed.

“How is it engaged?”

Koo held up his watch. “A code typed into either our watch or phone.”

“Can Beijing turn it on remotely?”

“No.”

Smythson disassembled Koo’s weapon, taking everything but the barrel and handing it to Koo. She then took apart the other sidearm. She switched barrels, so that the handgun she’d given Koo now had the camera on it.

“It’s important that the camera be running when you enter the hotel,” said Smythson.

Koo nodded.

“Where will he be?” asked Koo.

“In the lounge. When you see him, you pull your weapon from your coat. You will shoot Andreas at close range, here, once.”

Smythson gestured to her chest, pointing at her heart.

“One kill shot.”

Koo listened but said nothing.

“But, as you might expect, there are other American agents in the lounge,” said Smythson.

She pulled two photographs from her trench coat pocket. One showed Katie, the other, Tacoma. She handed them to Koo.

“Your shots alert them,” continued Smythson. “They are part of the operation.”

“Who are they?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

She pointed at the fake book. Koo reached inside. He pulled out a neatly folded white T-shirt. It was unusually heavy.

“You’ll have that on,” she continued.

“What is it?”

“The shirt is embedded with a chemical. The man in the photo will be at a table in the lounge. When he sees you move at Andreas, he’ll stand up and shoot you.”

Koo said nothing.

“His gun will have blanks in it, Koo.”

A small grin flashed on Koo’s face.

“The first bullet misses, and you return fire. Then you step forward and shoot Andreas three more times, proving without question to your handlers that he’s dead. But you fail to kill the other man. He shoots from the ground and hits you in the shoulder. You fall to the ground. When you do, the chemicals in the shirt will combine and your shoulder will be covered in what appears to be blood. Wear something light above it, so that the blood is visible.”

Koo stared at Smythson, then his eyes drifted to Chalmers, who stared back.

“After falling, get up and run for your life,” said Smythson. “Hail a taxicab and run.”

“Where will I be taken?”

“You call it in. Remember, you’ll be on a live feed to Beijing. You’re in pain. By the way, how do you say ‘pain’ in Mandarin?”

“Téngtòng,” said Koo.

“Téngtòng,” repeated Smythson.

“Yes.”

“Repeat it over and over as you ride in the cab. Our guess is, you’ll be directed to a safe house or back to your apartment. They’ll want to get you out of the country. Once we know where they’re going to exfiltrate you from, you hang up, and you’re done.”

“Done?”

“For good. We might need you to wait it out, but by suppertime you’ll be in the UK.”

Koo studied the photos of Katie and Tacoma. He held up the picture of Katie.

“Pretty,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What is her role?”

“She’s going to kill the other ministry agents who will be coming after you call it in,” said Smythson. “Don’t get in the way of her bullets, Koo; they’re real.”

Koo lit another cigarette, reclining in the leather chair, contemplating everything.

“What about Tammy?” asked Koo, looking at Chalmers.

Chalmers stared back.

“Xiua,” said Chalmers, “you know the drill. If she knows, if she does anything, it won’t work.”

Koo took a puff, nodding.

“If we’re successful, you have my word that we’ll make arrangements at the first opportunity,” added Chalmers. “But there are no promises.”

“By the way, no keepsakes,” said Smythson. “No photos, mementos—nothing. It all stays behind. A normal day at the office, so to speak.”

“I understand,” said Koo. “However, I must also ask: Is there no other alternative?”

Chalmers shook his head.

“This is important,” said Chalmers calmly. “Important enough to kill off one of MI6’s most valuable assets. By my estimates, you should have at least five million euros tucked away somewhere. It’s been my experience that others, after a similar transition, learn to be very happy. We will be there to support you at every turn. But you must also understand something.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve invested a lot in you,” said Chalmers, leaning toward Koo, his voice barely above a whisper, a polite but unmistakable hint of threat in his voice. “As you might have anticipated, you and Tammy will be under surveillance for the duration of the operation. I don’t need to explain to you what that means.”

71

SIR ELLY’S

32 ZHONGSHAN NO.1 ROAD

SHANGHAI

Ji-tao Zhu, governor of the People’s Bank of China, sipped from a martini glass as he sat alone, looking out at the Bund, Shanghai’s famous waterfront, the Huangpu River, and its most famous building, the Pearl Tower, a concrete needle that stuck up into the sky, with two large round balls, like pearls, strung at either end of the needle, one near the top, the other closer to the ground.

Like most top government officials, Zhu had a weekend apartment away from Beijing. His was in Shanghai.

On this night, Zhu did what he liked to do every Friday night he was in town. He sat in a seat at Sir Elly’s alone, having a cocktail, before heading into the restaurant for a private dinner with his mistress. That was another accoutrement enjoyed by Beijing’s governmental elite. Zhu, a short, stooped, pasty man of fifty, was no exception. If anything was a testament to the homely Zhu’s power, it was the stunning beauty of his mistress, a twenty-six-year-old Shanghai native named Tai-lin.

He sipped his cocktail, looking out on the neon-lit cruise ships and myriad party boats that moved around the harbor.

Zhu was used to getting a seat at the rooftop lounge. It didn’t matter what time Zhu showed up. Beyond being a regular customer, and a generally nice person, Zhu also happened to run the largest financial institution in China. It made sense to keep a seat warm for him.

Most Friday nights, the rooftop lounge was crowded with people, and his reserved chair at the rooftop bar was the only one available. For some reason, on this night, Zhu was the only person at the bar. He took a few more sips, relaxing, staring out at the Bund. At some point, he noticed another man seated at the far end of the bar. His back was turned.

Had he been there before? Zhu didn’t think so. Something about the man was familiar. Zhu finished his cocktail. He left money on the bar, climbed down from his chair, and walked toward Sir Elly’s, where he knew Tai-lin would be waiting.

“Tai-lin is not there,” said the man.

Zhu hesitated.

It wasn’t a loud voice, and the man’s back was still turned. Had he been speaking to someone else? Or, perhaps Zhu had misheard him?

Zhu shook his head and continued walking. As he got to the door, he turned to get one last look at the man. As he did, the man, as if sensing Zhu’s eyes, turned. It was Fao Bhang. An unnatural shudder vibrated down Zhu’s spine as he stared at the spymaster.

“Fao, how are you?” asked Zhu, waving awkwardly.

Bhang continued to stare at Zhu.

“I must go,” said Zhu. “I … I have a dinner appointment.”

Zhu turned to leave and found himself standing face-to-face with two large men in suits, guarding the entrance.

Zhu turned and walked back to Bhang, who was smoking and looking out at the Bund. He had a small pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes.

“The Bund is so beautiful at night, don’t you think?” asked Bhang, looking through the binoculars. “I particularly love the Pearl Tower. So ugly during the day, but so pretty at night.”