Free Covert One 4 - The Altman Code by Robert Ludlum

Smith was on the move

again. “Time to check the last Starbucks.”
    It proved to be in a shopping center in the new business development

zone around Hongqiao Airport on Hongqiao Lu. There were no companies

connected to shipping nearby, and Smith told Andy to drive back to the

hotel.
    “Okay, we’ve got five possibilities,” Smith said, all close enough to

the second Starbucks for an informant to use it as a place to pass his

information on to Mondragon. How good are you on a computer?”
    “How good was Grant at winning battles?”
    “Access the five companies on the Internet, and look for the name Zhao

Yanji among their staff.”
    “Consider it done.” They drove on. As they neared the Bund, Jon said,

“Is there another way into the Peace Hotel besides the front and

employees’ entrances?”
    “Yeah. Around the corner on an intersecting street.”
    “Good.
    Take me there.” As Andy drove through a dizzying tangle of thoroughfares

and alleys, Smith looked him up and down. “You’re almost my height. Your

pants should be long enough, and that leather jacket of yours is big

enough for a buffalo. With your Mao cap, I’ll pass for Shanghainese,

unless someone gets too close to my face. You’ll be a scarecrow in my

suit, but you don’t have to wear the jacket.”
    “Thanks. I think.” As they approached the hotel, Smith told Andy where

to park. He struggled out of his clothes in the small car. Andy turned

off the motor and did the same. The leather jacket was fine on Smith.

The trousers were an inch short, but they would do. He pulled the Mao

cap down almost to his eyes and stepped out of the Jetta. He leaned down

to the open window. “Do that research, have an early dinner, and pick me

up here in two hours.”
    Andy brightened. “That’s too soon for shows or club hopping. What’s our

gig?”
    “You don’t have a gig. You’re waiting in the car. I’m going to do a bit

of breaking and entering. How much’ll depend on what you find out.”
    “I can help on the b and e, too. I’m a cat.”
    “Next time.” Andy frowned, disappointed. “I’m not the patient sort.”
    “Work on it.” Smith liked the interpreter. He grinned and walked off.

The noise was clamorous, the streets as always mobbed. He saw no one

tailing, but he took no chances. Blending into the surge of

Shanghainese, he let the throngs carry him toward the Bund. Only when he

reached the doors to the hotel did he push his way free and stride

inside. At dusk two hours later, purple light enveloped Shanghai, and a

sense of Asia’s lush beauty softened the hard-edged skyline. Andy An

paused his car to let Smith off a block from the building that housed

Flying Dragon Enterprises, International Trade & Shipping. Since most of

the night’s action had already headed off to Old Town, the French

Concession, and Huangpu, the street was very different now, half

deserted.
    Andy’s research had made the target definite: Zhao Yanji was the

treasurer of Flying Dragon, which was housed in the high-rise directly

across the street from the second Starbucks they had visited that day.
    It made sense to Smith. A clandestine seller of highly sensitive

material who conducted sales during working hours would want to be away

from his or her job as short a time as possible and on a believable

errand, such as getting coffee at a nearby Starbucks. If Zhao Yanji was

that person, he had a perfect outlet at the obviously popular Starbucks.
    If all went well, Smith would be back in plenty of time for dinner at

nine o’clock with Dr. Liang and his fellow scientists. If events went

against him … well, he would deal with that, too.
    As the Jetta plowed off into the twilight, Smith walked toward the

highest office building, covertly watching everyone and everything. He

was dressed in a black sweater, black jeans, and soft-soled, flexible

shoes. On his back was a light pack, also black. He looked up. The

building that housed