East Meets West
The St. Regis Shanghai Jingan towered above the street like a beacon of modern luxury. Judd adjusted the cuff of his blazer as he stepped through the revolving doors, the cool blast of air-conditioning giving way to the dense, humid evening outside. The city roared and glowed, alive with a kinetic energy he hadn’t felt since Tokyo or New York. On Ava’s advice—and per the protocols of the Order’s security team—Judd carried only a secure burner phone, stripped of personal data and running encrypted comms software. In China, nothing was safe. The Inkwell Order’s reach here was shallow, and Judd knew he was operating on the margins.
Tonight was about strengthening those margins.
He was to meet with agents from an allied organization—a kind of modern cousin to the Inkwell Order. Formed in the 1970s by the United States, Canada, the UK, and Australia, it was known as The Aegis Network. Where the Inkwell Order had always been a private, shadow society of scholars and spies, Aegis was state-born, crafted to monitor the rise of non-nation entities—terror groups, corporations, cartels—that slipped beyond the reach of the UN and traditional diplomacy. Over time, the lines blurred. State and non-state, law and criminal enterprise, corporation and insurgency. Aegis learned to play in the gray.
Members from the NSA, CIA, MI6, ASIS, and CSIS were scattered around the globe, monitoring, influencing, and intervening when nation-states either couldn’t—or wouldn’t. Tonight, Judd was here to talk about Sebastian Wolf.
He arrived at Mr & Mrs Bund, the famed French restaurant perched on the Bund’s promenade, overlooking the Huangpu River. The façade was elegant and understated, but inside the décor whispered exclusivity—soft light, high ceilings, and views of one of the most dazzling skylines on earth. A tall, smiling man intercepted him at the entrance. Stefan, his local interlocutor and translator, was everything a handler was supposed to be—infectiously friendly, impeccably dressed, quick with a joke, and always two steps ahead. Judd couldn’t decide if Stefan’s million-dollar smile was genuine warmth or part of the act. Either way, the man had already proven invaluable in arranging tonight’s dinner.
“This way, Mr. Knight,” Stefan said warmly, guiding him up the stairs to a private balcony table.
Judd recognized Brock immediately.
The American was shorter than Judd remembered, but stocky, with thick forearms and hands that looked like they could bend rebar. His brown hair was cropped close, his grin wide and mischievous. He was leaning back in his chair, a glass of Bordeaux in hand, laughing at some comment from the waiter.
“Judd bloody Knight,” Brock boomed as he stood, gripping Judd’s hand in a powerful shake. “Last time we met, Moscow was colder than a witch’s tit and twice as miserable.”
Judd smirked. “You haven’t changed, Brock.”
“Liar,” Brock said with a wink. “I’ve put on twenty pounds and half of it’s from drinking too much Margaux. Sit. Drink. Pretend the world isn’t on fire.”
They caught up quickly—Moscow stories, half-truths about old operations, even a joke about Brock nearly getting himself thrown out of the Metropol Hotel for insulting a Russian wine list. Despite the banter, Brock’s eyes were sharp. Judd knew men like him—rough-hewn, unpolished, but dangerous when cornered.
Later, they stepped onto the balcony, glasses in hand. Below them, the Huangpu shimmered like a black mirror. Across the water, Shanghai’s skyline stretched in an electric sprawl—the Oriental Pearl Tower, its spheres lit in neon pinks and purples; the Jin Mao Tower like a modern pagoda of glass and steel; and the Shanghai Tower, twisting impossibly into the night sky, the second tallest building on earth. The lights pulsed and shifted, advertising screens flickered, and boats crawled along the river like sparks in the dark.
Judd exhaled. “First time in China. It’s… overwhelming.”
Brock’s grin faded as he lowered his voice. “You didn’t come here for the skyline. You came for answers. And I’ve got a bad feeling you’re not gonna like them.”
Judd turned. “Wolf?”
Brock nodded. “I’ve seen him. Or rather, I’ve seen his number two—his head of infrastructure. In Beijing. Meeting people who don’t move an inch without Party approval. He’s not just recruiting mercenaries. He’s courting state power. And if the Chinese are giving him even an inch of leash…” He trailed off. “Well. You remember the East India Company.”
Judd did. And the thought chilled him.
Before he could press further, Stefan stepped quickly onto the balcony, his expression unchanged but his tone sharp.
“Gentlemen,” he said, lowering his voice. “The waitstaff tonight—they are too attentive. Too many ears. We should pause this conversation.”
Judd caught the tension in his eyes. The restaurant had grown quieter, but somehow the air felt heavier.
Stefan smiled again, masking his warning. “Better to save this for later. In the meantime, there are people you should meet. They call themselves The Twins. They’re in Shanghai now.”
Brock raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like trouble.”
Stefan’s smile only widened. “The best kind.”