The Risk Agent (33 page)

“I’m telling you. Four hundred thousand U.S. for that.”

She looked at Lu Hao, puzzled, while thinking back to Selena Ming’s explanation of Marquardt and Song traveling together: due diligence on future projects. The Mongolian’s reported connection to Beijing, where all important decisions were made. “Dear God,” she mumbled, taking in the size of the number. Too big to be a bribe. But a bid on a government construction project? It was large, extremely large, but not out of the question.

“Lu Hao…”

“The American. If we’d only left the American. But all such plans are doomed. Tell me it isn’t so,” he said.

“Lu Hao.”

“They will kill me, Youya. What is to become of my family? I have failed them all. I had no choice.”

Grace tried to process all that she’d learned: the size of the number The Berthold Group had paid for indicated what? No bribe could be in the billions of RMB. What could such a number represent?

“The waiguoren took the ransom money. Get it back, cousin. Get it to my father.”

“It is too late for that, Lu Hao. It has gone to buy you your freedom.”

“I should have realized the depths they would go to, these people.”

“Who are they?” Grace asked. “Who are these Mongolians?”

Lu Hao shrugged. “I am but the messenger. The delivery boy. How should I know? But I tell you: the man is cruel, his eyes dead.”

“This factory,” she said. “The one in the video—”

“You’ve seen the video?” Lu Hao rose to his knees.

“Where is it? Tell me its location.” This place seemed the center of the storm, wherever, whatever it was.

She was splattered with something warm. Lu Hao slumped forward, his head thumping onto the foul carpet.

Clete Danner stood over Lu Hao holding a mike stand. He recoiled, reloading his strength to strike a second time.

Grace sprang off the floor and caught his wrist in her hands, preventing the second blow. The man’s eyes were glazed.

“Stop it! Stop it!” she shouted.

He possessed the size and strength to knock her aside. Grace used leverage to prevent the next blow, but could be easily overpowered.

“Enough! Enough!”

Danner was dazed—half sleeping, half waking. His eyes weren’t tracking. He didn’t speak. Didn’t seem to hear. Sleepwalking? A trauma-induced narcosis? He tried again to lower the bloodied stand onto Lu’s head, but the effort was half-assed, the adrenaline retreating. She managed to wrestle the stand from him. Danner stumbled back into the wall and sank down, burying his face in his hands.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said calmly.

But Lu Hao remained unconscious on the floor, bleeding badly. In fact, he looked half-dead.

5:45 P.M.

Knox arrived to the bunker with two bags of athletic clothes and a pair of umbrellas. He knocked on the bunker door. Grace answered, despair on her face.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she said, as Knox saw the unconscious Lu Hao, his head bloody and sporting a bloodied stack of paper towels from the bathroom.

“Your friend came awake in a rage,” she said.

Knox took it all in: Danner slumped against the wall. Sleeping? Lu
Hao on his back with his head propped up. A bloody mike stand lying on the carpet.

“Jesus Christ! An hour ago, he was defending him.”

“Shock? Who knows? He wanted to kill him.”

“Fuck!”

“Lu Hao’s out. He is hurt badly.”

“No, no, no…” Knox muttered, running his free hand through his hair.

“Lu Hao…it was all Lu Hao’s idea. It wasn’t forty-four scratched into the chair, it was LH—Lu Hao. Lu Hao, all along.”

They talked for several minutes, Grace relating her brief discussion with Lu. She had more questions than answers.

“We’re getting him out of here,” Knox said. He patted his coat. “I have the disk—the video. That should buy Dulwich’s freedom. I need to call Kozlowski. If anyone can arrange it…I brought everyone dry clothes. We leave in five for the rendezvous.”

Inside, he, Danner and Grace stripped and donned the fresh clothes and ball caps. They got a ball cap over Lu’s wound to hide it. The man’s eyes were open, but his brain was on hold; he had yet to utter a word. It was imperative he get medical attention as soon as possible.

Danner remained in a stupor, his eyes glazed over. Knox’s attempts to communicate won little but distant stares.

“We’ll travel in pairs. Heads down. I’m going to need help with Lu. You understand?”

Danner nodded.

“You try to fuck him up anymore and you answer to me,” Knox said.

Danner spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I’m sorry, boss.”

Knox placed an understanding hand on the man’s shoulder. “No sweat. Nearly there. Hang in.”

Danner nodded again.

Grace flashed Knox a look of concern. One man barely conscious. Another traumatized. Yet another in a hospital room.

“We’re good,” he said reassuringly. Even he didn’t believe it.

They climbed the stairs to the street, Knox waiting for a decent cell signal. Halfway up, he had it and he focused on the instructions Kozlowski had provided.

Knox dialed.

“White Star Realty?” A Chinese woman speaking good English.

“I’m calling for Frances.”

“Frances is not in.”

“I should have called last night.”

Knox hung up.

A moment later his phone rang, and he answered.

“White Star Realty,” the same voice said.

“I’m looking for a two-bedroom condominium in Shanghai with a river view,” he said. A Shanghai extraction; water travel preferred over rail, air or surface.

“One moment please.”

He waited. The iPhone shifted, the faint sounds of lines being switched, carriers changed.

“I can help you.” A different woman’s voice. “Any restrictions?” she said.

“No higher than the twenty-fourth floor.” No later than midnight.

“How many beds?” How many traveling?

“Three beds.”

“Let me check our listings please.”

“Four. You mean four!” Grace said.

Knox indicated for her to sit down and be quiet. He had given the correct count.

More clicks and pops on the phone line.

The woman’s voice returned to the line. “We have a nice flat with a lovely view that may fit your needs. It’s 1800 Zhongshan South. One of my representatives could meet you to view the property.” There was no 1800 Zhongshan South Road. But 18:00 hours equaled six P.M., which
meant it was 600 Zhongshan South. The Dongmen Lu Ferry Terminal was at that address, and the Hotel Indigo next door.

“What floor?” he inquired. What time?

“The twenty-first floor. Eight P.M.” 21:00 hours. He ignored the time, an intentional miscue to mislead any eavesdroppers.

“Thank you.” Knox had no idea how they would make the connection once to the terminal, but that was for later.

“We appreciate your inquiry and the chance to serve you.”

The line went dead. Knox pocketed the phone.

“Three beds?” she repeated.

“First of all, it wasn’t beds, it was people. Three people.”

“Same question.”

“I’m not leaving Sarge behind,” he told her. “We get you three out now. He and I will follow shortly.”

“Mr. Dulwich can handle himself,” she said. “Mr. Primer will not allow anything to happen to him.”

“Just like nothing has happened to us,” Knox said sarcastically. “Sarge is expendable. We all are. We went over this. You’re leaving. You and Danner and Lu. They both need medical attention. Sarge and I will follow. No arguments.”

She looked poised to object, but they’d reached the street and the chaos of the crowds and the downpour of rain.

6:15 P.M.

Knox flagged down two pedicabs—safer than taxis or public transportation.

Grace and Danner climbed onto wet plastic benches beneath a wind-torn canopy. Knox helped Lu Hao into the front cab. The drivers kept the three-wheeled motorized carts to the bike lanes.

Twenty minutes later, they approached the ferry terminal and the hotel just beyond. Thousands of Chinese were queued out into the street
awaiting ferries. Darkness had fallen quickly, and the crowd seemed anxious, bordering on turning into an angry mob.

The four entered the Hotel Indigo, wet all over again. Knox informed the desk attendant White Star Realty had sent him. They were shown to two second-floor rooms—never above the fifth floor—across the hall from one another. The decor was Euro-chic, lots of stainless steel and frosted glass.

Knox and Grace inspected Lu’s wound. Grace tried speaking to him in Mandarin, but Lu Hao was hiding somewhere behind the blinking, bloodshot eyes.

“He is bad off,” she said.

“Yeah. Not long until we get him some help,” Knox said.

Grace excused herself to the toilet and returned with her hair combed. Danner was asleep on a bed in seconds. They propped up Lu Hao and put ice on his wound.

Knox ordered room service, including black tea, as it promised to be a long night.

“We must talk,” Grace said. “Across the hall.”

“We can’t leave these two,” he said.

“Five?” she said.

“I have a bargaining chip,” he said, touching his coat. “The tape from the video camera. I should be able to buy Sarge a ticket home, but I’m running out of time here. Can we put a pin in it, and I’ll get back to you?”

She shook her head but did not counter.

“I promise we’ll talk.”

He headed out the door and into the room across the hall.

Knox placed the call to Dulwich’s iPhone. After four rings, Kozlowski answered. “Go ahead,” Kozlowski said.

“It’s me,” Knox said. “These phones are safe,” he reminded.

“You’ve been busy. You have moved yourself right to the top of the city police’s most wanted list.”

“I gave you the place and the people responsible!”

“And I called it in for you. But with no hostages and no ransom money, it looks more like another assault. One of a string attributed to you.”

“I can’t worry about that.”

“Just beware of it. I would lay real low if I were you.”

“I want the person you took that phone off. Tonight. With me. Here.”

“First: I don’t want to know where you are,” Kozlowski said. “Second: it’s not going to happen. They caught one of the drivers. They know it was a conspiracy and they’ve posted a cop outside your friend’s room. He’s not going anywhere.”

“You have to change that,” Knox said.

“Do you happen to remember a conversation we had? One in which I warned you about how far you could take this?”

“I have the video your missing cameraman shot before he went missing.”

A long pause on the other end.

“Come again?”

“You heard right. It shows Lu Hao as an eyewitness to a possible crime—a murder, Lu Hao claims. It shows an individual—the Mongolian—rushing the camera. And after that night, your cameraman is never seen again. Am I right?”

Another long silence.

“Wouldn’t you like to close that disappearance?” Knox asked. “In the video, the Mongolian’s clearly doing business with some kind of fat cat. Rich. Portly. Chinese. This whole mess has something to do with Marquardt and The Berthold Group paying out huge sums on the sly to obtain a number. The Mongolian’s the middleman. The fat cat’s got to be the source.”

“What kind of number?”

“A big number,” Knox said. “A very big number.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Knox admitted. “But my best guess is the Mongolian’s job was to see the number reach the people who paid for it—The Berthold Group—and he understood Lu’s importance to that end. Who knows what might have happened once it reached the buyer, but the
kidnapping came along, so we’ll never know.” He withheld Lu’s culpability in his own kidnapping. “The disk for my friend. He has to be delivered tonight.”

“Circumstantial evidence isn’t going to convince anyone of anything. I wish I could help you. I really do. But I know these people. It’s not going to happen.”

Knox had been so profoundly convinced he’d bought Dulwich his freedom that he felt the wind knocked out of him. “I have the video,” he repeated.

“And I, for one, can get mileage out of it. Yes. You’re right about me wanting to close this disappearance. But as we both know, I’m forbidden from investigating. I can’t even ask probing questions. So I’d have to play the video right, and even then it will maybe help start a dialogue, but that dialogue is not going to lead to the release of your friend. He was the target of a commissioned crime. The authorities are going to want answers from him.”

“You’ve got to get him out of there.” Knox knew Dulwich wouldn’t cooperate, and that if he didn’t, he’d serve jail time.

“I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking you’ll bust him out of Huashan Hospital. But guess what? You won’t. He’s well-guarded and he’s in bad shape, pal. He’s going home on a stretcher right now. It takes two to carry a stretcher, last time I checked.”

“You and me,” Knox said.

“Right.”

Knox searched for some kind of solution. Every time he advanced an idea, it ran into a wall.

“This fat cat you described,” Kozlowski said. “A businessman?”

“Not according to Lu. Government pool car. Shanghai.”

“Do you have that on film? That’s exactly what we need.”

“Negative,” Knox said. But what he heard was: “we.”

“Any way to make that ID?”

“My guy is comatose at present, even if he knew, which he doesn’t. I’ve got wheels-up at eight P.M.”

“Never going to happen.” Kozlowski added, “Some storm, huh? Been here six years, haven’t seen one like this.”

“And if I brought you this guy’s name?” Knox tested, his mind reeling. Kozlowski, prevented by law from investigating, wanted Knox to do his dirty work for him. Knox didn’t need it in neon lights. It made him wonder how inaccessible Dulwich really was.

“It would change things,” Kozlowski said.

“Change things, how?”

“Listen, if he really is government…a minister, let’s say…or someone prominent in the party…and he’s involved or even partially responsible for a pair of killings? That shit sells, Knox. That right there buys your buddy a free pass, no question.”

“You’ll guarantee that.”