The Risk Agent (17 page)

“Who do you think you are?” Grace’s shrill voice caused Knox to distance the phone from his ear. He moved away from the bed and made a face to indicate his surprise. “I will tell you: a common thief. A liar. A cheat. Worse than all: a man whose word cannot be trusted.”

“Listen to me a minute,” Knox pleaded.

“The GPS is the key to our success. We are partners. And yet you steal it from me. Steal it! A common thief! You delay our efforts. You cost me panic and fear when I cannot find it. How dare you treat me with such disrespect!”

“If you would just…listen.”

The line went dead.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Amy asked.

“An unhappy customer,” he said, returning to her.

“You see? You have problem with customer, too.”

“It’s true.” He’d known Amy long enough to believe he could trust her, though trust was more of a concept here than a practice. Together they’d bent enough export laws to hold weight over the other.

He nibbled her tenderly and she startled.

“Oooh. I like that.”

The television continued to blare, though the sounds it covered were no longer of conspiracy and collusion. Instead they were the sounds of secret touches, pressures and timing. Of instruction and direction. Of a woman’s cries muffled by a pillow and a man’s growl as skin slapped skin and traffic hummed. Of shared guilty laughter between two people who knew no one deserved something so good.

When she had gone, Knox called down and ordered an espresso. He showered and dressed and double-checked the knife he carried, as if by looking at it he could hone its blade.

Then, he placed the call he’d not wanted to make. He used the iPhone, allowing Dulwich to pay for it—knowing it could not be eavesdropped upon.

Tommy answered on the third ring. Detroit sounded next door.

“Hey, bro,” Knox said.

“Johnny!” Tommy was the only person Knox tolerated using the nickname. His brother sounded as excited as if an ice cream truck had just pulled up in front of the house.

With proper medication, supervision and a solid routine, Tommy did all right. He could handle the responsibilities of their partnership. He indulged in video games. He’d pretty much conquered public transportation. He had a start on adulthood, if not there yet. Thankfully, he wasn’t inclined to look for the man behind the curtain. Knox played his role close to the vest.

The missed payment to Amy was a red flag. Knox did not want to access any of their online bookkeeping from China. He didn’t want to give the Internet-sniffing Chinese authorities a leg up.

“How goes it?” Knox asked.

“Just fine,” Tommy said.

“Business good?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Small problem over here.”

“Where?”

“Shanghai. Amy never received her wire.”

Silence.

“The pearl lady.”

“But that was months ago,” Tommy said.

Impressive, Knox thought. “Yes, exactly.”

“Wouldn’t we know if a wire didn’t go through?” Tommy struggled with the concept of moving money electronically.

“We should, yes.”

“You mean I should,” Tommy said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you’re thinking.”

“Don’t go there, Tommy. It’s not what I was thinking.”

“You think I screwed up.”

“If you screwed up, I’d say you screwed up. Since when do I mince words?”

“Then what? If not that, why are you calling?”

“Because we owe a lot of money to an important supplier and I want to get on it. That’s all there is to it. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

“I’ll have to check with Eve.” Evelyn Ritter, their bookkeeper and accountant.

“Yes. That’s where we start. Exactly. A record of the wire and, if for some reason it didn’t go through—”

“We resend,” Tommy said, agreeing.

“Are you writing this down?”

“I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”

“We’ll need to check other payments as well. Eve can help. I don’t get how she could have missed this one, but stranger things have happened. Bet you anything it’s on this end: you know Chinese banks.”

Tommy had a schoolboy crush on their attractive bookkeeper. Knox did not like the way the relationship had developed—he didn’t know if he was jealous of Eve for winning Tommy’s attentions, or if he questioned why an attractive, smart woman would express interest in someone with Tommy’s limited social skills. But Eve spent time with his brother—quality time—and that was a blessing he wouldn’t discourage.

“How are things otherwise?” Knox asked.

“Tigers suck.”

“There’s news.”

“How about you?” Tommy asked.

“Looking into importing vintage motorcycles.” He’d lived with the lie long enough to begin to buy into it.

“Seriously?”

“They have some real beauties over here. They copied BMW and Russian designs for years. Better than the originals. We can get ’em for a song, bring ’em up to standards and sell them for five, maybe eight-X.”

“I thought I’m not allowed to ride motorcycles,” he said, sounding younger all of a sudden.

“Some of them have sidecars. Maybe we’ll make an exception.”

“An exception,” Tommy said, mimicking. A signal he was tiring. Phone calls were harder for him than face-to-face. Tommy’s doctors could not explain half of what went on—or failed to go on—in his brain.

“I’ll sign off,” Knox said.

“Expensive call.”

“E-mail me what you find out from Eve.”

“I’ll e-mail you,” Tommy said.

“You’re a good man, Tommy.”

“Miss you, Johnny.”

He hung up. Knox kept the phone to his ear a little longer than necessary, his heart working like timpani. He trod softly as he descended the stairs, heeding Fay’s warning about the night watchman, and slipped outside, carefully shutting the back door behind him.

“Enjoy yourself?” Grace’s voice at his back.

Knox didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the general idea.”

He turned and she stepped out of shadow. It wasn’t Grace’s presence that shocked him, but the fact that he hadn’t spotted her.

“She is pretty, in a slutty kind of way,” Grace said.

“I didn’t know you cared,” he said.

“You are going out on the route,” she said, seeing the helmet.

“Yes.”

“Without me.”

“That was the plan,” Knox admitted.

She crossed her arms defiantly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“This is not what we agreed to,” she said, speaking to the lane.

“No.”

“Then why?” she asked.

“It’s what I do. The way it’s done. It’s called advancing.”

“Do not patronize me, John Knox.”

“That’s all it was going to be: ride the route. Make sure it’s safe. Determine multiple points of egress. I was not going to ride you—us—into a possible ambush. My friend…this was his job. It’s what he did for me. I’m doing the same thing.”

“‘For me’?” Loaded with sarcasm.

“Nothing more, nothing less.” He told about Danner’s hard drive, about his wanting—needing—her to look over its contents. Admitted it was beyond his current patience level.

“I agree to this,” she said, softening some.

“I would have been there at six A.M.,” he pleaded. “Believe that or not, that’s the truth.” He hesitated. “As to the woman—”

“No!” She moved toward the scooter. “We do this tonight. Now, when these…criminals are in their homes.”

“We drive it first,” he said. “The entire route. We don’t approach any of them until first light. Any of these people—all of them—know their neighborhoods. They can navigate in the dark far better than we. Patience and planning, or we don’t do this at all.” He motioned toward the scooter.

She stood there immovable, intractable and willful.

“Please,” he said.

Two motorcycles turned into the mouth of the lane, racing toward them at a high-pitched whine. Knox saw apology and regret in her eyes: she’d allowed herself to be followed.

Both bikes veered toward Knox, skidding out from under the riders, who leaped off and dumped them toward Knox like bowling balls aimed at pins. Knox timed his jump well, though was tripped up by a rear fender as he came down. He sprawled onto the concrete, a boot heel aimed for his face before he could recover.

Grace took him out. The boot missed Knox’s face.

The other rider had gone down onto a knee while dumping his bike. Knox rolled toward him, stood, and kicked him in the groin. The man lurched forward reflexively. Knox kneed him in the face and he was out.

Grace’s opponent suffered. Her first kick had thrown him into the back wall of the Quintet and off of Knox. A moment’s hesitation on his part—disbelief such lethal force could come from a hundred-pound woman—cost him. She went after him like he was a punching bag, and he sank.

“I know this one!” she called out to Knox as she continued to deliver a volley of blows to the man’s abdomen, reducing him to the fetal position. As the man sank, she searched his pockets and came up with a wallet.

“Overconfident fools,” she said.

“Know him, how?” Knox asked.

“Yang Cheng’s cocktail party.”

Knox got a closer look. She was right: the bodyguard type never far from the party host.

“Damn,” he said, impressed.

He got the scooter going and aimed for the street. Grace threw a leg over the seat and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and they were off.

WEDNESDAY

September 29

2 days until the ransom

12

6:20 A.M.

ZHABEI AND PUDONG DISTRICTS

SHANGHAI

The first pass amounted to a surveillance run. Knox drove with Grace directing him from behind while holding the GPS. He replayed Danner’s voice notes in his head and relayed them to Grace. Afterward, they killed an hour in Jing An Park awaiting the sunrise.

“I want you to keep this,” he said, passing her his copy of Danner’s hard drive. “Insurance. Also, we’re going to need a laptop. We need to study the contents of that drive A-SAP.”

She looked somewhat confused.

“As soon as possible,” he said.

“Is not a problem. Laptops are for sale on every block in Shanghai. And cheap.”

Knox laughed, and she followed, covering her mouth as if ashamed. Knox wanted to tell her to show her smile; he said nothing.

“Do you love her?” she asked.

He considered the question thoughtfully, and how to answer. “Do you know particle physics? You accelerate a proton or neutron and smash it and it gives off energy and breaks into smaller particles, which you then capture? That’s how I see love. I’ve experienced the breaking up thing, the energy. I’m still waiting for the capture.” He added, “Back at my place…it wasn’t what you think,” he said.

“You do not know what I think,” she said.

“We don’t control these things,” he said. “Do you understand? Some things control us.”

“I understand perfectly well.”

“What controls you?” he asked.

She snorted.

“The connection to Lu Hao’s family,” he speculated, having tried before.

She flashed him a penetrating look. “Lu Hao’s older brother is called Lu Jian.”

He waited her out.

“I was responsible for Lu Hao’s placement with Berthold.”

“You feel responsible. Tell me about Lu Jian.”

It was more than that. His comment drove her to silence. “I do not think so.”

“A romance.”

She didn’t deny it.

“Current or past?”

No answer.

“Or both,” he said. “That’s part of this for you.”

“There are family obligations.”

“Face.”

“What would you know of face?”

“My brother. I told you about him. Perception and reality are two very different things. Maybe I know more about face than you might expect.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re hoping for a second chance,” he speculated. “You save the little brother, maybe you save the romance.”

She shot him a vicious look. But she didn’t deny it.

Not long after, the sky lightened and they returned to the scooter. Street traffic was sparse, though the corner bao shops teemed. The smell of charcoal and grilled pork filled the air.

The routes and destinations were more familiar to them now. Knox slowed the scooter as they neared the first location. Danner’s voice told him it was a childless couple in their forties. He pulled the scooter to the curb.

Grace jumped off the back and threw her helmet to him.

“You need to stay here!” she said in Mandarin, for the sake of the people passing on the sidewalk.

Knox did not want to make a scene. He knew any waiguoren—any American accent, no matter how good—would stand out. But he had no intention of standing by and leaving Grace alone.

He slipped off his helmet, pulled on a ball cap and hurried across the street chasing her.

“Foolish!” she said, refusing to look at him.

“The way we talked about,” he said. “The way I laid it out.”

Together, they hurried up the darkened exterior staircase to a second-floor balcony and around the corner to the second door from the street side of the apartment building. Knox put his back to the wall, out of sight of the door.

She knocked and a moment later the door came partially open.

“Wei?” a woman’s voice speaking Mandarin. Yes?

“I have the delivery you’ve been expecting,” Grace said.

The door swung open farther as the woman called out, “Laogong!” Husband.

The sound of shuffling slippers announced the husband’s arrival.

Grace threw open the door. Knox stepped through, shoving the unsuspecting man back. Grace shut the door. Knox drove the husband onto a stool that overturned as he fell, and Knox followed him to the floor on one knee. The room was sparsely decorated but well kept, with a tile floor and a low coffee table surrounded by wooden stools.

Knox spoke an angry, unforgiving Shanghainese. “I will tear your sack off your body, my friend, and give it to your wife as a souvenir.”

A plastic ID and lanyard landed on the floor next to Knox. Grace had tossed it to him, from a hook by the door.

“Steel inspector,” she said.