The Risk Agent (34 page)

“TIC. No guarantees.”

“Passage out, if I stick around to do this? For two—one on a stretcher?”

“Same answer. But will I try? Of course I will.”

“You’re using me.”

“No, no, pal. We’re using each other.”

“You gain enormous cred,” Knox said.

“No. Whatever you dig up, it can’t come from me. That suggests I investigated it myself. But there are ways around everything. Bring me that name—a corrupt official. Match that to your eyewitness—a Chinese eyewitness at that. Are you kidding me? In this country, in the current environment, that’s currency. Serious currency. Trust me.”

“I don’t,” Knox said.

“You know for a while there, I had you figured for a fool,” Kozlowski said. “Are we done here?”

“Keep that phone charged,” Knox said. “I’m going to be calling you back on it.”

“Remember, pal: I don’t know you.”

“Love you, too,” Knox said, ending the call.

29

7:00 P.M.

THE BUND

The rain hit the hotel room windows like water from a fire hose. The river view was supposed to look across to Pudong, but all Knox saw was the swarm of people on the docks below.

“So?” she said, inquiring about a phone call Knox had placed to Rutherford Risk’s Brian Primer.

“He wants us out,” Knox confided.

“See?”

“But he has nothing in place for Sarge’s extraction. He was unaware of his detention. It clearly put him back on his heels. I pushed for some kind of plan, and said ‘first things first,’ wanting us out.”

“And I agree.”

“And I don’t,” Knox said. “He doesn’t have a plan, nor will a plan do any good if Sarge is moved to a Chinese jail. Kozlowski knows the ins
and outs better than anyone, and he said it’s going to take leverage, and I believe him. I’m staying. You’re leaving.”

“I doubt it. With these winds, the river like that, they will close the ferries, if they have not already,” Grace said. “We should be making alternative plans.”

She sat on the corner of the bed, slurping down a bowl of wonton soup.

“This is the alternative plan. Besides, they won’t have us on a ferry,” Knox said. “They’re just using these docks for the rendezvous.”

“You cannot identify this Party man without me,” she said, repeating an argument she’d championed for the past hour.

“Watch me,” Knox said.

“How can I watch you from Hong Kong?”

“Touché.”

“You have to understand—”

“We discussed this. You wanted Lu Hao out. I wanted Danny out. We’ve got them both and now you need to see them out. I made sure the blame for the kidnapping wouldn’t fall onto Lu Hao. By now the Mongolian is likely under arrest. If we could get to him, maybe he’d give up the name, but we won’t see him again. End of story.”

“We,” she said, quoting him.

“This is non-negotiable,” he said. “What if Danny wakes up in a rage again? Someone has to be there.”

“They can keep them separate on the boat,” she said.

“You know that, do you?”

“I know you need me.”

He knew it too, but wasn’t about to admit it. “I need you to be there when Lu Hao can finally talk to us. I need the location where that video was shot. I need some leads.”

“Lu Jian, his brother can help. If Lu Hao was on the island on the seventeenth, then it was because he was there with his family. Lu Jian can help us fill in the blanks. But they will not help you. Not without me.”

He hadn’t considered the family angle. “When Lu Hao wakes, you can get at least the location of the factory out of him. You need to be there to listen.”

“Someone needs to be there,” she said. “It does not have to be me. Not necessarily. It could be Danner.”

She was right about that as well. Danner had expressed remorse over his assaulting Lu; he wasn’t going to do that again. And Danner spoke the language fluently.

“He’s weak. Malnourished. Exhausted. Traumatized.”

“Do you question his abilities for even a moment?” she asked. “You do not, do you? Neither do I. He can do this for us.”

“We’re going down to those docks, and the three of you are getting on that boat.”

“We do not know if a boat is there.”

“I’m done arguing.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” she said. “You enjoy the arguing.”

9:00 P.M.

DONGMEN LU FERRY TERMINAL

The ferry terminal teemed with several thousand soaking wet and terribly unhappy Chinese with nowhere to go. Debris, rain and the spray of filthy river water were carried by a ferocious wind that gusted at eighty kilometers an hour. Ferry service had been suspended. From the milling crowd, pressed belly-to-back, arose the sense of an impending riot.

Knox, Grace, Danner and the rag doll that was Lu Hao entered the melee. Knox worried that given the crowd, they would not be spotted by their contact, but he said nothing to the others. At least they were among the only Caucasians.

“We’ll try the ticket booth first!” he shouted to Grace.

Both Danner and Lu Hao had regressed rather than recuperated during their brief stay in the hotel room. Lu Hao could walk, though barely, the concussion serious. Danner was drained and tapping all his reserves to keep up.

The four found themselves moved against their wills with each shifting wave of the crowd.

“If this comes apart on us,” Knox shouted to be heard, “when it comes apart—we don’t fight it. We go with the flow and try for the edge as quickly as possible.”

Maybe the others hadn’t heard him; no one said a thing.

“No matter what,” he said, “don’t fall. We lock arms and we stay standing. It’s the stampede that kills.”

Knox locked elbows with Danner on his left and Lu Hao on his right. Grace had Lu’s other arm holding him upright. It was cumbersome and difficult to move.

The situation deteriorated quickly from crowd to mob as resentment, anger and claustrophobia created its own personality.

Knox, a head taller than most, could see the crew of a ferryboat trying to hold back the leading edge of the mob, all of whom were determined to board the boat and escape the crush. A crew member swung a fender, banging heads, and a fight broke out. It spread quickly, fed like flames. Stranger turned on stranger.

Only minutes later, the peal of police sirens announced the arrival of a riot squad. The mass surged from the street and away from the police. Lu Hao raked forward and nearly went down. Knox and Grace righted him and allowed themselves to be carried by the flow.

A line of police appeared on the upper plaza. Blue helmets and Plexiglas shields.

A second line of police appeared from around the Hotel Indigo and sealed off the possibility of escape to the south.

“Here we go,” Knox said, mostly to himself.

With elbows locked, Knox leaned into the effort as the crowd shifted away from the police to the south. His team worked against the pressure, aiming for the ticket terminal.

The police strategy proved to be flawed: as the lines squeezed the crowd, the only release of pressure was to the docks and the river, forcing more people to leap for the empty ferries, whipping up the fighting.

Knox wiped rain from his eyes. As they worked toward the ticket terminal, he spotted a tourist sign held by a slender arm: WHITE STAR ADVENTURES.

“There!” he shouted.

The woman was Chinese, petite, overdressed and soaking wet. She shook Knox’s hand and welcomed him to the “tour.” If she were playing a role, it was to a T. She never broke from her smile, never referenced the weather.

“Our boat is tied up other side of third ferry—ferry to the south,” she said. “Terminal is crowded today. Four traveling?”

Knox had referenced three passengers over the phone.

He hollered to be heard. “Three will be traveling!”

“John!” Grace called out sharply.

Knox silenced her with a look. The guide caught it all.

“We together then?” the guide said.

“Yes!”

“Very well. You follow me, if you please,” she said, still hoisting her sign.

Knox gently lowered her arm and the sign. “I think it’s best if we don’t advertise.”

Rain coursing down her cheeks, she nodded and grinned. “Very well. This way, please.”

The south line of riot police stretched shoulder to shoulder from the hotel to the river. The crowd moved away from them, leaving a gap between themselves and the brewing mob. Knox steered their tour guide toward that gap, knowing the police would not rough up Westerners. He and the others slipped down the gap nearly unimpeded.

The scuffle now approached a brawl, leading to increased pressure from the line of police nearest the road. With the river as the only release point, the result was catastrophic. Those positioned at the river’s edge of the docks were pushed off. People reached for boat railings and missed. Ferry crews slapped them off. They fell into the water in droves, some caught and crushed between the concrete wharf and the bouncing ferryboat. Bubbling screams cried out, driving an already terrified mob into a frenzy.

The woman led Knox’s group to the southern edge of the wharf, where it wasn’t much better. She calmly placed them on the lee side of a steel containment railing. Chinese rammed into the dock’s final railing
and tried to clamber over as they were crushed. More people slipped through the boarding gates in the railing and fell into the water, crying out for help.

The huge ferries, buffeted by gusting winds, banged against their bumpers, crushing more of the fallen.

Among those in the front line, Knox spotted two small kids, terrified and helpless against the power of the crowd. He lunged and snagged the first just before the boy went into the river. He passed him to Grace and grabbed the other—a girl, who clung to him in a vise grip. He and Grace held the children, using the railing to shield them from the crowd.

Raising her voice, their tour guide called out, “We cross deck of last ferry to reach boat! Ferry crew know me—we have arrangement—this could make difficult situation.”

Difficult? Knox was thinking. Try impossible.

“We must act quickly and rely upon crew. Do not pause, please. Must go directly to boat!”

The black water now foamed with the efforts of the fallen and drowning. The sickening sounds of people drowning filled the air, mixed with wind and the drumming of torrential rain on boat decks.

Panic infected the crowd. Violence spread down the quay. Scores more were heaved into the water.

“We go together as group!” the guide cried out, the first sound of frailty in her voice.

Knox, the child holding fast to him, glanced over into Grace’s dark eyes, the rain running down her face like tears. She implored him.

“Two of us are staying!” Knox cried out. “We’ll get these children to safety.”

Happiness flowed from Grace. For a moment it was only the two of them on the dock.

“This was not arrangement!” the guide shouted to be heard.

“It’s the new arrangement. Go! Take these two, and go!” Knox cried. “Get them medical attention as soon as possible.”

The guide looked at Knox and Grace, then out into the sea of violence and chaos. Her look said it all.

“Come with me, please!” she shouted, taking Danner by the arm. Danner, in turn, held the unresponsive Lu Hao.

Danner glanced back over his shoulder at Knox. If he spoke, Knox did not hear it.

With great difficulty, the ferry crew held back the throng with billy clubs while admitting the guide, Danner and Lu Hao to the deck. It was a horrific moment as Chinese were beaten back onto the wharf. Grace looked away. The three scrambled across the deck and were gone.

Knox edged along the rail, and Grace followed. He steered them toward the police line and, reaching it, cried out in Shanghainese to be allowed through. To his surprise, two of the policemen parted. He and Grace and the children pushed through, Knox knowing his skin color had saved them.

They placed the children into the care of the hotel staff and then headed for the upstairs room.

Grace was toweling off her hair.

“You’re a fool to have stayed,” Knox said.

“You are welcome,” she said, continuing with the towel.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” he said. “I’ll take first watch. I’ll wake you in three hours.”

Grace said, “A Chinese woman traveling during National Day holiday is no problem. But with a waiguoren? And one wanted by police!”

“Thank you,” he said, turning his back, allowing her to change out of her wet clothing.

30

9:30 P.M.

THE BUND

Just beyond the Dongmen Lu Ferry Terminal, barges plowed through the white-capped Huangpu River despite the storm. Passing between them was a four-car flatbed ferry with only one car on deck. It was tossed like a toy as it crossed from the western banks of the Bund toward the eastern banks of Pudong.

Inspector Shen Deshi had remained behind the wheel of the vehicle, but only briefly. He hadn’t wanted to be separated from the duffel bag, presently hidden beneath the back seat. But the strain of the chains binding the car to the deck as the small ferry was tossed proved too terrifying for him. He’d paid the pilot a small fortune for the ten-minute crossing, but had no desire to show him the Mongolian’s face. He led his hostage out onto the stern amid the downpour. It felt far safer out here.

For twelve years, Inspector Shen had served the Ministry of State Security while carrying a People’s Armed Police ID as cover. Twelve years
of a pathetic salary, of skillfully sidestepping trouble—the protection rackets, the small-time scams and back-room payoffs that complicated a career. Twelve years of watching his fellow agents prosper around him. For the past four years, he’d been one of a very few officers trusted to pursue corruption at all levels. During that time, he had uncovered tens of millions of yuan—some of which had been offered to him as hush money. He’d never taken a fen.

Now, the decision of his career. Of a lifetime. One he made without hesitation. A hundred thousand U.S. dollars. Another hundred and forty thousand yuan the Mongol had carefully stacked into plastic bags and hidden in his wall. All counted, more than twenty years of salary. Finally, an amount that could not be passed up. He would be rich for the rest of his life, provided he came up with an exit strategy that would not arouse suspicion. He thought he knew just the man to approach about this.