The Risk Agent (16 page)

He needed to listen to the last voice memo several times to decipher Danner’s verbal shorthand.

“Late addition to route. Heavy duffel left behind. Choke point. Civi guard took off, leaving two Huns as gatekeepers.”

Huns…Mongolians? On Lu Hao’s payout route? Added late in the game?

Knox mulled it over as he rode the elevator to the mezzanine and used his card key to enter the empty business office. Connected the hard drive by USB cable and studied the drive’s directory. He tried search strings for “Lu,” “bribes,” “payoffs,” “incentives,” “Berthold.” Nothing. The most recent Word files were letters written to his wife, Peggy. Reading the letters stirred guilt and anger in Knox. He owed Peggy a call. Something reassuring but vague. He found the most recently opened Excel files, also of little use: expense accounts. Nothing that pointed at Lu. Maybe Grace could find some files of significance, but at first blush, Knox doubted Lu Hao’s books were anywhere on Danner’s drive.

He disconnected the drive, hit the street and bought a second external drive and had the teenage clerk copy it. It took forty-five minutes; he tipped the kid a week’s salary. He returned to his room and placed a call.

“Go,” Dulwich said.

“Are you behind the package I found on my hotel bed?”

“Negative. What kind of package?”

Knox explained the package. Dulwich knew nothing of any hard drive, but clearly wanted to get his hands on it.

“I can’t see Kozlowski helping me out,” Knox said. “Too big a risk for him to take.”

“Consider that he wants Danner back as much as, maybe more than, any of us. FYI: I was about to call you. DNA is a match. Good work. But listen, an American gone missing? This is on Kozlowski’s watch, don’t forget. If you get Danner back before the ransom’s paid, the kidnapping will never be officially recorded. No black marks on anyone’s service record. The government escapes a tricky one. The Party, and Kozlowski and the consulate, too.”

“But I have no doubt—zero—that he’s connected me to you and Rutherford. So why not just overnight it to you directly?”

“There would be records of that. You, on the other hand, just discovered something on your bed. He probably paid off a chambermaid or doorman. No legs. Now you’re the one in position to do something with whatever’s contained on there. He knows that. And if he found something on there, it makes all the more sense because his hands are tied. You become the sacrificial lamb. You say he’s made the connection to us. He knows who we are, knows we’re major players. Knows we specialize in kidnapping resolution and extraction. If you’re him, who would you want on your side?”

“I suppose,” Knox said.

“And consider this: that laptop was encrypted. Count on it. So your consulate buddy broke the encryption. That means he’s got whatever you’ve got. He might have even removed a few files before giving you a copy. But who knows? Maybe it’s a matter of making sense of it. Maybe there’s something on there but he needs a second set of eyes.”

“I can pass it on to Grace,” Knox said. “But with two days to go, I’m not putting my nose into a computer screen.”

“Understood.”

“Is the date still firm?” Knox said.

“Yes.”

“And?” Knox could hear it in the man’s voice.

The line remained open, but Dulwich wasn’t speaking.

“Sarge?”

“A finger.”

The open line sparked with static.

“Whose?” Knox said, knowing already.

“Look on the bright side,” Dulwich said. “We know Danny was alive as recently as yesterday. And within city limits.”

The finger had retained warmth—the only explanation. Knox swallowed dryly. “Which finger?”

Silence.

“Which finger?” Knox repeated.

“Middle finger, right hand.”

“Oh…shit.” The kidnappers had seized the opportunity to send a message within the message. Knox’s stomach turned. No DNA swab this time. He tried for air. “I’ll kill these guys,” he said.

“You and me both.”

“Peggy?”

“No need to bother her with details.”

“She has a right to know he’s still alive. That is not a detail.”

“This is what we do, buddy boy. We’re on it.”

“Any renegotiation?” Knox asked. Ransom sums were always reduced the closer to the drop.

“Marquardt handled it very well. It’s down to a quarter million USD.”

“Two-fifty K? For two hostages including one American? Are you shitting me?”

“We’ve adjusted our game plan to consider them amateurs,” Dulwich said. “Berthold was prepared to go as high as ten million.”

Knox filled him in on the Sherpa delivery man knowing a valid address and how this supported the amateurs theory.

“Game changer,” Dulwich said. “If not a Triad, then maybe a co-worker or a competitor. But our modeling continues to suggest one of the bribe recipients. We need those people identified. You need to bring me Lu Hao’s accounts.”

The Mongolians did not strike Knox as amateurs. Yang Cheng’s men perhaps.

“FYI: We followed up on Inspector Shen’s inquiries with Marquardt about the American documentary film crew.”

Knox said nothing, his mind back on the Sherpa and Danny’s severed finger.

“We’ve confirmed one of the film crew is missing,” Dulwich continued. “We got it from the head of housekeeping at the Tomorrow Square Marriott. He’s a cameraman. Neither he nor his camera has been in his hotel room for over ten days.”

“And this pertains to us how?”

“Listen, they’re filming The Berthold Group. Right? The tower construction? Now the Chinese are all over it. So that means we’re interested. It’s a missing person. We’ve got a couple of those ourselves.”

“Also kidnapped?”

“Who knows?”

“They sent a hand instead of a finger?”

“No one sent anything. That hand was fished out of the Yangtze.”

“Dead?”

“How would we know? Hotel security can track key-card usage. Only housekeeping has been in and out of that missing guy’s—this cameraman’s room—over the past ten days. Sounds like he’s toast.”

“Again: why do I care?”

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard. A man’s missing.” Said one of the coldest-hearted bastards Knox knew. “Inspector Shen pays Marquardt a visit a couple days after a kidnapping of a Berthold employee and is clearly investigating a different missing persons case. He’s letting Marquardt know they can share the wealth—that one investigation may inform the other.”

“Or he’s threatening him not to investigate anything himself. Which means me.”

“That would be you,” Dulwich agreed. “Another reason it’s worth discussing, don’t you think?”

“Would the People’s Armed Police, a guy like the inspector, ever employ Mongolians as muscle?” Knox asked.

“I’ll tell you something: the Ministry of State Security would employ goddamn Attila the Hun if it suited their purpose. Why?”

“I’ve dropped a pair of guys,” Knox said. “Both apparent Mongolians but holding legit National Residence Cards. They’re all over this like flies. They were in the incentive loop.”

“I’m interested because…?”

“I recovered Danny’s GPS. He left himself voice notes at each of Lu Hao’s drop points.”

Dulwich whistled.

“The latest addition to Lu Hao’s payments could be these Mongolians.”

He heard Dulwich’s labored breathing. That comment had gotten his adrenaline pumping. “I can have Primer ask Marquardt about any Mongolians, any blackmail or extortion that predated the kidnapping, but I’ve got to think he would have volunteered that. We’re working for him, after all.”

Knox said, “The Mongolians beat the shit out of the delivery guy who left the ransom.”

“You do work quickly.”

“Their whole focus appears to be finding Lu. I don’t see them behind this. More like ‘way behind,’ like we are.”

“If they’re proxies for the Chinese, you’re fucked. Those boys will take you behind the shed and put one between your eyes.”

“Thanks for that.”

“I need you to make a second copy of Danny’s hard drive,” Dulwich said. “I need my tech guys here to get a look at that.”

“Maybe the GPS and Danny’s voice notes get us around needing Lu Hao’s records.”

“You have names? Amounts?”

Knox didn’t answer.

Dulwich said, “Stay focused, Knox. Those books remain the brass ring.”

“I thought getting them out alive was the brass ring.”

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m not liking what you’re saying.” The Berthold Group being more concerned with creating a cover-up than winning extraction made corporate sense. “Am I supposed to read between the lines, Sarge?”

“There are no lines. The priority is human life,” Dulwich confirmed. “That hasn’t changed.”

“If it does, I’m out. I’m solo.”

“No argument from me.”

“I wouldn’t suggest overnighting the hard drive.”

“No.”

“Or sending it electronically.”

“No. We’ll put a courier in place.”

“I thought you couldn’t put people in place over here.”

No immediate response. Then, “We need that drive today,” Dulwich said. “We need to move the ransom’s USD in-country. Marquardt doesn’t have access to that kind of U.S. cash. You take care of your shit, I’ll handle mine.”

“If I’m giving this drive to someone, make it someone I know by sight. Send me a picture or something.”

“Don’t go all Pierce Brosnan on me.”

“Daniel Craig. You gotta keep up.”

“Fuck you.” The line went dead.

Knox rode the scooter out onto Changle Lu and took as many precautions against tails as possible.

Twenty minutes later, he’d made the five-minute ride.

As he eased the guesthouse’s back door closed, he heard the steady murmur of voices, the fill of background music and the clinking of glasses and tableware. He decided to bring a beer to his room. He would dress, and drive the GPS’s bookmarked route as an intelligence gathering before doing so with Grace in a few hours.

He passed into the tiny dining and bar area. An off-the-shoulder raw silk blouse caught his attention. Amy Xue nursed a kir, her back to him. He approached and paused behind her.

“Join me,” she said, patting the stool beside her. They met eyes in the bar mirror.

Knox slid onto the stool and ordered a beer.

“You have words with accountant?” she said in Mandarin.

“A slight misunderstanding,” he said, also in Mandarin. So the ruse had fooled even Amy, he thought.

She switched to English. “I worry for you, John Knox. You snooping around.”

“Who said I’m snooping?”

“You have money problems, you should say something.”

“No money problems.”

“If you need extension of credit, why did you not ask your friend?”

“Am I missing something?” he said. “Why would I need an extension of credit?”

“I ask myself same thing.”

The Chinese could never face a request or a favor head-on. It always went around the block before arriving at the destination, or a middleman was used to save face for both sides.

“This has to do with my payment?”

“Yes, of course. I do not charge my friend interest,” she said, “no matter that it is within my rights.”

Interest? “Why would I owe you interest?” Knox asked, taking the more American route.

“You have spoken to your brother?” she asked.

What did Tommy have to do with this? Do not involve Tommy! “About?”

“John,” she said, “last payment not received. I do not charge interest for valued customer.”

It took Knox a moment. “Our last payment?”

“If you need more time, this can be negotiated.”

“That was months ago.”

“Two months, sixteen days,” she said.

“You didn’t get the wire? You should have said something.”

“I am saying something. Did not receive wire transfer of funds. Did not receive any funds.”

“You should have said something sooner. We issued payment, Amy. A wire transfer to your bank in Hong Kong, same as always. My brother…” Evelyn, their bookkeeper, never made such mistakes. Tommy, maybe. It wasn’t impossible, given his condition, but it wasn’t likely. “I’ll look into it immediately.”

“You are a good customer, John Knox. Favored customer.” Amy considered every customer her best customer, but there was something more that she wasn’t bringing up. Still, it hung between them. “You miss a payment, not a problem. But when you did not mention it tonight…well, this is not like you. Not like a most valued customer.”

“We paid,” he said.

“And the wire cleared?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to my brother and my bookkeeper. Please forgive this failure, Amy. This dishonors me greatly.” Contrition was an important part of business relationships with the Chinese.

“You can make it up to me,” she said, coyly. “Show me interest, not pay it.”

“No shortage of interest.”

Knox wrote GRAND CATHAY in block letters on the bar napkin—the name of his room. He pinched it beneath the base of her Champagne glass. Amy kissed him and slipped off the bar, taking precautions in a city where the rumor mill spun faster than a turbine.

Having left the guesthouse by the front door, she circled around to the back door and joined him in the guestroom. Joined him without a word spoken between them. Joined him in a sweaty, athletic indulgence that ended with her straddling him, their eyes locked, their shared rhythm near perfect, their needs fulfilled.

“Sometimes I wish I still smoked,” she said, lying on her back.

“Oh, you smoke,” Knox said. And she hit him.

Knox rose up onto an elbow to enjoy the look of her. He could see her heart beating quickly at the V of her ribcage.

“If a body could be put into words,” he said, “yours would be poetry.”

Her smile widened. “Silver tongue, cold heart.”

He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “Does it feel cold to you?”

She shook her head, still smiling, and staring at the ceiling fan. “It is an expression is all.” She hesitated. “I am worried for you.”

He turned on the television and cranked the volume. He trusted Fay not to bug his room, but believed in taking precautions. “No worries,” he said softly.

The iPhone rang. He scrambled to get to it and then considered not answering it. But he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah?”