Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“If we are to be effective, we need to know who these people are, and the purpose of the payment.” She paused, waiting.

Song was too practiced to allow anything to show on his face.

She said, “The first of two payments occurred on or before the tenth of last month,” having gleaned the date from the voice memo on Danner’s GPS.

Song’s eyes were fixed as she imagined him working out what to say.

“My dear girl,” Song said, “as we approach the conclusion of a project the size and scope of the Xuan Tower, it is only natural that unforeseen expenses arise.”

“Additional incentives must be paid. Understandable,” she said, knowing then that Song oversaw the payment of incentives for The Berthold Group, and acted as a buffer, protecting Marquardt.

“The point is,” she continued, “these men have taken an active interest in our efforts to find Mr. Lu. Knowing their exact role is crucial. If I may be direct: we need to know if they are friends or enemies. To date, they are behaving much like enemies.”

A knock on the door interrupted her. Song wore an irritable expression as a wave of servers delivered dim sum. Tea was poured. As quickly as the servers arrived, they were gone. The food moved around on a lazy Susan, propelled by Marquardt’s hand. Plates were filled.

“What was the purpose of these payments?” she asked.

Marquardt rested his chopsticks on the small porcelain lift alongside his fork, his appetite apparently gone.

“Your line of questioning is growing impertinent,” Song said.

“This information is central to our task and to our safety,” Grace said. “Extortion? Blackmail? Might it have to do with the documentary being shot? The missing cameraman?”

Marquardt looked up quickly, his eyes piercing. Song never skipped a beat, eating the dim sum before it went cold.

“The first I heard of the matter was a few days ago,” said Marquardt. “I promise you, we have nothing to do with this.”

“And these most recent payments?”

“As Preston has said: end of project stuff. The usual unforeseen complications.” He paused deliberately for a breath. “We have every hope and intention of getting Mr. Lu back safely. With your help, that is. Certain financial matters need to remain confidential. There are millions of dollars at play, as you can well imagine. If these matters had anything to do with Mr. Lu-anything at all-we would not hesitate for a moment to share them with you. Do you understand? We’re not fools. We want the same thing as you do.”

It occurred to her that Lu Hao might have discovered the film crew. He could not resist anything to do with film. His passion was the reason he-and everyone else-was in this mess. He had put his family on the brink of financial ruin because of his passion.

Song said, “This most recent increase to our subcontractor’s invoice was approved and paid out. Nothing more. The reason we hire such subcontractors is so that someone else handles these complications.”

She knew very well why they hired such subcontractors: so their criminal acts of bribery fell onto others. She bit her tongue.

“Very well. Thank you,” she said.

Marquardt said, “Listen, I’m not going to lie to you: Lu Hao’s accounts of the incentives going public could pose difficulties for us. We want and need to recover those records. But let there be no question about it: first and foremost we want to get Mr. Lu and Mr. Danner back safely, as I’ve said. To that end, we are at your disposal.”

“I would appreciate the end-of-year accounts.”

“I do not see how that will help,” Song said, his mouth full of chewed food, his plate held to his lips.

“I asked for this before,” she said to Marquardt.

“Indeed. I would have expected you to have that by now. Preston, I asked Gail to take care of this. What’s the holdup? You’ll look into this for me, yes?”

“Of course.”

Marquardt sounded legitimately put off. Song worked eagerly on the glass of beer. The man shouldn’t have tried for the shao mai. The tips of his chopsticks shook considerably as he pinched the piece of wonton-wrapped pork and slid it between his wet lips. It was the first sign of cracks in his demeanor.

Grace reveled in the moment. Preston Song had no intention of her seeing the EOY accounts-which made her all the more eager to do so. Marquardt, on the other hand, felt like an ally.

12:50 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Knox awoke with a start and answered the ringing iPhone.

“Yeah?” he said, looking around for Grace. She’d slept on the couch, where a blanket was now folded. No sign of her. It had to be around noon.

“It’s me.” Dulwich.

“Surprise,” Knox said.

“There’s a wet market on the north side of Julu, east of Xiangyang Road. Bring the hard drive. Ten minutes.”

“More like fifty,” Knox said. “I’m nowhere near there. Had to move.”

“We’ll talk. Bring the hard drive.”

“We?” Knox said. But the call was dead.

A light rain discouraged use of the scooter and made finding a taxi difficult. Knox was late before he started. An hour after the call, he walked past the wet market on Julu and stole a glance inside. No Caucasians. He wore the ScotteVest, the stain scrubbed clean from around the small slit in its left side. He kept his right hand on a knife in the pocket.

Entering the market, he circulated down aisles of bubbling plastic tubs containing live eel, catfish, perch, jellyfish, minnows, myriad crustaceans; displays of rabbit, pigeon, chickens and carcasses he could not identify.

The market jogged to the right into another, smaller room unseen from the entrance. It appeared empty until Knox spotted a man looming behind a tank thick with a moving coil of fish. The fish spooked and parted. The man’s face appeared.

Dulwich.

He stepped around into the open.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Knox confessed. “I thought the reason I’m here is because you couldn’t be?” He felt the sting of dread-had Dulwich set him up all along?

“Don’t worry,” Dulwich said. “Technically, it’s not me.” He patted his chest pocket. He was on an alias passport, but still at great risk.

Knox did worry. If Dulwich had been able to enter China, then why recruit him for the job in the first place? As a fall guy, obviously. Someone expendable. So why would Dulwich enter now, when it seemed the risk was heightened over even a few days earlier?

Dulwich took Knox by the arm and led him into a room farther from the street. Gurgling Styrofoam tubs held soft-shelled turtles, frogs and sea urchins. Knox winced with the tug and Dulwich shot him a suspicious look.

“Pulled a muscle,” Knox said.

Dulwich extended his open hand. “The hard drive.”

Knox hesitated. “Seriously: what are you doing here?”

“The drop is still set for the day after tomorrow. We’ve requested a final proof of life just before the drop. You and the girl will make the drop.”

“That’s fine, but it doesn’t explain your being here,” Knox said.

“Since when do I answer to you?” Dulwich said gruffly.

“Since now.”

“I’m here to help you,” Dulwich said.

“You’re here for the hard drive. But last time I checked, you needed me because you couldn’t enter safely.”

“Who said I’m here safely?” Dulwich said. “‘Desperate times, desperate measures,’ and all that shit. I’m here because of Danny. Because of you.”

Knox wasn’t buying it. “Tell me you’ve got my back.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“The Berthold Group doesn’t want a second copy of Lu Hao’s books out there. That’s why the hard drive interests you. Yes?” Knox considered his own comment. “Are you so convinced the hostages will be killed because Danner’s an American, or because The Berthold Group is more interested in getting Lu Hao’s books back than the hostages?”