Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“The plan is still actionable,” Dulwich said. “He’s out there watching. We hit him. Now.”

“He doesn’t know shit,” Knox said. “That’s why he’s following me.”

“He knows something we don’t. Beijing. That makes him an information asset.”

“Just lead him away. Get him off me. You’ve got his location on your phone. We can take him anytime we want him.”

“There is no ‘we.’ I have a train to catch. It’s now or never.”

“Then never,” Knox said. Adding, “Not now. This frame is more important.”

“Your call. Stay tough,” he said. He turned and headed for the escalator.

Knox worked his way across the third floor to a stall selling rice cookers, blenders and hot plates. At the back of the stall was one of very few windows on this floor-a fixed-pane window six inches wide and three feet high. Knox put his face to it.

Through the blurry smudge, Knox spotted the Mongolian across the intersection on the motorcycle, oblivious to the rain; they both watched Dulwich-now wearing Knox’s jacket and hat-dodge his way through umbrellas to the curb where a taxi was waiting. Dulwich opened the back door and climbed in. The taxi pulled out into slowly moving traffic.

Knox celebrated their success: the short distance to the taxi had made the substitution work perfectly. The Mongolian rose to kick-start his bike but held up on the curb watching as the taxi moved off.

Why was he not following? The idea had been to lure the Mongolian away, following Dulwich the impostor. So why give the taxi such a lead? Taxis all looked the same-they were difficult to follow.

Knox peered down the street. Was there a second Mongolian in place? Had they screwed this up?

Panic flashed through him. A heavy rain in Shanghai. Snagging a taxi in this weather could take fifteen minutes and yet…

The taxi had been waiting at the curb. Improbable on a sunny day. Impossible on a day like this.

Knox rapped his knuckles on the window as if he could stop the taxi, already moving. He fumbled with the iPhone; dropped it; stooped to recover it. Dialed as he stood.

His face back to the window, he saw the roofs of vehicles as traffic moved around Dulwich’s taxi-another anomaly. Dulwich’s taxi was clearly positioning itself toward the right lane.

“Yeah?” Dulwich said, his voice slightly altered by the ever-shifting signal embedded in the phone’s security.

“Abort!” Knox said. “We were set up! That taxi was waiting for me!”

Knox heard Dulwich say, “Hey, pal, pull over,” in English. “Ting!” he hollered. Stop.

Knox heard the breaking glass and twisting metal a millisecond before the same sounds found their way through the wireless phone network.

The taxi was T-boned by an old-model gray Toyota, pushed clear through the intersection and slammed into a tree.

The drivers of both vehicles hurried out and staggered toward the curb.

Now the Mongolian headed up the sidewalk on his motorcycle. He hopped off and reached through shattered glass as if trying to help. Knox knew better.

A massive throng of onlookers immediately surrounded the wreck. Everyone loved a good collision.

Knox made it to the ground floor before his brain fully kicked in. Protocol dictated he walk calmly in the opposite direction of the wreck.

Instead, he ran to the wreck and challenged the crowd, pushing and shoving and shouting curses in Mandarin. The Mongolian was back on the bike. He throttled up and swung left around the corner-out of sight.

The crowd owned Knox. He moved toward the wreck where a smear of blood stained the frame. The whoop-whoop of a siren cried out: an ambulance from nearby Huashan Hospital or the police. Either way, Knox couldn’t stick around. He’d be questioned. Involved.

He pushed forward and tugged open the bent back door. Dulwich was unconscious, his face bloodied. Knox hooked him beneath his arms and pulled him out. As he did, his hand found the hard drive. He was searching for the iPhone when an old, nearly toothless woman slapped his hand and shouted, “Thief!”

Knox called her an old cow, but hurried off down the street before the crowd decided to make an example of him.

3:20 P.M.

JING AN DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Knox called Rutherford Risk in Hong Kong and then waited ten minutes for the company’s head, Brian Primer, to return the call to the iPhone. As they talked, he walked up Changle Road toward Huashan Hospital.

“Go ahead,” Primer said, with no introductions.

“Sarge-David Dulwich-is down. Traffic accident. Looked serious to critical.”

“You escaped unharmed?”

“Wasn’t in the cab. What’s the call? I can have him out of there within…two hours, at the outside. Request a safe house with medical, or an evac team.”

“I appreciate your…loyalty. His identification is good. It should hold. No need to put the operation at risk. Not yet.”

“But the ransom money,” Knox said.

“Yes, I’m aware of the situation, believe me.”

“You want me in Guangzhou?” Knox asked.

A long pause on the other end of the call as Primer weighed his options. Perhaps Knox had surprised him with his knowledge of the operation.

“I need a few minutes. An hour. Do you have the hospital?”

“Approaching it now.”

“Survey for arrival of interrogation team, or anything suggesting compromise.”

“Can do. I won’t let him be taken,” Knox stated.

“Settle down,” Primer said. “We’ve managed a lot worse than this.”

“It was intended for me. The crash.”

“Knowledge or speculation?”

“I spotted an adversary in the area. Both drivers fled the scene.”

“Good to know. Then I’d keep my head down if I was you.”

“I want him out of there.” He paused. “I need the ransom money.”

“I said: settle down. This is what we do. Let us do it. You handle your end. The accounts?”

“A work in progress.”

“And is there progress?”

It struck Knox that this was Primer’s focus. “Guangzhou?” Knox said. He wondered if Primer would authorize a quarter million dollars in cash to be picked up by a relative stranger.

“That drop required Dulwich. We’ll figure something out. Not to worry.”

“Worry? We’ve got two days! Less, now. I can get him on a plane. A boat.”

“You handle the accounts. The exchange.”

“There won’t be an exchange without that money!”

“Then extraction. We’ve got Dulwich covered.”

Sure you do, Knox thought, wondering how expendable Dulwich was to a man like Brian Primer.

“Keep this phone close.” The line went dead.

Knox had reached the street corner. Looking left, he saw the blockish white buildings of Huashan Hospital. In the first few hours of care it would be difficult to get to Dulwich. But after that…

He kept vigil, waiting for the arrival of police that never came. An hour passed. Primer was right: Dulwich’s “accident” was being treated as just another civilian casualty.

For how long remained the question.

6:20 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

“The wheels are coming off this thing,” he told Grace, having returned to the safe house apartment. “We have to get Sarge out of there. Priority one.”

“The company will take care of Mr. Dulwich.”

“The company will pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“Not Mr. Primer.”

“Believe it,” Knox said. “In truth, Sarge probably doesn’t exist. He’s probably an independent contractor, like you. Like me, now. Nowhere on their payroll despite his working there. It’s an insidious arrangement set up exactly for moments like this.”

“Like Lu Hao,” she said solemnly.

“Yes. Like that,” he agreed. “It all depends how good his documentation is. There are ways.”