Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

The lighting changed as if a door had come open. A gray hue spread along the ceiling. Whatever it was, it caused the man in front of her to turn around, for which she was extremely grateful.

Do something, she willed her body. But it was gone. All sensation, gone.

Melschoi recognized the minivan from the abduction at the pearl market. Amateurs. It was parked in a muddy lot on the back side of a storage building that, according to the sign, was leased to Yang Construction. Idiots.

Melschoi climbed atop the van and had a look inside. No guns. Three men without so much as a knife between them, he guessed. They’d stripped the woman naked, which offended Melschoi. He thought back to the rape of his dead brother’s wife. He gained a newfound energy.

He kicked in the door, shouted, “Police!” and headed straight for the one whom he’d seen was in charge. The announcement bought him enough time to cross the space without being attacked. Their expressions changed as Melschoi’s torn face caught the lights. Two of them had just met him an hour earlier.

He grabbed an electric drill off the wall and swung it by its cord like a chain mace.

One of the men made for the door. The drill clubbed him at the base of the neck and he fell.

“Next,” he said in Mandarin, moving inexorably toward a man who hoisted an office chair. Melschoi used the flying drill to break his ribs and then club the side of his head.

The third produced a knife.

Melschoi stepped onto the fallen man’s back, using him like a doormat. He swung the drill in a figure eight in front of him.

“Be certain she is worth it,” he said.

His opponent circled to his right.

“Tell your employer he should leave this to others. It is a cemetery for those who stay.” He motioned an invitation toward the open door.

The man backed out of the warehouse slowly. Moments later, the van started and raced away.

Melschoi tied up the fallen pair with electric cords. He faced her, having noted the spilled pills and Gatorade on the desk.

Mandarin did not come naturally when his adrenaline flowed.

“I can leave you here,” he said. “Maybe they return. Maybe someone else comes along. We both know what they will do with you.” He ran his eyes over her. She stared into space, unblinking. “I know you can hear me. It must be agony, not to be able to move. So, where do I find the foreigner?”

He started the drill swinging again.

“I do not know,” she said.

He trusted her answers, knowing the effects of Rohypnol.

“The hair salon,” he said.

“Computer files.”

“What kind of files?” he asked.

“Spreadsheet.”

“The foreigner has the spreadsheet?” he said.

She stared off into space; he was losing her.

“His name?” He stepped closer, knowing she could hear. He raised his voice. “His name?” The words reverberated in the space.

“John Not.”

“‘John Not’?”

He could see the light go out. He closed her eyelids for her. Touched her carotid artery and felt a weak pulse. He picked up her discarded pants and purse from which a pile of money spilled. He took the purse. Cut her down and carried her like a sack over his shoulder to his bike.

He drove her up the road to a bus stop and sat her down on a bench, covering her lap with her pants and buttoning her shirt. He patted her on the cheek, half-tempted to thank her.

10:15 P.M.

HONGQIAO DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

“This had better be good!” Allan Marquardt declared, glaring at Grace as she stood at his front door.

Elegant Gardens, a gated expatriate compound in the Hongqiao District, was home to several dozen three-story McMansions on small, manicured lawns.

Grace had announced herself at the compound’s main gate, forced to wait to see if Marquardt would admit her. Now, his eyes irreverently inspected her.

“My apologies, Mr. Marquardt,” she said. “It is urgent.”

Reluctantly, he showed her inside. A television played somewhere within. A thin and beautiful middle-aged woman in white linen pants and an aquamarine silk top approached. Marquardt introduced his wife, Lois. He introduced Grace as an employee.

“Tea, please, darling,” Marquardt said.

He led Grace into a sitting room filled with crowded bookshelves and Asian art. The yin-yang love seat he offered was more than two hundred years old. He sat in a leather chair, facing her from across an Indian elephant-saddle coffee table.

Grace said, “May I talk freely?”

“Yes. The house is secure.”

“My associate and I,” she said, avoiding naming Knox, “have located and obtained Lu Hao’s accounting of the incentives.”

Marquardt seemed to float for a moment. “Excellent!”

She opened her hand, revealing a USB thumb drive. Then closed her hand, trapping it inside.

“I will turn it over to you along with the encryption code necessary to read the files, as soon as you explain the reason for your trip to Chongming Island.” This had not been part of Knox’s plan.

Marquardt’s composure flagged. “I beg your pardon?”

“Chongming Island.”

“I…know the place.”

“You went there with Preston Song. I need to know why. It has become critical to our saving the hostages.”

“I remind you that you are, indirectly, my employee. If you’d like me to call Brian, I’d be happy to. Extortion is not your best option.”

“I looked into the reasons for the two hundred thousand dollar payments at our lunch. I was stonewalled. You and Mr. Song visited Chongming Island after the first payment, a payment Mr. Lu never accounted for in the Xuan Tower incentives. Why not? A second such payment preceded Mr. Lu’s kidnapping by a matter of hours, according to your own records. That also needs explaining.”

Lois Marquardt arrived with the tea. She fixed two cups and turned to leave.

“My associate and I have been followed,” Grace said, appealing to the man’s wife, who turned to listen. “My apartment is under video surveillance. I cannot return there. I have been followed repeatedly from work. I can no longer risk going there. Anywhere, for that matter. One of my associates has been hospitalized in serious condition. Presumably, much of this relates to the files on this thumb drive and, I believe, your trip to Chongming Island with Preston Song.”

“Allan?”

Marquardt eyed his wife, clearly wanting her gone.

“I’ve got it, dear. Thank you for the tea.”

“If you need anything,” she said to Grace, “give a holler.” She left.

“I don’t see how our trip could possibly be connected to the kidnapping.”

“Then you admit it.”

“How did you find out?”

“It is not important.”

“It is to me. More important than you can possibly imagine.”

“You need not know the details. Part of my job is to protect you,” she said.

“I can’t tell you a thing about it. You’ve wasted a trip over here, I’m afraid.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Ms. Chu, we are on the same side. What you’re asking is impossible. If I could, I would. But I cannot.” He paused. “The thumb drive, please.”

“We have lost the ransom due to a complication-our associate being hospitalized. Your trip to Chongming Island-whatever took you there is relevant to the kidnapping, I assure you.”

“Not possible. And, yes, Brian updated me on the ransom. It’s a bum deal.”

“First, you will explain Chongming Island,” Grace said levelly. “Then you will raise as much U.S. cash as possible before tomorrow morning at nine A.M. The rest we will raise from other parties interested in the drive’s contents.”

Marquardt coughed. “The content of that drive is my property. You will most certainly not be auctioning it off. I will detain you here, if necessary. You’ve overstepped your bounds, young lady.”