Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

She was brought out of it by the sound of a phone ringing nearby. It took her another two rings to realize it came from the duffel bag. She reached down into a side pocket and came out with a mobile phone-not her phone. In the jostling of the crowded sidewalk, someone had planted the phone on her.

She answered. “Dui?”

“Go to Robert De Niro clothing store, three doors down. Enter changing room number one. Pull the curtain and wait for instructions.”

The call disconnected.

She moved forward robotically. Knox was somewhere out there, watching her. With little choice but to follow orders, she made her way to the boutique and entered changing room 1, pulling the curtain closed. She expected the drop would take place here, before she ever reached the People’s Square Metro station. A ruse.

The new phone rang again. “We are watching you.” She glanced overhead and saw the crude hole carved in the ceiling tile-big enough for a small camera. “Strip. Everything off, now. Naked. Dress in the clothes you will find there.”

She set down the phone and hurried out of her clothes, offering her back to the overhead camera. She heard the voice in the phone and picked up.

“Keep the phone to your ear until I tell you. Now, turn around. I must see you fully naked. Kuai! Kuai!” Fast! Fast!

She showed herself, spreading her arms and turning, feeling violated. Then she quickly donned the loose-fitting clothes that had been left for her.

The male voice directed her to transfer the ransom money into a Nike duffel left under the bench.

They wanted to see the money move between the two bags while also removing any chance the original duffel contained a tracking device. Their final check before the drop. A stationary drop-leaving the money here in the shop-would be considered too great a risk. They wanted her moving. They wanted the confusion and chaos of the Metro station-the multiple exits and trains.

As she dressed-no underwear, no bra-she found a travel card in the pocket of the workout pants. They had her in an orange tank top. She juggled to get into it while keeping the phone in place. The bright color would make her easy to track in the suffocating crowds she was certain to encounter in the Metro. A pair of ill-fitting rubber sandals would make it difficult for her to run.

“Keep the phone close. Now you go to the Metro.”

She left the boutique, weakened somewhat by the embarrassment of disrobing, but regained her strength quickly. She was more determined than ever to defeat these people and yet fully aware she would need Knox for that.

3:15 P.M.

Melschoi’s man, whose Mongolian nickname was Rabbit for the six children he’d sired, spotted the electronics store on Nanjing Road and immediately recognized its significance.

“An electronics store,” he told Melschoi over their phones.

“What of it?”

“What better place to send proof of the hostages’ condition? There are dozens of computer and television screens in the window. You see?”

Melschoi didn’t enjoy being beaten to the punch. “Yes. It does seem a strong candidate. Okay. You stay with that.”

“And if I see her?”

“Follow her. What else, you fool? But whatever you do, watch out for the eBpon. He’s nothing but trouble.”

3:20 P.M.

From the window of a second-floor Cantonese restaurant, Knox watched Grace through a pair of ten-dollar binoculars as she emerged from the Robert De Niro boutique. She raised her arm and scratched her head-their signal that she still had the money, a surprise given the switch of duffel bags. She now carried a black duffel, a knock-off, given that the Nike Swoosh was absurdly oversized and its tail smudged, making it look like a plucked eyebrow. He hurried downstairs and battled the tsunami of human flesh cramming the sidewalks in order to stay ahead of her, putting himself between her and the Metro station entrance. Knox wore blue jeans, wrap-around sunglasses and running shoes-looking like any other waiguoren.

They were a few minutes into the play and he and Grace had already been outsmarted-an end-around that had her in new clothes and carrying a new duffel. Her iPhone would be turned off. Her private phone didn’t answer. If he lost sight of her, he lost her; and yet his back was to her.

Aware that the kidnappers, the Mongolians and possibly the Chinese police might have her under surveillance, Knox maintained his lead, a fifty-yard bumper, and entered the station first.

He traveled through a crowded corridor, loud and smelling of human sweat. He held his phone in his right hand, watching its reception bars reduce the deeper he penetrated. He needed the message from Randy-needed to know if the kid had managed to trap and trace any data flow involving the electronics shop at the time of Grace’s standing at its window.

Knox had no intention of disrupting the drop, but he intended to protect Grace through the process or for as long as possible, and to make any observations he could.

He queued up in the rapidly moving security line. All purses, totes and bags were placed onto an X-ray conveyor. The process involved nearly everyone, given it was the start of the National holiday, and the security was lax. The magnetometer sounded its warning beep with each person, yet no one was stopped. The X-ray conveyor ran constantly-its operator giving only a passing attempt to pretend he was studying the monitor.

Knox funneled into a single file with the others and, with nothing to X-ray, slipped through the magnetometer, causing it to sound. He carried three phones and a Mongolian switchblade in Dulwich’s gray jacket. If they patted him down it was going to get ugly. No one blinked.

He continued toward the turnstiles, waited in line and swiped his travel card. He was in. He checked his phone which now read in Chinese: NO SERVICE. No Randy. He couldn’t stay down in the bowels of Shanghai for long.

He waited and watched the security check.

Finally, an orange tank top appeared.

Grace arrived at the longer security line, awaiting the conveyor, a hundred thousand dollars strapped over her shoulder.

3:40 P.M.

Rabbit followed the woman to the Metro station entrance, allowing her to descend the stairs a good distance before following. He would try to time it so that he passed through the turnstiles ahead of her. People rarely looked in front of them for tails-they were always craning their heads to look back.

3:43 P.M.

LUWAN DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The KFC franchise on Huaihai Middle Road was well over its legal seating limit by the time Steve Kozlowski pushed his way inside.

Inspector Shen stood at a counter along the wall, eschewing the window area. He had shoulders as wide as a vending machine.

Kozlowski abandoned the idea of waiting in any of the lines, all thirty people long, simply for the sake of appearances. He cut through the crowd, making directly for the man. He was not easily intimidated. He’d spent his career in remote outposts of the world managing others and learning to put the fear of God into them. But the presence of Inspector Shen raised his hackles. The People’s Armed Police was a department unto itself, reporting to no one. Its officers wielded too much power, often worked unsupervised and were known to hide their deeds. The closer he got to the man, the more he felt his intensity.

They acknowledged each other with a nod. The din in the place covered their low voices.

Kozlowski said, “The video camera’s been found.”

Shen looked him in the eye. Kozlowski saw nothing in there, like squinting into an empty steel pipe.

“I have an address, but am not free to turn it over for at least a few more hours. I wanted to give you time to pull your men together.”