Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

He entered a dark hallway, rainwater coursing down the interior wall. The warped floor was littered with trash and broken beams and pieces of brick, all covered in layers of filth. Faded printer’s proofs of posters were held to the wall by rusted thumbtacks. Improvised wiring snaked in tangles up the banister. Knox fingered the tangle. The cleanest of the wires was a phone line-new. The residents of such places weren’t the kind to install phone service. But a gang of kidnappers might pirate the service from a nearby pole in order to have Internet. Knox’s confidence built as he crept silently up the staircase, pausing every few feet to listen. The pounding of the rain covered all sound.

If the money had been delivered, then Danner’s time was up.

At the first-floor hallway, he checked two nearby rooms, their doors missing or open; both were unoccupied and cluttered with construction debris.

The second floor was darker, the result of cardboard blocking a hallway window. The wires separated here and ran like grape tendrils to various rooms. Two, one thick-electricity-the other thin-the phone line-were tied in a pair leading still higher.

Adrenaline charged through his system as he anticipated the action at the end of the wires. The moment he’d come for: Danner. He climbed, following the wires, moving more cautiously now. He was led to a door, third down on the left. A set of wet shoe prints had soaked into the wood floor-a recent arrival.

His eye fixed onto a shiny new brass key lock-an amateur move. Ever so gently, he turned the doorknob and applied the slightest amount of pressure to the door.

Locked.

4:30 P.M.

HONGKOU DISTRICT

Knox heard muted voices in a heated discussion from the other side of the locked door. He leaned his good ear against the wood: muted Shanghainese from at least two, possibly three. Mandarin spoken by at least one. He stared at the footprints saturating the worn wooden floorboards.

As he listened, his fingers involuntarily counted out the number of voices: four. Difficult odds, given that he was armed with only the Mongolian’s switchblade.

He considered using the window at the end of the hall and working from outside the building, increasing his element of surprise. But the building face was sheer, and the old witches at the gate might see him.

He dropped to his knees and peered through the space at the bottom of the door, covering his right eye. Four pairs of feet by table legs; two pairs-scuffed dress shoes so typical of Shanghainese men, standing; one, a pair of Nikes; the sitting man’s feet tapped nervously, his legs dancing-not bound to the chair, Knox noted. The fourth pair of shoes by the table was black and rubber-soled above a cuffed pair of pants. A fifth pair of shoes could be seen to the right, against an exterior wall. What held them closely together, Knox couldn’t see, but they were large, size thirteen or fourteen. Danny! That made five.

Knox sat back against the wall and exhaled. He fought the impulse to kick the door and let adrenaline rule. Think!

But he’d not come here to think. He’d come here for Danny.

He stood and kicked the door alongside the lock, shattering the jamb. The second kick flung the door open.

Three men standing-two to the left of a central table, one at the back. One man sitting, to the right. Danny was blindfolded and duct-taped to a chair to Knox’s right. He looked haggard, but alive.

Knox’s elation at seeing Danner nearly cost him. The man on the far side of the table pulled a knife.

The duffel was open, a stack of bound bills alongside it. One of the three men on the left had his hands in the duffel. Knox took him out first, while hip-checking the table and slamming its edge into the man with the knife. He flopped over.

Knox chopped at this man’s hand, dislodging the knife, while fighting through the next man-a wiry guy who took a punch poorly. But the man possessed sharp, exact movements, and was fast. He landed a blow in Knox’s side-his wound-and Knox’s knees went out from under him.

The one who’d had the knife stood up, now weaponless-it was two-to-one against Knox. Three-to-one, as the man in the chair leaped to his feet.

Knox returned to standing using his back to overturn the table onto the one coming out of the chair. The duffel fell. The cash spilled. He throat-punched the wiry man, causing the man to blanch and grab for his own throat. Knox defended a blow coming from the knife man, countered, and then blocked again.

This man was the most practiced fighter. Knox defended well and managed to make the man take a step back, establishing Knox as the dominant. His opponent kicked for Knox’s right knee and might have broken it had the table not moved, putting a table leg between them. The table leg broke, not Knox’s.

The remaining blows came fast. Knox drove the man back one final step and took him down with a left to the kidney and a right to the heart.

A man jumped onto his back. Knox caught the flash of the fallen knife. He blocked the attempted blow, elbowed the man off of him and turned to finish him.

The man lying on the floor, cowering-the man who’d been sitting in the chair watching the money being counted-was Lu Hao.

4:39 P.M.

HONGKOU DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Knox towered over Lu Hao, his foot raised and ready to break the man’s rib cage, sternum and all. The mix of surprise and anger was toxic. Lu Hao, hostage and kidnapper, all in one.

Lu Hao dropped the knife, threw it to the side like a person waking from a dream. A bad dream at that.

“You?” Knox said. “You piece of shit.”

“I must explain!” Lu Hao said, his voice quavering as he pushed away from Knox.

“Damned right. And you will.”

Knox surveyed the damage he’d done. Took in Danner.

“You okay over there?”

The gagged Danner nodded slightly.

Knox took up the knife. Kept it where Lu Hao could see its tip twisting toward his eyes. Used shoelaces to tie hands behind the backs of the three men who were on the floor. Stuck banded bunches of hundred-dollar bills in their mouths as gags. Instructed Lu Hao onto his stomach and patted the man down.

Found two mobile phones on the man and pocketed them. Worked his way carefully over to Danner and cut him loose, never taking his eyes off Lu Hao. Handed Danner the knife and then took out his own so they were both armed.

Danner tried to stand and fell over.

Knox reached an ice cooler where some chips and cold pizza had to be moved to open it. He handed Danner bottled water and a red Powerade.

“Seriously,” Knox said. “You okay?”

“Go easy on him,” Danner said, meaning Lu. “He’s an asshole, but he treated me good. Wait until you hear his story. The guy’s fucked six ways to Sunday.”

Knox noticed the bloody bandage on Danner’s hand.

“Seven,” he said, not taking his eyes off the man.

“It’s complicated,” Danner said.

“I’ve been getting a lot of that. You sound like a Stockholm Syndrome victim to me, Danny. You’re free now. We’re out of here.”

“The three of us,” Danner said.

“Yeah, I suppose. But only because I owe someone…”

“They fed me. They kept me bound but moved me. It could have been a lot worse. I’m telling you: it’s better than it looks.”

“They cut your finger off. He would have killed you.”

“No…no!” cried Lu Hao. “Never!”

“Shut it!” Knox said, lunging for the man. Lu Hao scooted backward, eyes wide in terror.

Knox felt like those first few moments in a fun house when the lights are dim and mirrors distort your own image. Danny defending Lu; Lu Hao not a hostage; all the money spread around the floor. “Shit,” he said, lit by adrenaline and wanting to destroy Lu Hao. He kicked the overturned table. It skidded across the floor and slammed into one of the downed men, who groaned.