Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she said, as Knox saw the unconscious Lu Hao, his head bloody and sporting a bloodied stack of paper towels from the bathroom.

“Your friend came awake in a rage,” she said.

Knox took it all in: Danner slumped against the wall. Sleeping? Lu Hao on his back with his head propped up. A bloody mike stand lying on the carpet.

“Jesus Christ! An hour ago, he was defending him.”

“Shock? Who knows? He wanted to kill him.”

“Fuck!”

“Lu Hao’s out. He is hurt badly.”

“No, no, no…” Knox muttered, running his free hand through his hair.

“Lu Hao…it was all Lu Hao’s idea. It wasn’t forty-four scratched into the chair, it was LH-Lu Hao. Lu Hao, all along.”

They talked for several minutes, Grace relating her brief discussion with Lu. She had more questions than answers.

“We’re getting him out of here,” Knox said. He patted his coat. “I have the disk-the video. That should buy Dulwich’s freedom. I need to call Kozlowski. If anyone can arrange it…I brought everyone dry clothes. We leave in five for the rendezvous.”

Inside, he, Danner and Grace stripped and donned the fresh clothes and ball caps. They got a ball cap over Lu’s wound to hide it. The man’s eyes were open, but his brain was on hold; he had yet to utter a word. It was imperative he get medical attention as soon as possible.

Danner remained in a stupor, his eyes glazed over. Knox’s attempts to communicate won little but distant stares.

“We’ll travel in pairs. Heads down. I’m going to need help with Lu. You understand?”

Danner nodded.

“You try to fuck him up anymore and you answer to me,” Knox said.

Danner spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I’m sorry, boss.”

Knox placed an understanding hand on the man’s shoulder. “No sweat. Nearly there. Hang in.”

Danner nodded again.

Grace flashed Knox a look of concern. One man barely conscious. Another traumatized. Yet another in a hospital room.

“We’re good,” he said reassuringly. Even he didn’t believe it.

They climbed the stairs to the street, Knox waiting for a decent cell signal. Halfway up, he had it and he focused on the instructions Kozlowski had provided.

Knox dialed.

“White Star Realty?” A Chinese woman speaking good English.

“I’m calling for Frances.”

“Frances is not in.”

“I should have called last night.”

Knox hung up.

A moment later his phone rang, and he answered.

“White Star Realty,” the same voice said.

“I’m looking for a two-bedroom condominium in Shanghai with a river view,” he said. A Shanghai extraction; water travel preferred over rail, air or surface.

“One moment please.”

He waited. The iPhone shifted, the faint sounds of lines being switched, carriers changed.

“I can help you.” A different woman’s voice. “Any restrictions?” she said.

“No higher than the twenty-fourth floor.” No later than midnight.

“How many beds?” How many traveling?

“Three beds.”

“Let me check our listings please.”

“Four. You mean four!” Grace said.

Knox indicated for her to sit down and be quiet. He had given the correct count.

More clicks and pops on the phone line.

The woman’s voice returned to the line. “We have a nice flat with a lovely view that may fit your needs. It’s 1800 Zhongshan South. One of my representatives could meet you to view the property.” There was no 1800 Zhongshan South Road. But 18:00 hours equaled six P.M., which meant it was 600 Zhongshan South. The Dongmen Lu Ferry Terminal was at that address, and the Hotel Indigo next door.

“What floor?” he inquired. What time?

“The twenty-first floor. Eight P.M.” 21:00 hours. He ignored the time, an intentional miscue to mislead any eavesdroppers.

“Thank you.” Knox had no idea how they would make the connection once to the terminal, but that was for later.

“We appreciate your inquiry and the chance to serve you.”

The line went dead. Knox pocketed the phone.

“Three beds?” she repeated.

“First of all, it wasn’t beds, it was people. Three people.”

“Same question.”

“I’m not leaving Sarge behind,” he told her. “We get you three out now. He and I will follow shortly.”

“Mr. Dulwich can handle himself,” she said. “Mr. Primer will not allow anything to happen to him.”

“Just like nothing has happened to us,” Knox said sarcastically. “Sarge is expendable. We all are. We went over this. You’re leaving. You and Danner and Lu. They both need medical attention. Sarge and I will follow. No arguments.”

She looked poised to object, but they’d reached the street and the chaos of the crowds and the downpour of rain.

6:15 P.M.

Knox flagged down two pedicabs-safer than taxis or public transportation.

Grace and Danner climbed onto wet plastic benches beneath a wind-torn canopy. Knox helped Lu Hao into the front cab. The drivers kept the three-wheeled motorized carts to the bike lanes.

Twenty minutes later, they approached the ferry terminal and the hotel just beyond. Thousands of Chinese were queued out into the street awaiting ferries. Darkness had fallen quickly, and the crowd seemed anxious, bordering on turning into an angry mob.

The four entered the Hotel Indigo, wet all over again. Knox informed the desk attendant White Star Realty had sent him. They were shown to two second-floor rooms-never above the fifth floor-across the hall from one another. The decor was Euro-chic, lots of stainless steel and frosted glass.

Knox and Grace inspected Lu’s wound. Grace tried speaking to him in Mandarin, but Lu Hao was hiding somewhere behind the blinking, bloodshot eyes.

“He is bad off,” she said.

“Yeah. Not long until we get him some help,” Knox said.

Grace excused herself to the toilet and returned with her hair combed. Danner was asleep on a bed in seconds. They propped up Lu Hao and put ice on his wound.

Knox ordered room service, including black tea, as it promised to be a long night.

“We must talk,” Grace said. “Across the hall.”

“We can’t leave these two,” he said.

“Five?” she said.

“I have a bargaining chip,” he said, touching his coat. “The tape from the video camera. I should be able to buy Sarge a ticket home, but I’m running out of time here. Can we put a pin in it, and I’ll get back to you?”

She shook her head but did not counter.

“I promise we’ll talk.”

He headed out the door and into the room across the hall.

Knox placed the call to Dulwich’s iPhone. After four rings, Kozlowski answered. “Go ahead,” Kozlowski said.

“It’s me,” Knox said. “These phones are safe,” he reminded.

“You’ve been busy. You have moved yourself right to the top of the city police’s most wanted list.”

“I gave you the place and the people responsible!”

“And I called it in for you. But with no hostages and no ransom money, it looks more like another assault. One of a string attributed to you.”

“I can’t worry about that.”

“Just beware of it. I would lay real low if I were you.”

“I want the person you took that phone off. Tonight. With me. Here.”

“First: I don’t want to know where you are,” Kozlowski said. “Second: it’s not going to happen. They caught one of the drivers. They know it was a conspiracy and they’ve posted a cop outside your friend’s room. He’s not going anywhere.”

“You have to change that,” Knox said.

“Do you happen to remember a conversation we had? One in which I warned you about how far you could take this?”