The Risk Agent

21

3:45 P.M.

LUWAN DISTRICT

Amid the sweltering crush of thousands of people hell-bent on cramming their way onto an arriving Metro car, Knox kept his back planted against a cylindrical post, like clutching a fallen tree in a spring flood. Any of these people could be kidnappers. The choice of this particular day and time was brilliant. Millions of people released from work and determined to leave the city as quickly as possible. With the slightest spark, the chaos would turn into pandemonium. He checked his watch for the tenth time.

He had to get back into cell phone range-awaiting a second call from Randy-if he were to have any chance of extraction. Randy had picked up a test video signal and had been data-mining it, hoping to give Knox a location fix. But if Grace were abducted, all was lost. Danner would be executed and Grace along with him. The ransom would be gone. Knox would be found and imprisoned. He wanted to keep an eye on Grace at least through the drop.

Very much aware of the ceiling-mounted security cameras, he kept the bill of his hat low, heeding Kozlowski’s warning of the sophistication of China’s face recognition capability. The last thing he could afford was the police bearing down on him.

He maintained his position, flashes of Grace’s orange shirt jumping from the horde, while keeping an eye on the man who’d entered ahead of Grace. Of average height but sturdily built, the man had stopped at a support post, using it to separate him from the crowd, while taking a look back. Then he’d made a brief call. Too brief. The kind of call reporting one’s position. Right or wrong, Knox tagged him as one of the Mongolian’s men and added him to his list of complications.

Grace moved through the turnstiles, instantly swallowed up by the crowd. Wary of the Mongolian, Knox cut against the flow, following the occasional flash of orange. When a khaki security cap appeared behind him at the same post where Knox had just been standing, Knox took note. They were onto him incredibly quickly.

A wink of orange. Grace headed for a stairwell down to the Line 2 platform. Knox kept the Mongolian between him and Grace.

His cell phone vibrated-he’d been in and out of coverage. He viewed the small screen:

Hongkou

Randy had narrowed the origin of the proof-of-life video signal down to a neighborhood north of Suzhou Creek that included the new cruise-ship port as well as the former Jewish ghetto-an area home to more than a quarter million people.

Knox returned a text:

more specific

Moments later his phone buzzed a second time:

need more time

Knox:

no more time

Then, nothing.

Knox faced the choice of abandoning Grace in favor of the hostages. It would take ten or fifteen minutes to reach the Hongkou District by taxi-more, given the congestion. His feet told him it was a race for Danner’s life; his head, that he couldn’t abandon one partner in favor of another, that he couldn’t leave her with the Mongolian tailing her.

Consumed by the phone, he’d lost sight of her. Searching frantically, he spun around and came eye-to-eye with the security guard standing where Knox had been only a minute before. There was no mistaking the flash of recognition on the guard’s face as he saw Knox.

A wall of human impatience separated them. Again Knox lowered his shoulders to blend in. He joined the flow, overhearing the guard shouting for people to move aside. Knox knew it wouldn’t happen; on a Chinese holiday break it was every man for himself.

Another speck of orange up ahead.

Grace spotted him too, her face wormed with anxiety. Knox pushed people aside and gained on her. He endured elbowing and cursing, but drew close enough as the subway car arrived at the platform. A thick wall of people, the Mongolian among them, separated them.

“Xintiandi is next! Ice cream parlor!” she called out to him in English, caught in the flow of bodies.

Knox shook his head, trying to stop her from saying any more.

The Mongolian spun his head around and spotted Knox, and the two locked eyes.

“On the video…a bedsheet behind them. Broken glass! Broken glass behind the sheet. Both alive!”

Knox shoved ahead to reach the Mongolian, but the crowd was practiced at stopping line jumpers. The collective would not allow him forward progress.

The train pulled in and stopped. A river of passengers disgorged, coming directly at Knox. Grace and her tail were carried onto the train car by the crush. Grace held to the duffel tightly, tugging its strap higher onto her shoulder. The bag briefly jumped into view.

The Nike Swoosh was the correct size, and unsmudged.

Knox stood frozen on the platform, trying to process this change as the doors closed.

The Mongolian looked back at Knox, cocky with his achievement.

Knox had lost sight of Grace. He grabbed his phone but there was no signal.

He looked to his right: the security guard pushed closer to him, a walkie-talkie held to his mouth.

His memory replayed like film: her leaving the boutique carrying a knock-off duffel; beating her through the turnstiles and watching her go through security; following her to the platform…

He rewound the film: the boutique, the knock-off duffel, the platform, a different knock-off duffel.

It hit him: Security.

His mind replayed that part of his visual memory: his attention had been on Grace and her orange shirt. She’d deposited the duffel onto the X-ray machine’s black rubber conveyor belt.

She’d picked up the duffel on the other side amid a dozen people grabbing and fighting for their handbags.

A different duffel had come out the other side.

The switch had been made inside the X-ray machine-the original duffel trapped, a second duffel released and allowed to pass through the machine.

Knox turned and fought the tide of bodies, heading straight for the guard, who wore his surprise openly on his face. Knox grabbed him, kneed him and slammed him into a concrete pillar. He stole the man’s walkie-talkie and released him, leaving him to slump to the platform.

He lowered his head like a running back and parted the sea. Once that money was delivered, Danny was a dead man.

3:48 P.M.

Melschoi’s phone intercom beeped.

“The woman boarded a train, Line Two,” Rabbit said. “I am in the next car back.”

“Excellent. And the eBpon?”

“Unable to board. I left him on the platform.”

“Line Two,” Melschoi confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Watch for him,” Melschoi warned in an ominous tone.

“I left him behind, I’m telling you!”

“Watch for him, Rabbit. I’m telling you: chances are, you did not.”