He moved down the narrow lane quickly now, feeling eyes boring into his back.
Knox broke off the tip of the switchblade, jimmying the Mongolian’s lock and getting the door open, but was inside without too much telltale damage to the jamb. He relocked it behind himself, and made quick work of opening the wall panel that hid the video camera and Chinese currency he’d seen here before. He removed the disk from the video camera-evidence that might come in handy-and pocketed four 10,000-yuan packs of currency, enough cash to buy favor. The space was too small to accept the full duffel, leaving Knox no choice but to take the time to unpack the dollars and stack them into the available space in an orderly fashion. When completed, it looked as if the wall was insulated with hundred-dollar bills. He folded and stuffed the empty duffel into the remaining space inside. Neat and tidy.
He was tightening the panel’s last screw when he heard the splash of footfalls in the alley. They came to a stop by the door to the room.
Knox grabbed a pair of socks and rubbed out his wet tracks that led to the wall panel. No matter what, the Mongolian must not discover the cash ahead of the police. The lock rattled. Knox slid open a dresser drawer and messed up the contents to give the impression he’d been rummaging.
The door swung open. Rain blew in from behind the Mongolian. The man withdrew a blade.
Knox wrapped his left hand in a T-shirt from the drawer.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Knox asked in Mandarin.
“I think you wish to negotiate. But you have nothing I want. Except your life, of course. I want to end that. Badly,” the Mongolian answered.
“I have Lu Hao and his accounts,” Knox said, dropping it like a bombshell.
“I think otherwise.”
“I can make a call.”
“Why buy what I can take?” the man said.
“Because you don’t know where he is,” Knox answered.
“Oh, but I will in a matter of minutes. That, or you will be dead. Either way it is satisfactory to me. You have been a pain in the ass, eBpon. I will be glad to be rid of you, if that is your choice.”
“You will kill him,” Knox said.
The Mongolian laughed a legitimate laugh. He shrugged.
“But not until you have his accounts.”
“You are less stupid than you look, Round Eyes.”
Knox did not speak as the Mongolian shut and locked the door behind himself, his manner relaxed, his demeanor calm. The man understood strategy-he made no move toward Knox. Instead, he blocked the only way out. Knox would have to come to him, giving the Mongolian a formidable advantage.
Knox backed up a step; a man that size would have a hell of a reach. The room felt impossibly small.
“We have interests in common,” Knox said. “You want Lu Hao gone. I want Lu Hao out of the country. Tonight, if possible.”
“You have caused me much trouble,” the Mongolian said.
“You exaggerate. I am but one man up against many.”
The Mongolian huffed. “Your math amuses me. I counted four at the hair salon. And then there is the one you put in the hospital by making that stupid switch.”
“You put him in the hospital,” Knox said. “I owe you for that.”
“I am standing right here,” the Mongolian said.
Knox charged, his left hand outstretched to take the blade that winked as the big man wielded it. Knox struck him with his shoulder and drove him into the door. The knife flashed, nicking Knox’s cheek. He blocked the second swipe, but was cut on the arm.
A flurry of knife thrusts, blocks and counterpunches. They were well matched-Knox’s speed and agility against the Mongolian’s power.
Knox had fought such men. He appreciated the challenge at hand; he wasn’t often the underdog. He understood the punch he had to land had to be effective. The Mongolian would expect the jaw. All fighters expected the blow to the jaw, and worked to defend against it. But Knox would break his fingers and hand on a jaw like that, all for winning a few loose teeth. The routine required of him was like a physical chess game; he had to work the abdomen and the groin, trying to pull the man’s arms down in defense, trying to open the jaw and make the man focus on its defense as well, all of it a ruse to gain an opening to the heart punch. You didn’t stop a truck by smashing its windshield or even popping its tires-you killed the engine.
Like his colleagues, the Mongolian had been trained as a wrestler. Knox had the advantage of that knowledge. A big man, he was also likely accustomed to throwing people around at will. By blocking the doorway, he trapped himself in the corner of the ring-up against the ropes. Knox used this against him, throwing punches, dancing back and trying to tease the man out into the more open space of the room. He dodged well-delivered knife thrusts, wincing with two more cuts, both on his wrists.
Knox landed a good blow just inside the man’s hip joint. It had to hurt. The Mongolian’s face went scarlet and he craned forward, unable to stand straight. He’d pee blood for that one. He swung out with the knife a little clumsily, still trying to catch his breath.
Knox took advantage of the opening and punished his lower ribs, feeling one crack.
The Mongolian roared, and Knox knew he’d scored. He’d ticked him off as well; lost composure was a lost fight. Knox landed a third straight blow, low on the man’s abdomen, just above the lower pelvic bone. The Mongolian, understanding his vulnerability bent over as he was, overreacted and stood up too quickly.
Knox finally had his opening. He stepped forward, risking the close quarters, and delivered the heart punch as if trying to put his fist out the man’s back.
The Mongolian’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as his heart skipped a beat. He went down like the air had been let out of him.
Knox stole the man’s phone but left his ID for the police to find. He pulled the door shut behind him. He tried to run, but he was spent. He crossed his arms to hide the blood and walked briskly.
He texted Kozlowski, believing it an act of futility. But a promise was a promise, and he needed Kozlowski’s connections to get Dulwich free.
the camera is yours
5:30 P.M.
Shen Deshi spotted the waiguoren, still wearing the same street sweeper’s blue coveralls that he’d worn on the way in. He came out of the lane and joined the horde.
He’d spotted him on the way in, not because of the sanitation worker coveralls, but because of his height and the spring to his step.
Shen understood the importance of criminal informers, knew this man was significant to Kozlowski. The police and secret police thrived off information gleaned from such sources. The waiguoren matched the description of a man they were looking for. To collar him would be a credit to all other Iron Hands and would put Shen in good favor with his superiors. But ultimately, his department’s relationship with the Americans superseded any one arrest. He had given his word he would not move until contacted. He did not move.
When, only minutes later, he received the highly anticipated call from Kozlowski, Shen referenced the police captain’s business card and phoned him. He reported to the captain that he’d seen the wanted waiguoren only minutes earlier. He provided cross streets.
“Once he is arrested, I would appreciate the sharing of any information the suspect may volunteer.”
“Yes, of course, sir. Any such information will be immediately forthcoming.” The captain sounded like a man given a second chance at life.
A favorite credo of Inspector Shen’s: why do the dirty work when others will do it for you? He’d let the worried captain beat the shit out of the foreigner and keep the blood off his own hands.