Choke Point Read Free

choke point.”
    “Indeed.”
    “Killed the driver and passenger.”
    “A low-level EU bureaucrat who was sadly so insignificant they had to work the obit to make him appear otherwise.”
    The paper’s placement of the article—buried deeply—speaks to Knox: the man’s death was insignificant as well.
    “It’s better than sex, isn’t it?”
    Knox says, “You’re treading on the sacrosanct.”
    “This EU guy is so far down the ladder, he’s holding it for others. So why kill him?”
    “Why are you screwing around with me? If you want me for this—and we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t—offer me the job and be done with it. I can tell you why: you think you’re on such thin ice that you have to let me sell myself. You condense this down to a couple of lines and you know I won’t be interested.”
    “But you are interested. They killed the bureaucrat because he was a source for the article. They’re trying to kill the truth.”
    “Spare me!” But there are style points to be awarded here. Dulwich is beating a drum and making it louder with every hit. He has it all choreographed. He assumed it would be a tough sell. Knox wants to make sure to see it from both sides before feeling the trap door give way. Graham Winston. A knot shop. Some low-level bureaucrat reduced to toast.
    Knox still can’t see it perfectly. He’s pissed at himself.
    “Why would Brian Primer,” he says, mentioning Dulwich’s boss, president of the Rutherford Risk security firm, “accept a job to shut down a sweatshop ring? It sounds more like something for a police task force.”
    “Because he has a paying client.”
    “Brian has plenty of paying clients.”
    “Because these guys are scum holes. They kidnap ten-year-olds and chain them to posts and make them work eighteen-hour days. You know the drill. It’s repugnant.”
    Knox needs no reminder why the op appeals to him—Dulwich had him at ten-year-olds in chains; he’s less sure about Rutherford Risk’s motivations. No matter how Dulwich pumps him up, he has always assumed he is expendable to these people. Rutherford’s clients pay well for a reason: the work is typically unwanted by, or too dangerous for, others.
    “I’m appealing to your savior complex,” Dulwich says, being honest for a change.
    “The girl.”
    “The girls. And you need the money.”
    Knox is in financial quicksand. A $300,000 nest egg to provide for his brother’s exceptional medical needs was embezzled by a woman who took advantage of his brother’s diminished abilities. Without that nest egg, should anything happen to Knox, his brother, Tommy, will be institutionalized. The irony Dulwich forces upon Knox each time he makes an offer is that Knox must risk his own safety to win the money to provide for his brother in case he’s not around.
    Dulwich reaches down and comes out with another newspaper that contains the original article about the young, injured girl fleeing the health clinic.
    “I did read this,” Knox says, remembering. The byline is Sonia Pangarkar. It’s as much a story about the poorer neighborhoods of Amsterdam and the European struggle with immigrants as it is a cry for this runaway girl’s life. The reporter is smart, thorough, and the piece engaging. There are names and places to back it up.
    One of the names jumps out at him. “The car-bombing victim was one of her sources,” Knox says. “We discussed it already. So, it’s hardball.”
    “Bingo.”
    “In addition to wanting to protect those who cannot protect themselves, the benevolent Mr. Winston draws a line at murdering those willing to whistle-blow,” Knox says. “I’m touched.”
    “Winston stands for liberty and justice for all. Terry Gross. Rachel Maddow. Anyone who will listen.”
    “Graham Winston is intending to run for prime minister.”
    “You said that. I did not.”
    Knox sets down the paper. “I’m not a political consultant.” Hard-to-get is the only play with Dulwich. It’s time to