Knox sent a third and final text, this time to Randy’s mobile:
go
6:45 P.M.
For Melschoi, staying with a bus was child’s play. The simplicity of the exercise lulled him into complacency-it was like trying to spot an aircraft carrier amid the barges on the Yangtze River.
The flow of bikes and scooters maintained its usual controlled chaos. Melschoi’s attention remained divided between the bus and his rearview mirror.
When a helmeted rider closed from behind him, Melschoi slowed, testing. Had this man been watching the hair salon as well?
The bus gained, pulling away in the flow of vehicles to his left. The helmet behind him kept coming-it did not slow with him as a surveillant would. Melschoi jockeyed for position in order to stay with the bus, knowing the move would also give him a better view of the approaching helmet. He checked his outside mirror: nothing. The rider must have turned or pulled over.
He happened to glance over to his inside mirror. Too late. The helmeted rider had jumped the sidewalk to pass the slow mass of bikes. The rider reentered the bike lane now only feet from Melschoi, who instinctively swerved right toward the curb, knocking some bikes out of his way. The resulting crash worked against him-he gave the scooter a virtually empty space to navigate. Impressively, the scooter rider leaned heavily to his right and came alongside of Melschoi, avoiding any collision. But Melschoi had the advantage: a slight nudge from him and the scooter would be thrown into the traffic.
Only then did he catch sight of the construction barricade blocking the bike lane. The rider had distracted him, and had boxed him in. The bike lane was narrowing and being forced into the traffic.
That split-second of realization cost him. The rider raised his leg like a dog pissing on a hydrant and kicked out.
Melschoi attempted to block the effort, but lost control as his front wheel tangled with a bike. He went down hard, wheels forward. His front rim caught the curb, catapulting him and the bike airborne. The last thing he saw was a plywood barricade.
7:35 P.M.
HONGQIAO DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
Amy Xue climbed the concrete back stairs of the International Pearl City market, navigating past the litter abandoned by lunchtime employees. Knox be damned! There was no way she could leave the city without some money. She cursed the trouble Knox brought her, though did not dismiss his warning entirely: she’d entered through the back of the mall. Her jewelry store was one of only two that had stair access.
She surprised Li-Shu and Mih-Ho, two of her best stringers, at work knotting custom-designed necklaces. Unaccustomed to their boss using the back stairway, they sat up. Amy greeted them and headed directly to the safe.
Her back to them, Amy said, “Has anyone asked after me?”
Mih-Ho answered, “Some regular customers, of course.”
“Strangers?”
“No.”
“If they should, you have not seen me. Understand?” The safe opened. She slipped off a necklace and used the two keys hanging from it to open an inner door.
“Yes,” both girls answered.
“You will text me immediately if you see anyone suspicious or asking after me. Is that clear?”
“Yes. Certainly,” Mih-Ho answered for them both. “Is everything okay?”
“Does it look like everything is okay? I am not kidding around.”
“So sorry.”
Neither girl had ever seen their boss in such a fit. Li-Shu caught a glimpse of the stacks of yuan Amy transferred into her purse-forty thousand or more. A fortune!
“Store hours as normal,” Amy instructed, relocking the safe, and then closing and securing its outer door. “If anyone asks, I am with a client appraising an estate collection. You do not know the location. You will offer to call me, only if necessary, and then report that you were unable to reach me. I am gone for the National Day holiday.”
“Very well.”
“Tell the others exactly as I’ve told you.”
“Of course.”
“And no wagging tongues.” She directed this at Li-Shu. “This is not a game, Second-cousin’s Daughter. Lips sealed. Pure mind, pure heart. Your rumor-mongering could do me great harm.”
Li-Shu blushed, embarrassed to be so easily read. “Yes, Auntie. I promise.”
“Lock this door behind me. Why was it not locked? What kind of fools leave this door unlocked? Lock it and leave it locked!”
According to the sign, it was never to be locked. Neither woman said a thing.
Amy slipped out the back of the shop and into the stairway. Hearing the lock turn behind her, she began her descent, her senses on immediate alert. An offensive cologne she hadn’t noticed before now permeated the air. Superstitious by nature, and on edge because of Knox, she hurried down.
Damn the maintenance men for allowing so many lights to be burned out. Had it been so dark a moment ago? she wondered.
Rapid footfalls came from behind her. She arrived at the next stairway landing and encountered a man standing there. She gasped involuntarily.
The man grabbed her wrist, spun her and slapped his hand over her mouth.
She tried to call out, but only groaned. The shop door is shut and locked, she thought. No one will hear me.
She reared back to hit him, but was no match. He lifted her off her feet like a rag doll and carried her down the stairs.
Paralyzed with fright, she fought to keep from passing out. It felt like swimming for the surface when deeply underwater.
Her feet bounced down the steps. Another man caught her legs.
They arrived at the ground level to a set of doors. She kicked free, caught the door as it came open and smacked it into the forehead of the man at her feet. He dropped her. The one behind her let go of her right arm. She elbowed this man in the throat, and fell to the stairs as he dropped her completely. The door to the outside thumped shut. She scrambled to her feet and ran into the building, a grid of aisles and shop stalls.
Amy knocked shoppers aside, trying to distance herself from her pursuers. She had the advantage of familiarity. She knew these shops and their keepers.
The two coming behind her split up, taking parallel aisles. They were attempting to box her in. She hurried, dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled into a clothing stall to her left.
“Cousin!” she called out, moving for the back wall. “Muggers! Thieves! You must help me! The door! The door!”
The woman shopkeeper did not hesitate. She raced to the back wall, slid some dresses aside and popped open the hidden door to the storage room. Most shops had such hidden doors.
“Not a word!” Amy said, still crawling. The door clicked shut behind her.
7:40 P.M.
At the intersection of aisles the two men met with a silent exchange-they’d lost her. The leader waved his partner forward and together they began a search, stall by stall.
They tipped over racks, pulled down shelves and cursed at the top of their lungs.
7:41 P.M.
Amy heard the shopkeeper cry out, followed by the sound of destruction. A smack silenced the woman. Then a rake of hangers.
The door to the hidden room broke open.
Amy struck the first man with the tine of a metal hanger, punching a hole in his chest. He screamed and jumped for her, but she ducked and avoided him, smacking the second man. She ran her nails down his neck and let go.
Squeezing past and out into the shop, she ran. Just as she reached the first intersection of aisles, she was tackled from behind. Her arm was twisted behind her and she found herself being carried out the back.