Among those in the front line, Knox spotted two small kids, terrified and helpless against the power of the crowd. He lunged and snagged the first just before the boy went into the river. He passed him to Grace and grabbed the other-a girl, who clung to him in a vise grip. He and Grace held the children, using the railing to shield them from the crowd.
Raising her voice, their tour guide called out, “We cross deck of last ferry to reach boat! Ferry crew know me-we have arrangement-this could make difficult situation.”
Difficult? Knox was thinking. Try impossible.
“We must act quickly and rely upon crew. Do not pause, please. Must go directly to boat!”
The black water now foamed with the efforts of the fallen and drowning. The sickening sounds of people drowning filled the air, mixed with wind and the drumming of torrential rain on boat decks.
Panic infected the crowd. Violence spread down the quay. Scores more were heaved into the water.
“We go together as group!” the guide cried out, the first sound of frailty in her voice.
Knox, the child holding fast to him, glanced over into Grace’s dark eyes, the rain running down her face like tears. She implored him.
“Two of us are staying!” Knox cried out. “We’ll get these children to safety.”
Happiness flowed from Grace. For a moment it was only the two of them on the dock.
“This was not arrangement!” the guide shouted to be heard.
“It’s the new arrangement. Go! Take these two, and go!” Knox cried. “Get them medical attention as soon as possible.”
The guide looked at Knox and Grace, then out into the sea of violence and chaos. Her look said it all.
“Come with me, please!” she shouted, taking Danner by the arm. Danner, in turn, held the unresponsive Lu Hao.
Danner glanced back over his shoulder at Knox. If he spoke, Knox did not hear it.
With great difficulty, the ferry crew held back the throng with billy clubs while admitting the guide, Danner and Lu Hao to the deck. It was a horrific moment as Chinese were beaten back onto the wharf. Grace looked away. The three scrambled across the deck and were gone.
Knox edged along the rail, and Grace followed. He steered them toward the police line and, reaching it, cried out in Shanghainese to be allowed through. To his surprise, two of the policemen parted. He and Grace and the children pushed through, Knox knowing his skin color had saved them.
They placed the children into the care of the hotel staff and then headed for the upstairs room.
Grace was toweling off her hair.
“You’re a fool to have stayed,” Knox said.
“You are welcome,” she said, continuing with the towel.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” he said. “I’ll take first watch. I’ll wake you in three hours.”
Grace said, “A Chinese woman traveling during National Day holiday is no problem. But with a waiguoren? And one wanted by police!”
“Thank you,” he said, turning his back, allowing her to change out of her wet clothing.
30
9:30 P.M.
THE BUND
Just beyond the Dongmen Lu Ferry Terminal, barges plowed through the white-capped Huangpu River despite the storm. Passing between them was a four-car flatbed ferry with only one car on deck. It was tossed like a toy as it crossed from the western banks of the Bund toward the eastern banks of Pudong.
Inspector Shen Deshi had remained behind the wheel of the vehicle, but only briefly. He hadn’t wanted to be separated from the duffel bag, presently hidden beneath the back seat. But the strain of the chains binding the car to the deck as the small ferry was tossed proved too terrifying for him. He’d paid the pilot a small fortune for the ten-minute crossing, but had no desire to show him the Mongolian’s face. He led his hostage out onto the stern amid the downpour. It felt far safer out here.
For twelve years, Inspector Shen had served the Ministry of State Security while carrying a People’s Armed Police ID as cover. Twelve years of a pathetic salary, of skillfully sidestepping trouble-the protection rackets, the small-time scams and back-room payoffs that complicated a career. Twelve years of watching his fellow agents prosper around him. For the past four years, he’d been one of a very few officers trusted to pursue corruption at all levels. During that time, he had uncovered tens of millions of yuan-some of which had been offered to him as hush money. He’d never taken a fen.
Now, the decision of his career. Of a lifetime. One he made without hesitation. A hundred thousand U.S. dollars. Another hundred and forty thousand yuan the Mongol had carefully stacked into plastic bags and hidden in his wall. All counted, more than twenty years of salary. Finally, an amount that could not be passed up. He would be rich for the rest of his life, provided he came up with an exit strategy that would not arouse suspicion. He thought he knew just the man to approach about this.
But at present, he had some tidying up to do. He accepted the complications that came with such a decision. Some lives would be lost by his hand, starting with the Mongolian and the ferry pilot; evidence would be destroyed. Lies would need to be carefully crafted. Throughout his career he’d been required to beat suspects. Nothing new there. No doubt some of them had died. This wasn’t so very different.
By now the waiguoren should be in jail, or beaten at the hands of the precinct captain. He would have to follow through with that. The waiguoren would need silencing, along with his companion. Simple enough.
If other obstacles surfaced, they would be handled. Opportunity knocked. He intended to answer.
“I need for you to pay attention,” he said to the Mongolian over the roar of the rain and the steady grind of the boat engine. He unhooked a linchpin and opened the boat’s railing.
“This ferry is going to Pudong. It is up to you whether one or two of us get off.”
Melschoi glowered, searching for a way out of this. He tested his wrists and ankles; bound so tightly they were never coming off.
His only possible advantage in this impossible situation was that the cop was clearly uncomfortable on a boat. He looked about to puke.
“Where was the video shot?” Inspector Shen hollered.
“Chongming Island,” Melschoi hollered back. As a cop himself, he knew this was no time to play coy.
“Who hired you?”
“I met the man only once. No names. A pig civil servant was threatening blackmail. I took care of him.”
“A waiguoren?”
“No. Chinese. A surveyor. I killed the man. A waiguoren was spotted. He was making a video. He did not belong. Killed him, too.”
“You severed his hand?”
“I severed it all. Fucking journalists,” Melschoi said.
“Excellent!”
“I dumped him like fish chum into the river.”
Inspector Shen delighted in what he was hearing. “You are winning much favor with me. Neh? And as to what he was filming?”
“I believe you must know.”
“Then humor me,” Inspector Shen said. “What was the purpose of this laying of the asphalt?”
“A man does what he is paid to do.”
“Why kill a man over something so mundane?” Inspector Shen asked.
“I do as I am told.”
“But who orders such a thing?”
“My payments were left in the back of taxicabs, or placed into sacks with take-away food orders. It was never the same. And don’t think I haven’t tried to find out! I met the man and still do not know his name. The fruit falls not far from the tree. He is located in Beijing. This, I know. He is someone very powerful, obviously. His car carried Shanghai plates, but the car was loaned to him for certain.”
Shen Deshi licked his chops. If he could only identify the man, he could use him to leverage his own situation.
“The phone number, then.”
“The fucking eBpon-the foreigner-took my phone.”
The waiguoren would most definitely have to be found and dealt with. Shen owed the police captain another call.