RainStorm

act.
    We caught a cab on the ground floor. I held the door as Keiko
    got in. Out of my peripheral vision I saw our friend loitering in
    front of a 7-Eleven a few meters from the taxi stand. I knew that,
    as soon as I was in and the door had closed behind me, he would
    be getting a cab of his own.
    I used my dental mirror as we pulled away and saw that I had
    been right. Keiko watched me but didn't say anything. I wondered
    what she was thinking. The driver didn't seem to notice. He was
    absorbed in the variety show he had on the radio, the announcer's
    voice frantic with artificial hilarity.
    I had the driver take us to the Citibank next to the Central
    MTR subway station. One of my alter egos keeps a savings account
    with Citi. I carry his ATM card whenever I go out.
    We went inside the bank, and Keiko waited while I withdrew
    fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars--about seven thousand U.S. The
    amount was over the ATM limit and I had to take care of it at the
    teller window. The clerk put the money in an envelope. I thanked
    him and walked over to Keiko.
    "How about some shopping?" I asked her, showing her the
    bulging envelope. We were surrounded by Hermes, Prada, Tiffany,
    Vuitton, and others that I knew she craved. "I'd like to buy you
    some new things, if you want."
    She smiled and her eyes lit up. "Hontou?" she said. Really? Probably
    she was glad that whatever that weirdness with the Arab guy
    was seemed to be over.
    I walked us Co the Marks & Spencer up the street, a destination
    that interested me less because of the store's -wares than because of
    its design. The front was all plate glass, and offered a clear view of
    the street outside. Keiko and I browsed among the silk and cashmere, and I watched Sunglasses and two recently arrived companions
    setting up outside, two in front of the HSBC bank, the other
    in front of a Folli Follie jewelry store.
    The way they were assembling, I was getting the feeling that
    they were no longer just in "following" mode. If they had been,
    they wouldn't have positioned themselves so closely together--a
    configuration that tends to be counterproductive for surveillance,
    but has certain advantages for a hit. They were getting ready, ready
    to move, and they wanted their forces in place, concentrated, good
    to go when the moment was right.
    All right, time for me to head out. Alone.
    I walked over to Keiko and took her gently by the arm.
    "Keiko, listen to me carefully. Something bad is going on. I'll
    tell you what you need to know to get out of it."
    She shook her head slightly as if to clear it. "I'm sorry?"
    "There are some men following me. The Arab with the cell
    phone is one of them. They intend to do me harm. If you're with
    me, they'll harm you, too."
    She gave me a hesitant smile, as though hoping I was going to
    smile back and tell her the whole thing was a joke. "I'm sorry," she
    said, "I don't... I don't understand." The smile widened for a second,
    then faltered.
    "I know you don't, and I don't have time to explain. Here, take
    this." I handed her the envelope. "There's enough in there to get
    you back to Japan, and then some. You've got your passport. Get to
    the airport and go."
    "Are you ... is it that you're not happy with me?" she asked,
    still thinking like a professional. But of her profession, not of mine.
    "I've been very happy with you. Look at me. What I'm telling
    you is the truth. You need to get away from here now if you don't
    want to get hurt. It's me they're after. They don't care about you."
    Before she could ask any more questions, I added, "Here's what
    you need to do. Stay put for ten minutes. I'm going to leave and
    those men will follow me. After ten minutes, you leave, too. Go
    into one of the women's stores nearby. Tell them you're being hassled
    by a guy and want to lose him. He's following you, waiting for
    you outside. They'll let you out the back, which the men won't be
    expecting. If it doesn't work at the first one, try another."
    "I don't--"
    "Just listen. Use cabs. Go into stores that men don't visit-- lingerie, things like that. That'll make it harder to follow you because
    I don't think these guys work with women. Go in the front
    and out the back. Take a lot of elevators. It's hard to stay with someone
    in an elevator without getting spotted. Stay in public places."
    She shook her head. "Why would ... I don't--"
    "I don't think anyone will follow you. You don't matter to
    them. But I want to make sure, all right? I don't want to