I counted what I had: an AKM submachine gun with six 30?round magazines, an MK23 pistol (taken from the long?faced thug—he knew his gear), four 12?round magazines, my crossbow, and three combat knives. I slung the bag full of weapons on my shoulder, clicked on the radio—it was a Motorola, solid stuff—then found a sink to wash my face, stripped off the blood?soaked shirt, and changed into the clothes I’d grabbed. Already I felt better.

  Now that I had firearms, I wasn’t panicking. I toyed with the AKM a bit, then, recalling what I’d learned online, I ran through the basic drills—shoulder, cheek weld, sight picture—and I was handling it smoothly in no time. I resolved not to keep running; I’d find a spot to hide and stay put. That earlier recklessness nearly got me killed—I’d do better sticking to a plan. Hopefully they’d leave me alone… though I couldn’t help resenting how slow the police were.

  A phone call set me straight. It turned out that as soon as the robbers started shooting and herding people, someone had called in the hostage situation. By the time the cops arrived at the World Trade Building, everyone who could get out had already escaped. The kidnappers had kept a few hostages inside; when some of them panicked and tried to rush out, they were cut down. Seeing the robbers killing civilians, the police surged inside—but were beaten back by heavy machine?gun fire from above, suffering dead and wounded, and even their patrol cars were shredded. Chief Hu Chang?ming drove over himself—he was only head of a small city precinct and couldn’t handle an operation of this scale—so he called in city hall leadership and the World Trade boss. When the boss told him there were over 400 million yuan’ worth of government bonds in the vault, they all realized exactly what the robbers were after.

  They’d launched several assaults, but each time the upstairs snipers repelled them. There were no taller buildings nearby to suppress the snipers’ positions. The special?weapons unit had just gone out on another mission; they were racing back but wouldn’t make it for a while. In the meantime, someone reported hearing fighting inside—that someone had killed two of the gunmen and was still alive and in contact. That’s why they called me.

  Hearing all this, I was furious. Xiaobai, why’d you drag me into this? Now the police have me on their radar—there’s no telling what they’ll make me do if they catch me.

  “Student Xing Tian,” the voice on the line said, “can you tell me how many men are inside, what weapons they have, and where they’re posted?”

  “About twenty or so,” I replied. “Mostly AKMs. Around ten on the first floor guarding the crowd, then two rovers per level. The two on the fourth floor have been killed. I don’t know how many snipers are upstairs or their positions.”

  “That’s a start,” he said, but then another voice cut in: “How did you determine their numbers?”

  “Who is this?” I snapped.

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  “I’m Captain Qin Zhong of the SWAT team,” came the calm reply.

  “You’re here at all? I thought you guys were all off duty!” I couldn’t help sneering.

  “We have our duties,” Qin Zhong said. “Our deputy went out with a team—only I’m here now. Can you answer my questions?”

  “You alone? How are you going to take down all those robbers?” I was getting impatient, but I still answered. “I guessed their numbers from their radio chatter. I’m not far off.”

  “Do you have their radio frequency? Give it to me.”

  I didn’t feel like helping him—what good would that do? Instead, I keyed the mic: “All robbers inside, you’re surrounded. Surrender now.”

  I nearly choked. If they could have just surrendered, they wouldn’t have pulled this heist—nobody holds up a bank and walks away free.

  Then Qin Zhong’s voice came on: “If you have any demands, state them. No harm to hostages.”

  A dry voice answered: “We want only the vault bonds. Once we get the money and a car, we’ll release them. And that kid who killed our men—don’t think you can run. The police won’t save you.”

  Great—now they were threatening me.

  “All right,” I said into the radio, “how much longer to get the bonds? Want me to give you the vault’s door code to speed things up? I can promise you the police won’t open fire once there are no hostages.” I was playing it straight—my brother had taught me that once the hostages are gone, the army will move in without hesitation.

  “I see what you’re up to—letting the hostages go so you can shell us,” the voice sneered. “Don’t worry, they’ll stay with me until I’m safe out of Baoshan. Wait two hours.”

  As I concentrated on the radio, I caught a movement in the mirror of the large wardrobe opposite me: a man walking toward me with a raised gun—and I could see in his eyes he’d spotted me through the reflection.

  Before I could duck, he fired a three?round burst into the sofa behind me. I felt one bullet slice through the cushion and graze the outside of my left arm, shaving off a chunk of flesh.

  Damn. I kept my head down, hoisted the AKM overhead, and swept it across the mirror’s reflection—so my rounds would hit home. The recoil was brutal and the muzzle jumped, but I scored a hit: a spray of blood blossomed on the wall where I’d struck his abdomen.

  Thirty rounds emptied in seconds—damn Hollywood showed me too many endless magazines. Real life chews through ammo fast. I slapped the magazine release, dropped the empty, slapped in a fresh one, and racked the charging handle.

  That shooter wouldn’t come alone. His buddies would charge soon. I bolted for the freight elevator—only he could take that to the upper floors. I’d gone just a few steps when two more men rounded the corner and opened up. I slapped the trigger for another burst, felling both of them, then sprinted back the way I’d come, bullets chiseling wood from the furniture around me.

  They were right on my heels—three or four of them firing, so close I dared not peek. I returned fire as I ran, chewing through two more magazines without hitting anyone. While reloading again, I dared a glance: only one man remained. The others must have flanked me. He stood ready around the next corner. I counted the pop?pop?pop of his shots: one, two, three… up to thirty. At the final round, I blitzed around the corner and let my empty bolt catch. The moment he peeked, I used my left hand to slam his barrel aside and drew the MK23 with my right, aiming for his head. My first pistol shot—shaking too much—I missed as he jerked back. I front?kicked him in the chest, then fired five more rounds point?blank. When I was sure his chest was a sieve, I shouldered the pistol and ran back the way I’d come. They’d figure I’d head that way.

  I reached the elevator as its doors slid open. I didn’t see who was there—just leveled the MK23 and swept across. Another two unlucky guys tumbled as I ran by. I didn’t stop to check.