She checked her travel bag, which contained Lulu's things, and squeezed some of her own clothes—khaki pants, a sweatshirt, panties, T-shirts and socks—into its corners. She placed the pouch with cash and her passport in a side pocket. As an afterthought, she added toilet paper, bottled water and personal items, and after a glance around, wrapped Daniel's snuff bottle in tissues and rolled a face towel around it. She was ready to escape. But how? To where? The Chinese had downgraded her assigned penthouse to a suite on a third floor. Had they chosen this room because it was bugged? Goosebumps rose on Nola's skin. The odor of the men who had flanked her sides and the feel of their coarse uniforms against her exposed arms returned. She couldn’t risk giving the Chinese an excuse to separate her from Lulu, to jail her, or worse—to shoot them both while escaping.

The only one with any experience in crossing enemy lines was Yoram, but his sole interest was to keep her body and limbs whole.

Daniel's last words echoed in her head. “Contact Ming-Ji.” What if the phone were tapped? There was no choice, and Ming-Ji was a pediatrician who could believably be paged for the baby. Nola fished out the business card she had never believed she would use again until after she returned home, when she would send a donation to Ming-Ji’s clinic.

An unfamiliar female voice answered the doctor’s line and informed Nola, “Doctor go check baby. Come soon.”

What did that mean? Nola scanned the driveway outside. The armored cars were still there, and soldiers carrying machine guns paced back and forth.

Only when she sat down on the bed did she realize how exhausted she was. A week of fatigue, emotional upheavals, adrenaline surges, sleepless nights, and the demands of a baby—on top of the usual rigors of touring—had taken their toll. She must sleep or she would get sick. Then there would be no one to save Lulu.

She lay down in the dark, Lulu curled up next to her like a kitten. Lights from passing cars flickered across the walls and furniture as erratic thoughts stumbled through Nola's tired head. She stared at the dark ceiling for so long that it seemed to move away from her, and she was falling, except that she was falling upward, toward infinity. Nauseous, she sat up to see the dark skies tinged with an orangy glaze from the city lights. She willed the morning to come, yet dreading it all the same.

A tug on her toes jolted her awake. With fright she sensed someone in the room. The shadow turned on the bedside lamp. It was Ming-Ji.

Nola bolted upright. “How did you get in? What time is it?”

“Shshsh.” Ming-Ji pointed at Lulu. “We don’t want to wake her up. If you want to leave China with baby, we must go now.”