The scene was a degree surrealistic, and I think it put the Chinese off, being in a train underground instead of a nice formal office. The hand straps hung down above our heads like tiny gibbets in a row, and we could see our faces on his side reflected behind the people opposite, under the dim ceiling lights. The doors had been shut on us with a definitive thump and we looked as if we'd been thrown together in purgatory, without knowing where the train was going to take us, to heaven or hell.

Jarrow pulled out a gold cigarette case and asked if anybody minded and no one spoke so he lit up, and Barstow started talking.

'So that we all know what's going on, I'll recap the main points for you.' He sat forward on the seat, hands on his knees and feet together, looking from one face to the next and giving each of us a precisely allotted share of his cool blue eyes. 'Ambassador Qiao came to us two days ago and told us that after the democratic uprising in Beijing of last week, he feels he no longer wishes to represent the Communist regime at present in power there. His intention was to defect, and he asked us for asylum. His counsellor, Mr Hou Jing, has identical feelings. We conferred with MI6, who agreed it would be far more useful for all concerned if the ambassador remained at his post and made himself available to us as a source of information.'

Qiao sat slumped on the seat, but I didn't think he was going to doze off. A lot of his fatigue must have been due to stress: a couple of days ago he'd been a bona fide ambassador and now he was in effect an intelligence agent working for the West. He didn't look the type who'd commit an act of betrayal too easily.

'He and his counsellor declared themselves willing to do this,' Barstow said, his eyes resting on mine and passing on to Hyde's. 'The ambassador would probably like me to point out that in the present circumstances he regards his action as simply a shift of loyalties, from the Chinese government to the Chinese people.'