The silence hit us in the face and then I heard someone say 'Oh, Jesus,' under his breath.

'I'm sorry.' Jarrow, Secretary of State.

'But what is more important,' Qiao said quickly, 'is that whereas the uprising of 1989 slammed the door on our hopes of democracy in the People's Republic of China, the recent flare-up of dissension has locked and barred it and drawn chains across it that we shall not, I think, see broken in our lifetime.' He took his glasses off and wiped them, and I noticed the edge of his eyelids glistening. 'Unless of course we can succeed in what I shall propose.'

I had questions but couldn't ask them. Were these tears for his brother or for China? How much had his personal tragedy pushed him into betrayal and defection, into bringing us down here tonight to listen to him? Hyde would know. He knew the whole thing: he'd probably been at the conference at № 10 with Qiao, because the Bureau is responsible directly to the Prime Minister. He'd known enough, at least, to set up the mission and select me for the field and get me down here tonight, privy to information that would rock Beijing if it got out: I need hardly say, gentlemen, that the most extreme discretion must be used by all those present, yes indeed.

Qiao was using his handkerchief again; I didn't think it was really a cold; it was because of the cable he'd had, the signal to the embassy in Portland Place: Regret to inform Your Excellency that your brother has been arrested and his whereabouts are not at present known, or words to that effect. It could have been only hours ago when he'd heard it, perhaps even less.