My ribs were still painful but I'd slept off the lingering effects of the drugs on the long flight out, and my head was clear enough to warn me that London must have been desperate, to have moved me into the field without warning and without a home briefing.

"They must have been desperate," I said.

Ferris turned his honey-coloured eyes on me, watching me for a moment from behind his glasses. "I wouldn't disagree."

"Desperate to get me into Pekin, or out of London?"

"You were a target there."

"I'll be a target here, once they pick up my trail."

We turned left towards the huge crowded square, edging past a group of uniformed school children carrying white posies for mourning. The street was roped off and all traffic had stopped.

"You didn't leave a trail," Ferris told me. "You came out here under RAF security." He noticed a cockroach at the edge of the pavement and moved to his left slightly, and I heard the faint cracking sound under his black polished shoe.

"Oh for Christ's sake," I said.

"Another little soul saved for Jesus." He gave the soft dry laugh I remembered so well, the sound of a snake shedding its skin. "The thing is, London believes Sinclair had something rather important to tell us, and they don't want things to get cold. Logical, for London."

A squadron of military jets was passing overhead, in salute to the dead premier. When it was quieter I asked Ferris: "Who was Sinclair's main source, do we know?"

"A man called Jason."

"One of ours?"

"A sleeper, yes, based in Seoul."

"He's there now?"

"No. He flew into Pekin last night."

"To rendezvous with us?"

"That's right. He was told to meet you when you landed."

"Why didn't he?"

"I rather think," he said, "they got to him first."