'Want to walk about?' he asked me.

'Yes.'

Took a few steps, felt the motor nerves stirring, the balance mechanism making frantic adjustments and then getting it right until I could walk from one wall to the other, looking at my watch when I turned, didn't want him to know how very important it was that I should get it all back, a clear head and usable muscles, reasonable strength, enough to overwhelm if I could be quick and get in there for the major paralysis strikes. Dr Chen wouldn't give me any trouble unless he had a gun under his robes and I didn't think so, he looked so very old, so very wise, could be perfectly genuine, a doctor turned monk or a monk turned doctor, his services available to anyone in need of them, to a man like Trotter, who would be generous, pay him well. But I didn't count on it; those people running China were old, too, and murderous.

A lot of thinking to do but I'd got one thing now: it didn't make any difference to Trotter whether I could walk from one wall to the other; he wanted my head clear, because he'd brought me here to talk, so we needed to get the circulation going again, get blood to the brain and the liver, deal with the lingering effects of the drug.

That was all right: I wanted my head clear too and it was no good making out I was still groggy, there wasn't time.

'The military,' I said, 'have they been here?'

'Yes. They searched the place late yesterday. They won't disturb us.'

I kept walking, throwing in the odd word or two when I was facing him because I had to see his reactions if he let any get through. 'Were you in Bombay?'

'Yes. I hate to seem uncivil, but I need answers from you, not the other way round.'

Facing him — 'Did you kill Sojourner?'

No reaction.

'Did you have that snake put in his bed?'

'Of course not. That was the work of a jealous lover.'

'But you got him out of hospital, sucked his brains dry, killed him, had him killed?'

With studied patience, 'As I have said, the questions are for me to ask, not for you. But first of all there are a few things you need to be told. It will help us both.' I heard Dr Chen moving behind me but not with any stealth: his sandals flapped. A spark came into each of Trotter's eyes as a lamp was lit. 'The operation I am running is precisely similar to yours, Mr Locke. My avowed intention is to get Dr Xingyu Baibing out of Lhasa and into Beijing, so that he can go in front of the cameras at eighteen hundred hours tomorrow. We-'

'You've got him here?'

'Yes. He's perfectly well, and we're giving him his injections as prescribed.'

'You killed the monk? Had him killed?'

I just wanted to know his style.

'It was an accident, I'm afraid. Those were not my instructions. There was a struggle.' He shrugged. 'These things happen when there is a great deal at stake, but believe me, I feel about him — he was nothing more than a holy man doing what he believed was right. Exercise a little, if you want to. Just a little — don't overdo it.'

I swung my arms, up on the toes and down again. When I'd looked at my watch a few minutes ago it had been 5:46. Eleven minutes, now, give or take forty-five seconds. I began worrying, because I wanted to know things from this man, everything I could, before we were interrupted. And I wanted my strength back, as much of it as possible.

'You also need to know,' Trotter said, 'that I have not only been keeping pace with your operation, but protecting it.'

Keeping pace since Bombay, since he'd had Sojourner worked over, since Bamboo had been blown, oh Jesus, long before we knew it, the shadow executive, his director in the field and London Control, let them put that on the signals board.

In the chill of this place with its marble and stone and hard surfaces I began feeling the outbreak of sweat. This English gentleman with his style and his manners was not only formidably strong, he was formidably intelligent. It had crossed my mind that he could have been sent to Bombay by some other branch of the Secret Service, but he hadn't used a word of the language, and that's always the dead giveaway.

I would have said he was from Beijing, not London.

'Protecting my operation," I asked him, 'in what way?'

'Oh, keeping a watching brief, that's all. I told Wang Su-May to look after you, and I got you away from the temple out there where you killed that KCCPC agent, got your head fixed up, offered you sanctuary, nothing major, but helpful, I hope you feel. Try a few knee bends, what do you say?'

'My head's clear enough now.'

'Oh, good. Well the crux of it is, Locke, that I can't any longer protect you. That much is obvious.'

'Not to worry.'

He was left-handed; I'd noticed that before. If I could do anything at all I'd have to go in on his right side; he hadn't turned his back to me since he'd come in here. He wasn't Secret Service — 'operation,' not 'mission,' 'sanctuary,' not 'safe house' — but he was nevertheless a professional, not to be underestimated — I could go in on his right side or anywhere else but I could get myself killed if I got it wrong.

Nothing could be relied on. It wanted ten minutes, now, to six o'clock, but nothing could be relied on, and those ten minutes could give me the last chance I'd get.

'Let me,' Trotter said, 'put it briefly for you.' His thick arms hung easily, and this too I noticed. 'You need perspective. Your operation is very big, and it's sponsored by H.M. Government and its intentions are to secure the future of the Chinese Republic and incidentally to save Hong Kong. Now I take that very seriously, of course. But try to understand that I am now in a position to take over — that I have to take over — if those aims are to be achieved.' His massive head on one side — 'Trust me.'

Dr Chen moved and I turned my head to keep him in the periphery of my vision field. 'Look,' I told Trotter, 'time is of the essence for me too, and I've got to go now.'

Just to see what he'd say.

'I'm afraid I can't let you.'

Tone softer, no smile now. The Chinese was lighting another lamp, that was all.

'I'm afraid you've got to.'

The double doors were heavy, twenty-five feet away. I couldn't see any other exit although there were some broken-down screens leaning in a corner, could be a door there. But if I got that far, got outside, there would be people of his there and they'd be trained killers, because that was the kind of cell this man was running.

'If I let you go,' Trotter said quietly, 'you'd get yourself arrested within the hour. The police are looking for you and the military are going through this town systematically, work it out for yourself.' He took a step toward me. 'You know what the PSB agents are like — they'd flay you alive until you told them all they wanted to know, and you'd give me away and they'd come for me too and they'd have me shot for harbouring a criminal. You know this. You know this.'

Dogs still fighting over something out there, and the sound of a truck now. The light in the stained-glass window had died to an ember's glow. Eight minutes, seven, more like seven.

'You worry too much, Trotter.'

Slight reaction for the first time: he didn't like being made light of. Just a flicker, deep in his eyes. Perhaps I could work on that, unbalance him emotionally, enough to give me an edge.

'I was born,' he said, 'in China. I spent my first ten years there, first with a nanny and then a tutor, at a British consulate. Then England, of course, prep, public, Oxford, but my first country is China, and my love for its people is deep and abiding.'

Getting down to basics: here was his soul.

The altar bowls were heavy brass, small enough to use in one hand, big enough to use as a curved blade and to kill, given the necessary force to split the skull. There was nothing else — I'd have to break the screens up before I could make a weapon. The best chance would be to work on his nerves with the bare knuckles, use science, not bloody bric-a-brac, the sweat springing on the flanks now, time running out, five minutes, less.