He nodded. “They beat the crap out of me. Quite literally. Bézy wanted to know what you told Navarre.”

“What did you answer?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know anything, so I had nothing to say. It took a long time before he believed me.”

I winced, imagining what he must have gone through. “What did they do to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Eric.”

“Tell me something. It was my fault. I need to know something. Where did they take you?”

“Bézy took me to the cellar of a building near the embassy. A foul place, smelled like death. He strapped me to a chair and asked me questions. Some Chinese helpers did the unpleasant stuff.”

“What? You have to tell me.”

“Electricity. Water. Anything that wouldn’t leave a scar.”

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, Arthur. This was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t. And don’t think I was brave. I told them everything I knew. I would have betrayed you, believe me, but you hadn’t told me anything. That was what saved my life. They realized I didn’t know, so there was no point hurting me anymore. You’re the brave one, Eric, for keeping the information to yourself. But this is your problem now. You’re the one who has what they want.”

There was a loud knock on the door. “Hotel security,” called a voice outside.

I opened the door a crack but kept the chain bolted. A Chinese man in plain clothes was standing just outside. Behind him were two uniformed PSB officers. “What is it?” I asked.

“Turn the radio off,” said the man in plain clothes. “Too loud. You must turn radio off, please, or these men arrest you. No TV. No noise.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll turn it off.” I closed the door.

“We have to get out of here,” Bowman said. “They want the music off so they can hear what we’re saying. Grab some more bottles from the minibar while I’m in the bathroom cleaning up. Then let’s go.”

Bowman took a quick shower and emerged looking a little better. He was still walking with difficulty, but the color was returning to his face. We took the elevator down to the lobby and called for the first taxi in the queue. A Chinese security man waved away that driver and called for another, who was idling nearby.

“Be careful what you say,” said Bowman. “He’s a cop, and he understands English.” Bowman asked the driver to take us to Tiananmen Square. We could talk there, and when we had figured out what to do, we could get some dinner. We passed the journey in silence. On the way, Bowman polished off a vodka and a gin.