The Hard Rock Café was attached to the Beijing Landmark Towers off Dongsanhuanbei Road. A red soft-top Chevvy with fifties fins projected from a first-floor roof, for all the world as if it had fallen from the top of the adjacent fourteen-storey tower block and lodged there. A blue globe, with the Hard Rock Café logo, sat atop an elaborately roofed mock-Greek-pillared entrance. Out front, on the sidewalk, stood a ten-foot-high red Les Paul guitar. Margaret followed Li up black-and-red steps, scared to touch and smear the polished brass handrail supported on black-and-gold Les Pauls. They passed beneath a large five-point red star over the legend NO DRUGS AND NUCLEAR WEAPONS ALLOWED. They had not spoken for more than fifteen minutes.

Inside, the restaurant was doing brisk business. Staff wearing emerald shirts and black jeans were serving early lunches to Beijing’s new young jet set and a scattering of curious tourists and foreign residents.

A pretty young waitress approached Li and they had a brief conversation. She nodded towards a stall in the far corner, and Li headed off towards it. Margaret followed, depressed and annoyed with him, and wondering why she was here. As they approached the stall, she saw that there were four young men seated in it. They were all immaculately and expensively dressed, with beautifully cut hair and manicured hands. They were unlike any other Chinese she had seen since she arrived. They reeked of wealth. A hush fell over their conversation as Li arrived at the table, and one of them aborted the call he’d been making on his cellphone. The man in the far right-hand corner smiled to show beautiful predatory teeth, and Margaret saw that he was not as young as he had first appeared. Mid-thirties, perhaps. His confidence, and the way the other three at the table deferred to him, immediately marked him out as the man Li had called The Needle. He might sell drugs, but he didn’t look like a man who used them.

“Well, well,” he said, still smiling. “If it isn’t Mr. Li Yan, our friendly neighbourhood cop. Heard you got yourself promoted, Mr. Li. Congratulations.” He held out his hand, but Li ignored it.

“I want a word,” he said.

“Oh, do you?” The Needle glanced at Margaret. “And who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

“She’s an American observer.”

“An observer?” He exaggerated a look of surprise. “And what’s she come to observe? How Beijing cops harass innocent citizens?”

“No,” Li said evenly. “She’s here to observe how innocent citizens are willing to co-operate with the police and spare them the trouble of getting a warrant.”

“She speak Chinese?” The Needle glanced at her suspiciously.

“No.”

“Hey, lady, you want to fuck?” The Needle directed this at Margaret in Chinese.

Margaret looked at Li, confused. “Was he speaking to me?”

“Sure,” The Needle said in English. “I just say, how you doing?”