For a moment Gower remained undecided: he did not feel genuinely hungry and did not want to arouse suspicion by appearing so, after such a comparatively short time without food. The hole remained uncovered longer than at any other time and so Gower moved eventually, going across to the table.
He had grown used to the lavatory in the corner. The smell from what was being offered as food was quite different but equally revolting. The bowl contained a predominantly grey liquid, but it was glutinous, slimed on top. There were things floating or suspended in it but Gower could not tell what they were supposed to be: they appeared transparent, as jellyfish are transparent, and when he looked closer he saw that like jellyfish there were black blobs or spots on some parts of whatever it was. There was a cup beside the food, half filled. Gower was prepared for the water to be discoloured, maybe even with detritus floating in it, but it was unexpectedly clear.
Aware of the eyes upon him, Gower stood with his back to the door but in front of the table, so the food tray was hidden from his onlooker. He visibly went through the motions that from behind would have seemed to be his bringing the cup to his mouth but, sure his face was hidden from outside, kept his lips tight, barely letting the water wet them. It didn’t taste sour or bad, but he still didn’t drink. There was no spoon to eat with, so Gower lifted the food bowl, but still hidden from outside did not let it even touch his mouth. He tried to avoid inhaling, fighting against the bile building up in his throat. He made four or five lifting and head-back swallowing movements, then replaced the bowl. The visor swivelled shut as he sat down on the ledge. Gower rose at once, pouring half the water into the lavatory to make it appear to have been drunk, then emptied most of the viscous slops after it. The flies rose and settled: there was excited scratching from inside the clotted rim.
Gower drowsed through four more doorway checks before the louder noise began. There was a lot of activity in the outside corridor, sounding like squads of men moving up and down to bursts of shouted orders, and then two separate loudspeakers started up with contrasting, discordant wails, one clashing against the other. It was so raucous that Gower almost missed the rasp of the peep-hole opening. He didn’t have to prepare himself. He was sitting up, awake, his hands actually to his ears against the cacophony. He remained like that but with his head bent, no longer able to doze but with his eyes closed, still resting after a fashion, despite the row.
He hadn’t expected the middle-of-the-night resumption of the questioning, but it was one of the standard procedures so Gower was not disorientated by the abrupt entry of an escort squad, although he tried to appear confused. He kept up the pretence when he re-entered the room where Chen was waiting.
The table was clear now, all his belongings gone. The recording operators looked to be the same men. The black-suited man who had been present at the arrest wasn’t there any more, and on this occasion the three-man escort remained inside the room.
‘We have proof that you are a spy,’ announced Chen, at once.
‘I am not a spy,’ rejected Gower. Although the Chinese was wearing the same tunic it appeared freshly pressed. The man’s open face gleamed with cleanliness and there was the obvious fragrance of a heavy cologne. Gower recognized it all as another attempted psychological twist of the screw, for him mentally to compare his predicament with that of his questioner. He edged forward on the table separating them, for Chen to catch the odour seeping from him, hoping to offend the man.
‘The flowers were a signal.’
He was supposed to be muddled, remembered Gower. He blinked and made several attempts to form his words before saying: ‘Told you earlier what they were for.’
‘Tell me again!’
‘My room at the embassy.’
‘Liar!’
More word-searching. ‘Demand the embassy be told. I have the right of access.’
‘Tell me who you were signalling and I will inform your embassy where you are. And why.’
Gower dropped his head, not sure if he could conceal his full reaction to what the other man had disclosed. If they wanted him to provide a name, they hadn’t arrested Snow! ‘Not signalling anyone,’ he mumbled. ‘Here inspecting embassy facilities.’
‘What is the importance of the Taoist shrine?’
‘Not important. It seemed unusual. I was interested.’
‘We’ve set a trap,’ announced Chen.
Gower decided he couldn’t respond: show any reaction at all. He moved his shoulders, barely shrugging, but said nothing.
‘We’re putting flowers at the shrine.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Yes, you do.’
Gower shrugged again.
‘We’re going to make the signal you were supposed to give. Trap the others.’
Could it work? Possibly. The colour of the flowers had to be right. And the precise position, in the troughs. The significance of the colour would probably be obvious but they wouldn’t know where to put them. But would it matter if the signal was wrong and the priest ignored it? Snow – a Westerner – would arouse suspicion merely by being there if they expected a Westerner: risk almost automatic arrest. Still no personal danger, Gower reassured himself, recalling his reflection at the earlier confrontation. Snow didn’t know him: couldn’t name him. But was there any safety there, either? If Snow were seized, merely for being in the same area, and under interrogation disclosed that the flowers were a signal, then the connection was established. And Snow hadn’t been trained to resist interrogation. There was nothing he could do. If it happened – and Snow broke – he was lost. ‘I don’t understand,’ he repeated.
‘It would be better for you if you confessed now.’
‘I am a diplomat. I want to talk to my embassy.’
‘You’re guilty.’
Gower stayed silent.
‘You’re a fool.’
Still silence.
‘We just have to wait,’ said Chen.
Charlie knew immediately from the expression on Julia’s face that there was a crisis. She stood unspeaking at the door of her house for several moments before backing away, for him to enter.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Gower,’ she said. ‘They’ve swept up your apprentice.’
Thirty-six
The gesture of pouring Charlie the Islay malt she was buying specifically for him now was practically automatic: that night Julia poured for herself, which was not: normally she didn’t drink whisky. Charlie accepted the glass but put it at once on the side-table before leaning forward from his facing chair to bring them very close. He reached out for her hands to direct her entire concentration upon him.
‘Every detail,’ he urged. ‘Everything you know.’
‘Very little,’ apologized the girl. ‘Nobody knows anything. He went out of the embassy in Beijing, telling people he would be back around midday. He never arrived.’
‘Beijing?’ queried Charlie.
‘That was the assignment. China, to bring out someone we think is under suspicion: liable to arrest.’
‘What about an announcement? An accusation?’
‘Nothing yet. We’re making official representations, enquiring about his whereabouts. As a missing diplomat, of course. That’s why I’m telling you now: you’d have learned anyway, in a few hours. The idea’s to create a fuss: the Director thinks it might make them cautious about the pressure they’ll put on him.’