I compromised and swung the chair round and sat on it with my arms folded along its back, so that I could face him. His smile was tentative as he waited for me to comment on that, and his expression was perfectly genuine. It occurred to me that if I admitted what he already suspected - that I was in fact from London, he might reciprocate by you're falling asleep, you're not thinking straight, he's not perfectly genuine and he's not being civilized and he doesn't have any manners and if you admit you're from London you're right in the shit so start waking up. He'd begun to blur in front of me, swaying back and then forward. I got into focus again and he stopped. This was one of the classic techniques: interrogation sessions alternating between friendliness and hostility to get you so confused you started blurting things out. And you always believe it'll never work because you're too bloody smart. 'That,' he said with quiet charm, 'is the problem.' 'Problem?' 'We would require your co-operation, if we were to make things easier for you.' He stood away from the chair and took a pace or two, deliberating, coming back. 'If you could overcome your hesitation, you see, we might arrange something to our mutual advantage.' Another rueful laugh: 'I'm sorry to have to beat about the bush like this, but I can't trust you until you trust me.' He sat on the chair backwards, just as I was sitting, as if in sympathy. Not in sympathy. 'Arrangement?' I asked him. Kept having to refocus. 'Yes.' His honey-coloured eyes played directly on to my own for a moment as he deliberated again. 'You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to take a risk, to show we can be just as sincere as I know you would really like to be. I'm going to trust you.' He sat back a little, regarding me with open candour. 'Now how does that sound?' I allowed an appropriate period of hesitation before I spoke. 'Generous.' He sat back and slapped his big square hands together, pleased as a boy. 'I'm delighted you think so, I really am delighted. Yes, I'm being generous, I freely admit it.' With his head tilted slightly, as if he'd suddenly seen me in a new light: 'You know, I was certain we'd find a way of putting our heads together, if we tried. Now this arrangement . . .' he hesitated a fraction, then went on, 'I'm going to put it to you quite frankly. There's someone we want to find, very badly, and if you were able to tell us where he is, we'd bring him in and exchange him for you. We'd let you go.' He leaned forward confidentially. 'His name is Schrenk.'

I tilted my chair back, watching him. He was waiting for me to say something, but I didn't want to commit myself without thinking it over, and he got impatient and stood up and whirled his saber - 'Slovo o polku Igoreve! You said you always admired it, remember?' He threw out his chest and began singing, his voice - 'Wake up! Wake up!' I jerked my head back. 'Sorry.' Blinding light. 'You must stay awake. ' 'Yes. I'll do that.' I sat straighter on the stool and let my head go back against the wall. He knew what I was doing, but it was all right because I had to keep my eyes open, so he'd know if I dozed off again. With my head back, the light was fierce, a burning disc that wavered at the rim, as if I were staring into the sun; but at the same time I could slip into a kind of half-sleep, somewhere between the alpha and theta waves, without losing too much awareness. They'd let me take off my jacket, and I was sitting with my arms resting on my thighs, with the sweat trickling down to the elbows: I was soaked with it, because of the lamp's heat and the stress going on in the organism. My head was a ball floating in the sea of light, drifting and bobbing, with the images going on inside it. His name is Schrenk. That threw me, yes. Threw me completely. So they hadn't got him. So where was he? I think it was okay, the way I reacted, I mean by not reacting. Shook my head, don't know him. But threw me, really. Bracken ought to know. Vader, old boy, mind if I use your blower?