"I will repeat this one more time," Zhou said. Now he was squatting in front of Stratton, glaring into the American's dripping face. "You are unworthy to stand in the presence of any Chinese citizen, do you understand? You are worse than the shit on this floor. You are a murderer, a thief, a destroyer of Chinese property, a corrupter of young women, a spy… and, I think you should know, Stratton, that you have no secrets here. We know everything about you!"
Stratton made no response. He breathed through his mouth only. He closed his eyes. He fought to neutralize all his senses, one by one.
"We have come here to give you the opportunity to confess your crimes, Comrade Stratton. Do not be afraid, and do not be foolish. Many thousands of Chinese have profited from such expurgation. They lived to tell about it, however. I cannot promise the same for you."
"What is this, a struggle session? You're sick," Stratton said.
Zhou nodded. "Ah, you've heard of this. You have read about it, I suppose, in some perverted imperialist book. China is the subject of many books in your country. China is a popular subject among American scholars. You came here posing as a scholar, did you not?"
"I am a tourist."
"Liar!" It was the jailer again. He knew the script.
"Do not continue with these lies," Zhou said. "I know your country very well, Stratton. I know the American people. I even know the language. I studied for two years at Yale University." Zhou laughed. "It's amusing, in a way. In the many years since my return to China, I have never once had the opportunity to interview an American criminal. You are my first. I am grateful to Comrade Wang Bin for the chance to serve China in this way. He tells me you are a treacherous spy."
"He is mistaken, Comrade Zhou. I am merely a friend of his brother."
"You are a liar," Zhou replied.
"Liar!" screamed the jailer. It was the only English word he knew.
"Liar!" Zhou yelled.
"No."
"Now it is time to confess," Zhou said. He left the cell, and returned shortly with a handwritten Chinese document. "Please sign this now."
"What does it say? Could you read it to me?" Stratton said, stalling.
"Of course." Zhou motioned at the jailer, who slogged out of the cell. He and another jailer returned carrying three wooden chairs. One was placed directly in front of Stratton, and that is where Zhou sat. The first jailer took the second chair, to Zhou's left, but equidistant from the kneeling American. A third chair was placed on Zhou's right. It was empty.
"You have been found guilty of numerous crimes against the state," Zhou began.
"This is the list. It is lengthy.
"To begin with, you lied on your visa application. You said you had never been to China before, Stratton. Therefore you are charged with presenting false information to immigration officials.
"Secondly, you are charged with the theft of personal articles belonging to Mr.
David Wang. These items were stolen from Mr. Wang's hotel room in Peking nearly one week ago."
Stratton stared at the earthen floor and shook his head.
"You are charged with the murder of Huang Gong, a limousine driver in Peking who was killed while serving the state. Additionally, you are charged with the attempted murder of another comrade, Ni Zanfu, who was seriously injured in the same tragic episode."
"They tried to run me down," Stratton protested.
"Liar!" screamed the interrogators in unison.
"There are two more crimes which are the most serious," Zhou went on. "One of them is the abduction of Wang Kangmei, the daughter of the deputy minister. We will discuss that in a moment. But I first should like to ask you about the crime of espionage against the People's Republic. On March 18, 1971… " and Zhou began to read the document: " Thomas Stratton, then a captain with the Special Forces Intelligence section of the United States Army, illegally entered the Chinese town of Man-ling with a squad of armed soldiers and assassinated thirty-eight innocent peasants.' "
Zhou paused and glanced up from the paper. "You came back to China this year for the purpose of continuing your terrorism and trying to recruit Chinese citizens for your criminal espionage. You are a dangerous agent of the United States government, and you must be punished according to the laws of the Chinese state.
Now… are you willing to confess to your crimes, Mr. Stratton?"
"I cannot, Comrade Zhou." Stratton stared at the frog-eyed face. Zhou's thick eyeglasses looked like a cheap prop for some stand-up comic, but there was nothing funny in the Chinese eyes. He waved the document contemptuously.
"Perhaps we should review each charge separately-"
"My answer would remain the same. Not guilty. I am not guilty of anything."
Zhou nodded at the jailer. The jailer's leg shot out, and his boot caught Stratton flush in the Adam's apple. He toppled backwards into the slop, moaning, choking, gulping air. He grabbed impotently at his throat with both hands.
After a few moments, the jailer yanked Stratton to his knees.
"Have you caught your breath?" Zhou asked.
Stratton's mouth moved, but only a dry rattle came out.
"It is a question of honor, then?" Zhou pressed. "You will not confess because your pride rebels. We know something of honor in our country, too, Mr. Stratton.
I cannot tell you how many men and women have knelt before me and resisted the truth because of honor and pride-no matter what the evidence, no matter what kind of punishment awaited them. I have seen many men-some of them weaker than you-resist for days. Three, four days, even longer. It was remarkable. No food, no water. They knelt there, wetting themselves and soiling themselves and suffering… yet, they insisted, no matter what, that they, too, were innocent. I have to admit that I came to admire some of those comrades even after I executed them, Mr. Stratton.
"The choice is yours. Would you prefer to be admired for your valor? Or would you instead care for some warm food, and cold water. And perhaps some medical treatment for your leg? Clean clothes? A bath?"
Zhou did not smile. The jailer waited for another signal.
"One man lasted six days with me," Zhou said. "His was a political crime, truly insignificant compared to yours. I was prepared to send him to one of the far provinces for two years. Farm labor on a rural commune. It would have been a fair sentence, had he confessed. But he, too, spoke of honor. Even after three days, when we boarded the windows. It was summer, very hot and still. He was old and sick. We took away all the food, of course. By the fifth day, he was drinking his own urine. On the sixth day, I threw a live river rat into the cell and he ate it raw, tail and all. So much for honor, Mr. Stratton."
Stratton could not think for the pain; each idea seemed to sting the inside of his brain. Cowering on his knees, never had he been so helpless. His captors did not have a gun, nor did they need one. Stratton was the weakest man in the cell, and all three of them knew it. All he could do was drag it out, and hope for the pain to pass.
"Do you see why you are unworthy to stand? After hearing the list of your crimes, do you now understand?"
"What if I were to confess to some of the charges?" Stratton asked in a raspy voice.
"No!" Zhou barked. "Not good enough. The crimes are related. One leads to another. It is impossible to be innocent of some and guilty of others. It is either day or night. Justice must be distinct, and clear, and indisputable.
Otherwise there would be no respect for laws. So if you confess, you will confess to all of it. You will be truthful."
"How long have you worked for Wang Bin?"
"Shut up!"
"Are you paid well?" Stratton's tone was soft, boylike.
"I work for the state."
"Then where is your uniform?"
"Quiet!" Zhou snapped. The jailer did not understand the words, but he listened tautly, in expectation.
"Have I been convicted by the state?"
"Yes. The deputy minister pronounced-"