“Okay.” Weiss nodded. He looked mildly disappointed I hadn’t said yes right away to the editing job; he was the kind of person who always wanted an answer that instant, but it could wait. My head was spinning. I had come to tell him about Bowman, but it suddenly occurred to me that to do so might be a serious career mistake. He was offering me the keys to the kingdom, and I was about to piss all over one of the reigning princes. I was struggling for words when he spoke up.

“Come on, kid. What’s the other thing you want to talk about? If it’s money, give me a number. I’ll see what we can do.”

“No, it’s not money. It’s something pretty important that’s been worrying me a lot. It’s really hard to discuss with you.”

“What is it?” he laughed. “Sex? Drugs? Gambling debts?”

“No.” I shook my head. “None of that. They’d be easy.”

“Well, what the hell is it? You don’t have to worry about how I’ll react. I don’t give a shit about rules, and I don’t believe in secrets.”

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for an instant. It was like going over the top in a roller coaster. I cleared my throat and began to speak.

“What would you do if you suspected that someone on the staff might be working for a foreign intelligence service?”

Weiss looked at me with genuine astonishment. This, truly, was a subject he had not expected. “Fire him, if it was true. But this isn’t a hypothetical, I gather. Who’s the suspect?”

“This is really hard, Ed. He’s one of your friends. You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No, I’m not. Tell me what’s on your mind. Who are you worried about?”

“Arthur Bowman.”

When I said the name, he laughed out loud. “Arthur Bowman? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of it, but it’s like somebody calling Ronald Reagan a pinko. I mean, Arthur is probably the most respected journalist on the paper. The idea that he’s somebody’s spy is—I don’t know—it just seems ridiculous. But you wouldn’t be raising this if you didn’t take it seriously, so I want to listen. What makes you think Arthur Bowman might be working for a foreign intelligence service? And which one, by the way?”

“The French,” I said. Weiss laughed again.

“The French? That’s a relief. I thought it was the Russians. Well, lay it on me.”

So I told him the story, more or less as it had happened.