My jet lag kept me up most of that night. I couldn’t help wondering whether I would have been more comfortable with Lisette in my bed. I was finally sound asleep at 6:30 A.M., when the alarm rang. The pharmaceutical breakfast would be starting in an hour. I showered and shaved and caught a taxi to the China World Hotel. Lisette was waiting for me, dressed in a tight black miniskirt.

“How did you sleep?” she chirped. “Not so well? Too bad. But I have good news for you. Monsieur Peyron will see you this afternoon, at three, here at the conference center. He will give you an interview. Are you happy?”

“Yes,” I said, “I am extremely happy. As we like to say in America, ‘I owe you one.’”

“One what?” she asked. It was hard to know whether she was acting the coquette or just being stupid. She led me toward a small meeting room where the pharmaceutical session was about to start. The discussion was moderated by a Unetat executive named François Minart, who identified himself as the company’s group vice president for pharmaceuticals. He talked for ten minutes or so about the size of the Chinese market for pharmaceutical drugs. The gist of it seemed to be: one billion sore throats, one billion earaches, one billion cases of acne. Then the three panelists gave their spiels—all wildly favorable to the Chinese. Lisette watched with her usual dewy-eyed enthusiasm. At last, the moderator asked if anyone had any questions. I stood up and identified myself as a reporter for the Mirror.

“What about biotechnology?” I asked. “Does Unetat have any plans to work with the Chinese on genetic engineering?”

The three panelists looked at one another. None of them had a clue as to what the right answer was. Eventually Mr. Minart, the Unetat man, spoke up.

“We have a small research effort under way with the Chinese, to acquaint them with some aspects of modern biotechnology. But there are no plans at present for any joint production.”

After the session ended, I went up and introduced myself to Minart.

“I’m here with Arthur Bowman,” I said, hoping the name would register with him. “We’d love to talk more with you about what you’re doing here. Perhaps we could even see the biotechnology-research project you mentioned. That sounded interesting.”

“I don’t think so, really,” he said. “It’s very small. Not worth the trouble.”

“Maybe we could meet for lunch some time this week, then.” I handed him my business card, with my hotel and room number written on the back.

“Perhaps,” he said. He looked over to Lisette and raised one eyebrow, as if to say, Who is this clown? “Our public relations department will contact you if it is possible.”

“How many people are working in your biotechnology project?” I asked.