He stopped, turned away from me for a moment and then looked me in the eye. “Is there any reporting you need to do in Beijing? Anything sensitive? Because I think you should get it done as quickly as possible. In another day, you won’t be able to move in this city without a parade following you.”

He knew. I hadn’t told him, but he knew anyway. We were going to play it out, like a pantomime. In that moment, I loved Arthur Bowman. He was strong enough not to ask any more questions.

“There’s one thing,” I said. “I need to visit a joint French-Chinese biotechnology project that Unetat is sponsoring. They have a lab out at Qinghua University. I want to go out and take a look at it. I asked the Unetat people this morning for permission, but they put me off. Maybe we could ask them again.”

“Don’t ask, just do it. That’s Bowman’s first law of reporting. If you ask, they have a chance to say no. Where is this place?”

“North of the city, next to Beijing University. But it’s closed to foreigners. We may have trouble getting in.”

“Nothing is ever closed. That’s Bowman’s second law. You get us there, and I’ll get us in. I can bluff my way past anybody. Plus, I have credentials.” He opened his wallet and displayed a Unetat identification card. “The official French get-out-of-jail-free card. I got it for services rendered. How nice to have an opportunity to use it.”

Bowman was cruising now. Back in Washington, watching him ply the dinner-party circuit, it was easy to forget what a good reporter he was. He loved figuring out how to do something he’d been told was off-limits. He studied his Beijing map and concluded that our best bet was to take the subway to another part of the city—away from the tourist areas—and take a taxi from there. We did just that, catching the subway at the Beijing railway station and riding it 180 degrees around the city to the Fuchengmen stop. From there, we found a taxi that took us to the gates of the university.

A man in the brown uniform of the Public Security Bureau was slouching against the university gatehouse, watching people come and go.

“Just act like you belong here,” said Bowman. “If he says anything, let me handle it.” He strode off grandly toward the gate. I followed a step behind. As we approached, the PSB officer stared hard at us. Bowman nodded his head and gave him a little wave. The guard hesitated and then called out something in Chinese. Bowman flashed his identification card and said “Unetat”—pointing to himself—and kept walking.