“Sure. I know what you have on the line. And I know how serious my superiors are about seeing proof that your methods will work. They have a lot at stake as well. But you are a sincere man, so I am hoping you succeed, and when you succeed, China succeeds. It is, as you Americans say, a win-win situation.”

“Sincere?”

“You believe what you say, and it is hard to argue with that confidence. But a lot of what you promise is outside your control, so your sincerity may not always help you, as it raises expectations.”

Berman was unsure how to respond. Should he be less sincere? Or make fewer promises? Jimmy helped him out by speaking again.

“You’re sure you really want to be here, not at the finish?”

The stage finished in the small town of Bellegarde-sur-Valserine, more than forty kilometers past the mountain, with another, less vigorous climb between the riders and the end.

“No, this is the spot I want to be at. If Liang is leading here, I know he’s strong enough to win the stage. This is what this race means to me, the rider struggling to the top of the mountain, on his own, fighting his pain and fatigue as much as he is taking on the other riders.”

“I know you like the sport,” said Jimmy.

“It’s a metaphor for me,” said Berman. “I’m a competitive guy.” A moment later a cheer went up from the crowd as the people pressed forward.

“They are coming,” said Jimmy.

The police were now fighting to contain the crowd so that they could keep the road open. In the next instant a police car summited the peak with siren blaring, then another car, then a car from the Azeri team and a motorbike with a cameraman facing backward, training his camera practically in the rider’s face. Berman strained to see through the flags—he saw the rider being patted on the back and heard the cheering for the leader. It was Liang, he was leading the stage! Berman had been following the race online, so he knew what was happening, but he needed to see it for himself. It was sweet victory.

Liang looked strong, his face set in rugged determination, breathing evenly. He was standing on his pedals, straining for every last ounce of effort, then sitting as he rode a short flat before the descent began. He reached down and took a water bottle, zipped up his shirt, which he’d opened for ventilation on the climb, stuffed his mouth with some food, drank, and then was out of sight, followed by more team cars and motorbikes fighting through the crowd that had closed up behind Liang.