I can hear Bruce opening his door and talking fast, but it doesn't help. The soldiers climb up into the bed of the truck and peel back the canvas with the muzzles of their weapons. We're taken to a sleepy commander wearing an enormous green trench coat, a fur aviator cap too small for his round head, and muddy bedroom slippers. He sits behind a rickety desk in an unheated barracks. Bruce does the talking while we do our best to look bewildered and guileless.
Money is the smoothest lubricant on earth, liquor a close second.
With both, many an ungainly situation can be coaxed to glide along. With neither, it's like trying to push a safe through sand. The commander's face betrays nothing. On second thought, unbribability may be a career liability in the Chinese Army. Eventually the commander waves his hand, lazily, like a king, and the soldiers escort us outside.