by Aston, Tom
Chapter 61 - 11:10am 13 April - Balong Polo and Country Club Resort, Zhejiang Province, China
Carslake knew plenty about Steven Semyonov, going right back to the photos in his highschool yearbook, then his conviction and his time in prison. He knew less about the man’s illnesses, which Stone had learned about from Virginia, and for that matter, pretty much seen for himself.
One of the difficult things in the story was grasping that the regular, skinny thirteen year-old in the high school yearbook, with hair and clear skin, was the same person as Semyonov. At first glance, no one would believe they were the same person, and Stone could see why Semyonov, the person, had seemed to appear from nowhere. It was a key to the person he was, and what had happened to him.
When Carslake finished talking again, and lay back in that stifling bedroom to gaze once more at the ceiling lightbulb, Stone rehearsed the story of Semyonov through in his mind.
It seemed that until the age of thirteen, the boy called Steven Starkfield was a normal, happy teenager. He also had a beautiful, clever sweetheart called Virginia Kocszelny. The two were inseparable, both clever and so different from anyone else at the small community school, in Coldbury, New Hampshire. However, at the age of fourteen, Steven became ill. For whatever reason – hormone changes maybe, or some mystery virus – he became afflicted by the most acute eczema and asthma. He later discovered they were caused by allergic reactions to normally harmless bacteria. Sores covered his body and his face. It must have felt like he was breathing through a straw. The doctors treated with heavy doses of steroids for the asthma, which explains why the school photo at age fourteen shows a boy forty pounds heavier than the year before, and covered in acne and sores.
At that time of life, any kid would be sensitive of his appearance. Steven found his body bloated by steroids and his face covered with zits and acne right down to his chest. Stone could guess how it panned out next. Kids can be cruel to one who looks different. But Steven never gave them chance. He hid himself away. Depression, isolation – a very common thing with teenagers who are long-term sick. He even stopped seeing his best friend Virginia, which is why she felt so eternally guilty about it all. Virginia was intelligent, blossoming, beautiful. She would soon escape to a top university, call herself Virginia Carlisle, and never look back.
Meanwhile, young Steven Starkfield turned in on himself. The computer and the Internet became his world. He applied himself for days on end to programming and hacking, and he was good at it. Virginia said he was inspired by Marc Andreessen, a college kid who wrote the software for the first web browser.
Carslake pointed out that Andreessen didn’t invent the Web, but it seemed like it at the time. His web browser was the first software you could use to access the Web easily. It was world-changing, but in fact it had been put together in a few weeks by a college kid.
Young Starkfield suddenly knew what he wanted in life. He wanted to write software that would change the world. According to Carslake, Starkfield would have seen through Andreessen in a few weeks. Because Andreessen’s genius was in the idea, not the programming. Steven would have realized very soon that he could do better than Andreessen, which must be a weird feeling if you’re fourteen.
Whatever the exact sequence was, Andreessen was key to Steven, because it was Andreessen’s next venture that really lit the touch paper for Semyonov’s life work. Andreessen’s next venture was Infoseek, the first major search engine on the Internet. Semyonov’s career had been about search ever since, and the Machine was just an extension of that.
But back then, Steven Starkfield was into hacking and programming. This was where Carslake’s knowledge had been so useful, because he’d looked up the court case against Starkfield, and found out a ton of stuff. It was used in court evidence against the young Steven. Semyonov couldn’t go to school, so he programmed, twelve, fourteen hours a day. He must have hated everyone back then. Thought everyone was an idiot, even Andreessen. Even Virginia.
Steven Starkfield, sick and reclusive, was arrested for hacking Defense Department servers when he was eighteen. And the computers seized by the FBI showed a remarkable level of programming. He’d made his own operating system, like Bill Gates did at that age. It was simpler than Gates’, but more powerful. Also code-generators, programs to write programs. And the programming code showed that he was obsessed with concision. Making his programs as short, but as powerful as possible.
Prison was the key event in Semyonov’s life. He would have hated the fact that the FBI took all his work and analysed it, and he resolved that no one would be able to figure out his programs again. You didn’t have to be a genius to work out that prison would have been disastrous for his health too. The weight, the eczema, the sores – it all went out of control.
He was lucky to get away with a year in jail, according to Carslake. The US can be very hard on hackers, especially if they target the Defense Department. And Starkfield was banned from the Internet for two years when he got out. It was when he did his best work. Away from the Internet, entirely on his own.
As for the Chinese: Carslake knew for certain Semyonov shared a cell for a while with a Chinese guy. Maybe it gave him the idea. Maybe he learned a few Chinese characters. Who was to say?
However it happened, Virginia’s tech guy, a man called Ostrovich, had analyzed Semyonov’s video technology. He said he could begin to work out the programming, but it looked like whoever wrote it redesigned the whole system to use a few hundred Chinese characters as short cuts. The character for gold would be for the function “print”, for example. But it went much further. Semyonov used a single Chinese character as a short cut for a whole complex algorithm. It was ultra-concise. For Semyonov, who had it all memorized, it would be ultra-quick to write his programs. Which is why he’d achieved so much, working entirely alone.
Best of all, his own system, full of Chinese characters, was private to Semyonov. No one looking at it would have a clue how it was done. Including the FBI, if they ever seized his computer again. Semyonov was determined that if anyone ever saw his work again, it would be impossible to decipher. Which was something the guys at SearchIgnition had found to their cost.
The next part of the story was fairly well known. Steven Semyonov founded SearchIgnition with a lawyer and an accountant whom he’d never met, and with whom he shared as little as he could. Neither had an interest in technology. His search programs, his algorithms, his indexes were all held in the “black box” of his own programs. He started the SearchIgnition Corporation in a basement filled with a hundred-odd old machines, bought for scrap, loaded with his own software. He hooked them together and made them act as a single computer. Soon he had thousands of machines in a warehouse, again acting as a single computer. He’d built the world’s dominant search engine for virtually nothing. The rest was history.
Stone lay back too, like Carslake, looking at the ceiling in the bedroom, watching the moths flutter round and round the bulb.
‘I think I’ve figured it out,’ said Stone finally.
‘Figured what out?’ asked Carslake.
‘The Machine,’ said Stone. ‘What it is, what makes it so powerful, and why so few people know about it. I think I’ve figured it. If I’m right, the whole world will want a piece of it and Oyang was right. Twenty-five billion was a small price to pay.’
Chapter 62 - 5:06pm 13 April - Balong Polo Resort and Country Club, Zhejiang Province, China
Seventeen hours by Stone’s cracked digital watch in that one bedroom in the villa. They had been given neither food nor water. This was, of course, a good thing. It meant that whoever was holding them had meant to bring them out sooner. And still meant to bring them out. Carslake added that the lack of food or water meant that neither of them had to use the toilet, and that was a good thing for him.
In the end, something else good happened. The door swung open and two Chinese men came back in with AK 47s. Carslake looked at the weapons wistfully. As if he would have a clue what to
do with one. Carslake and Stone were led out together. Out of the villa and into the daylight, into the warm, humid fresh air, and across the decking. Now they were in some kind of tent, which must have been constructed there while they'd been locked away. There were noises and voices and the hum of machinery, and it was air conditioned. They came to a plastic curtain of thick plastic – so thick that it was impossible to see through it clearly.
A figure appeared behind the plastic sheet, a tall figure in a white suit. Even the face was covered with white.
Virginia’s voice came through the plastic curtain. Her hair must be covered, and her face also with a mask of some sort.
‘I’m sorry we had to keep you in the dark,’ she said. ‘But you’ll need to wait a while yet.’
‘Yeah. Like, literally,’ said Carslake drily. ‘But don’t worry, the room was peaceful. What happened? So busy you forgot about us?’
‘Come on, Carslake,’ said Stone. ‘As if she could forget those legs. And that ass of yours.’
‘None of this is remotely funny,’ she said, developing that weary tone once more. It was light years from her TV voice. ‘It’s been a disaster. Like I told him it would be. We sat Steven outside because that’s what he wanted. To sit out in the open air, just for a few hours. We blasted the hell out of the whole island to get rid of the bugs – but it was a stupid idea. He has half a dozen bites and nearly died twice from the reactions. Steven was already suffering. He’s got open sores and wounds all over by now and they just attracted the insects. You can imagine the pain.’
‘We heard,’ said Carslake.
‘And he’s covered with god-knows-what bacteria. We have to wash him with distilled water. Sterile.’ She sounded worn out beneath that naturally bright voice. ‘You heard what kind of a night we had. A medical crew came by helicopter and we created a mobile cleanroom for him on the island. We cleaned him and gave him the interferon straight into his bloodstream. It worked, but it took too long. We should have left on the first helicopter.’
‘So what now?’
‘Steven’s adamant,’ she said. ‘He’s over-ruled me. You two can go. He doesn’t care anymore who knows what.’
‘Neither do you, Virginia. Right?’ said Stone. ‘Whatever stories we put out will be trashed by you in the mainstream media anyhow.’
She didn’t deny it. Stone had to love this girl. She’d planned it all out before she let them out of that room. ‘You can go wherever you want,’ she said. ‘Steven asks only that you leave the country and not return. He’ll summon his private jet to Ningbo, which is near here, and tell the pilot to take you where you wish to go. London. LA. Tokyo.’
Stone couldn’t possibly trust this. And in any case, there was the matter of the Machine to think of. He wasn't going to give it up at this stage.
‘Is it you or Semyonov who’s given up on getting the Machine, Virginia?’ said Stone. ‘We know more than you think,’ he said. ‘I know about The Machine. I know what it is, and I know what happened with Semyonov and SearchIgnition, and why he ran away to China. I know where all this new technology is pouring out from. You won’t be able to keep that quiet. Especially when they go back to that crater in Sichuan, and it all starts again. You can’t keep that kind of thing quiet. Every government and corporation in the world will want a piece of it.’
Bravado from Stone. It sometimes works. But a silent stand off is more difficult than you’d think when you can’t see the person you’re talking to. A person naturally fills the silence in conversation by speaking, and Stone was adept at using silence to make people say more than they should. But he couldn’t see her. She could be smiling derisively. Or just rolling her eyes in exasperation. Maybe there was no “Machine”, maybe everything was just as it seemed, just as she’d said. A mess, a big disaster. A dying billionaire and his childhood sweetheart had been playing silly games, and now she was behind a plastic sheet, dressed up like a space alien to confuse him. Stone forced himself to say nothing till she responded.
‘Does Carslake know too?’ she said, warily.
‘Sure,’ said Stone. Even lying isn’t easy when she can’t see you. No facial tells or body language to reinforce. He was feigning eye contact with her. Pointless. Mercifully, Carslake didn’t contradict him.
‘You’d better come and talk to Steven,’ she said, finally. 'I guess it's his decision.'
-oO0Oo-
Stone had to take it slowly for hygiene reasons. He was inside a large plastic tent, placed on the decking of the villa, two hundred metres from the beach at Balong. Stone went through two sets of translucent white plastic doors, stripped completely and showered. He was told to clean himself all over with anti-bacterial wash. He emerged in white cotton medical pajamas. Virginia was wearing the same, her hair tied up in a plastic cap, with a white mask over her face.
Another two sets of plastic tent doors and Stone realised he was in the presence once more of The Man. A white beached whale, pained and bleeding. Semyonov’s pale bulk was lying pitifully on its side on a gurney, three or four metres away, blurred behind yet another plastic sheet in a “cleanroom”, resembling an oxygen tent, to keep the air sterile. It was quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning plant. Stone sat down. He could feel Semyonov’s tortured red eyes burning into him through the sheeting.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, Stone,’ said Semyonov. His voice was still strong and intelligent in between asthmatic gasps. Virginia was biting her knuckle again, weeping silently.
‘We’re coming with you,’ said Stone, after a delay. ‘The Death Hole, the crater in Sichuan. You know the place. That’s where you’re going. And since you offer, that is where we choose to go.’
‘We?’ asked Semyonov meaningfully. ‘Does that mean Carslake too?
‘Virginia’s idea. She seems to think two pairs of hands will be better than one for this little job.’ said Stone.
‘She could be right,‘ said Semyonov, ‘But more likely she wants Carslake where she can see him. She doesn’t want him posting it all over his blog the minute he leaves her sight. She likes to be in control. You probably noticed. But I’m not sure I agree with her.’
‘Tush,’ said Stone. ‘Carslake wouldn’t miss it for the world,’’
‘Sarcasm, Stone,’ said Semyonov. ‘Is beneath you.’ Stone felt the blur of the red eyes boring into him again through the translucent plastic. Semyonov made stiff, pained movements behind the sheet. ‘I guess the lady gets her way as usual,’ said Semyonov, almost resignedly. ‘But I warn you - it will be dangerous and I can’t exactly help you. And what makes you think there’s anything to see down there? Robert Oyang is an unreliable witness, let me assure you.’
‘Come on, Semyonov,’ said Stone. ‘The Chinese have done everything possible for you. Including airlifting a mobile operating theatre onto this island by the look of it. They don’t do that for nothing. There’s something very interesting down there, and we all know it. A few hours ago you wanted my help.’
‘That was Virginia.’
‘Are you sure about that? You could get a legion of Chinese to help you, but you didn’t. There’s something you want to get for yourself. You need our help, or you can’t do it. Let me and Carslake help you.’
Semyonov said nothing for a few seconds. There was a rustling of plastic as he shifted painfully around on the gurney. ‘I could be blowing smoke up their asses, too, the Chinese,’ he said groaning. ‘Like I did with you and Oyang and the rest of the world.’
‘The Chinese aren’t that gullible, Semyonov,’ said Stone. ‘And I’m sorry to break it to you, but it was Oyang who was blowing smoke up your backside. All he wanted, in all the time he was buttering you up and kissing your arse, was money.’
There was wry laughter from behind the sheeting. ‘Why can’t the Chinese go down the mine and get whatever it is themselves?’ asked Semyonov.
Testing him. Probing Stone’s knowledge. Constantly playing his intellectual games.
‘Oh, they could d
o that,’ said Stone. ‘But it would go wrong. They need you to do it, Semyonov. Besides they trust you. You offered them something very big, and the Machine, whatever it is, has already made a down-payment of billions of dollars worth of technology. Why would they louse that up?’
Semyonov was right – he could very well be blowing smoke up their asses too. But it hardly mattered.
‘You know why. And I know why,’ repeated Stone. ‘You asked me to help you get something out of that hole, the mine or whatever it is…’
‘And you know,’ intoned Semyonov’s wheezing voice from with the tent, ‘That you’ll have to tell me what you know about the Machine. You can’t bluff me any longer.’ A doctor or orderly had gone behind the sheeting, covered from head to toe in a plastic jumpsuit and wearing a breathing mask. Semyonov was trying to get up, lumbering around, blowing heavy asthmatic breaths, trying to swing himself from the gurney and onto his feet. ‘I’m going to get dressed for the journey,’ he said, between breaths. ‘I can assure you it’s not only inconvenient. It’s excruciating. You’ll have to tell me what you know about the Machine to distract me.’
Stone let the silence hang for a while, then when Semyonov had stopped groaning and wincing, it was his turn to tell a story. He was going to tell a dying man in an oxygen tent about the Machine.
Chapter 63 - 5:14pm 13 April - Balong Polo and Country Club Resort, Zhejiang Province, China
Jean Luc Bisson, a French polo player, had found a Chinese girl. She was sassy, sexy. Spiky hair and spiky heels, skinny in black jeans and black silk camisole.
A hot breeze soughed over from the South China Sea, fluttering the advertising banners for Patek Philippe and Louis Vuitton, and tousling Jean Luc’s hair. It was the People’s Republic of China, but it could have been a humid version of Hurlingham near London, or maybe the Hamptons. Designer sun dresses and hats, flags of all nations, the smell of ponies. Most of all the turbo-charged testosterone of eight whole teams of polo players. Super-rich men, young women and lean men in tight white jeans. The atmosphere crackled with sexuality.
