by Tom Aston
Ying Ning laughed and shook her head. ‘Oyang? And finish up like Junko? Maybe you are stupid, Rockhead. But I take you to Shanghai to show you something. You will be surprised.’
Chapter 27 — 7:05pm 31 March Special Circumstances Training Facility, Southern California
Ekstrom froze the video clip on his widescreen monitor at two minutes thirty-three seconds, and scribbled some notes on his iPad. He hated deskwork as a rule — but this wasn’t so bad. He zoomed with the SmoothVision slider, and looked at the range indicator on the weapon. 780 meters to the wall of the Afghan compound. The infrasound weapon was run at 95 per cent power with focused beam for 85 seconds.
He resumed the video and slid forward to eleven minutes on the clip, to see the first results of the firing. Two kids lying prone in a dusty lane, a woman in her twenties and a young girl in a doorway, an old man with a donkey collapsed on top of him. Then a video of the inside one of the “dwellings”, as he was meant to call them. Shitholes more like. The video showed a woman lying half-naked in a scuzzy bedroom with clay walls.
And so on. In the eight and a half minutes between the weapon discharge at a range of nearly half a mile, and his men reaching the site, the whole village had stayed incapacitated. Four had been killed by the eighty-five second burst. Three children under five, including one breast-feeding baby lying with his inert mother, and an elderly man. These small children had suffered major hemorrhage in the ears and lungs. They had died from inhalation of blood, with no one able to help them.
Ekstrom had ordered the bodies brought from the village and laid out together under the trees. The first sign of recovery from the villagers was at twelve minutes, and the last at twenty-two.
Forty-four adult villagers and adolescents had been used for the second phase of the work. They had been tied in pairs to trees, and exposed to the weapon at a range of 250 metres through a one metre thick compound wall. Varying power discharges and exposure times were tested, with the figures written neatly on their foreheads in black marker pen. Those who survived the test, by reason of having a lower dose of the sound weapon, Ekstrom personally dispatched them with a single shot of his.22 automatic to the forehead, after ensuring their heart function and blood pressure had been recorded, along with their time of exposure, in black permanent marker on their chests.
The mean exposure of the infrasound weapon required for human adult death was 113 seconds, with a standard deviation of 25 seconds
Details of non-human deaths were not recorded, which in hindsight had been an error. The men responsible for letting the two Afghan boys escape were docked two days pay each. The village was declared sterile of native Afghans at 13:34 in the afternoon and the airstrike to dispose of the collateral bodies called at 14:13. Ekstrom ordered his men to move out 14:07, returning with three men on foot at 14:33 to verify that the bodies had been destroyed.
Though he enjoyed the detail and neatness of a job well done, Ekstrom would be lying if he said he enjoyed anything more than the incendiary weapon striking at the bodies through the line of trees. He watched it a dozen times, zooming in and out. In real time and in slow motion, Ekstrom watched the trees waving gracefully in the firestorm, and the skin peeling back from the faces of his victims. Most gratifying.
Sometimes he had to pinch himself. Did he really get paid to do this? It was his dream job.
Chapter 28–12:40pm 1 April — Hung Hom, Hong Kong
Ying Ning sat astride Stone’s lap, her face centimetres from his. ‘Try not to become excited,’ she said with casual irony, massaging her butt into his groin. It was another of her "tests". Stone was sitting in a chair with Ying Ning facing him, holding a hypodermic syringe. He closed his eyes once more as the Chinese girl rubbed his brow with alcohol gel, and then jabbed the needle in.
‘You nice and still, Rockhead,’ she said. ‘Bao An wriggles like a girl!’
‘I bet you do too,’ said Stone.
Ying Ning didn’t respond to this kind of thing. She held her hand steady with the needle. Considering she was smoking at the same time. The injections were to create swelling under the eyebrows, lips and chin. Just enough to fool the facial recognition systems they would encounter at all points of entry to the People’s Republic. Ying Ning, Stone and the two Chinese lads would all travel on false ID’s.
Ying Ning was a hard-bitten operator. Difficult for Stone to read, with a flint-hard exterior. She said nothing about herself, and made no attempt to establish a connection with Stone. Sure, she used her sexuality, and she tried to ridicule him. But that was just an attempt to unsettle him — a defence mechanism. At best she flirted — but then so do lots of insecure people. Stone had no human connection with Ying Ning at all, whereas with Carlisle, who he despised, that connection was instant.
And it had to be like that. What Ying Ning was doing was dangerous. China21 was illegal, and Ying Ning would be executed, probably in public, if she was caught breaking the rules. China is a tough country, run from the top. Everyone knows the rules, and individuals don’t matter that much. The greater good always comes first. People know the penalties for stepping out of line, and mostly they don’t do it.
Stone was getting the measure of Ying Ning, and could only guess she had some kind of death wish. Mere idealism wasn’t enough for what she was doing. She was now taking a further step, beyond her tirades against capitalists and profiteers, to challenge the very core of what ShinComm and the Chinese state were up to. It was dangerous stuff.
As for Stone. He’d supposedly been deported, back to England. Now he was using a false ID and setting out into Mainland China in search of Oyang — whose last friendship group, comprising Semyonov and Terashima, had not exactly fared too well.
There was also the issue of Professor Zhang and the Gong An. Stone could find himself “disappeared” if they caught up with him in China.
As Ying Ning sat on his knee, flirting and making the injections, it was clear that Ying Ning enjoyed the danger. She was doing this for the same reason as Stone. For all the repressed anger, even guilt, Stone felt about Hooper, he was now being swept along by the desire to find out about Semyonov, to find out about the Machine. Because Stone got off on this stuff in the same way that Ying Ning did.
Ying Ning explained the first part of the plan as she worked. ‘You will travel to Shanghai, by ship this evening from Hong Kong direct to Shanghai. Takes thirty-six hours. You will be my boyfriend — Jonah Edward Richards, from Chicago.’ That was the name in the passport Carlisle had given him.
Ying Ning stung another injection into Stone’s upper lip, while playfully blowing smoke rings above his head. Yep. Definitely enjoying this.
‘In Shanghai I need to show you something,’ said Ying Ning.
‘Show me what?’
‘I can’t say. But you’ll see why I need your help.’
That was interesting. Ying Ning never asked for help. She was the one with a plan, telling her lapdogs what to do.
‘What about Oyang?’ asked Stone. ‘He’s the only one we can get to who knows about the Machine, and…’
Ying Ning practically snorted. ‘You trust Oyang?’
‘Of course I don’t trust him,’ said Stone. ‘But he’s a senior director of ShinComm, and he was the closest person to Semyonov. We can use him for information. Junko’s file says he trained as a Chinese diplomat. He opened Semyonov’s first business contacts in China and became Semyonov’s righthand man in China with ShinComm.’
‘Oyang’s the worst kind of Chinese,’ Ying Ning spat back. ‘Will do anything for money.’
‘We’ve got to try him,’ said Stone. ‘Oyang was Semyonov’s best friend. And since Semyonov was killed, my bet is he’ll talk.’
Ying Ning was still sitting in Stone’s lap. She looked directly into Stone’s cool grey eyes for a second, her face screwed up and skeptical. ‘Oyang is a “naked official”,’ she said. ‘That means a corrupt Chinese official who has moved his family to another country. He moved his family to Swi
tzerland, so he can escape at any time.’
‘So you think Oyang is a filthy, capitalist running dog,’ said Stone. ‘You say that about everyone with money. Not a reason to ignore him.’
‘We talk about it in Shanghai. Like I said, I have something to show you.’ She tapped her finger lightly on the tip of his nose. The kind of thing a love-struck girl would do, but entirely bogus.
Fascinating. Stone could see Ying Ning loved the danger just as much as he did. That was why, behind all Ying Ning’s bogus flirting, there was a vibe of attraction resonating between them.
When Stone got back to the pleasant surroundings of the Zhonghua Hotel that evening, the game suddenly changed. There was a message on the NotFutile.com anonymized email server.
Meet me tomorrow. ShinComm Tower, fifty-sixth floor.
It was Oyang. Forget Ying Ning’s plan of thirty-six hours on a boat. The next morning Stone went to the airport and paid cash for a flight to Shanghai. He’d catch up with Ying Ning if and when.
Chapter 29–10:50pm 2 April — Pudong International Airport, Shanghai, China
Walking away out of the airport terminal, it felt like Hong Kong again — sticky, hazy heat but none of the greenery. In the distance stood the skyscrapers of Shanghai. Seventy or eighty stories in novel but uninspiring shapes. The hot breeze tugged at Stone’s shirt and his unruly hair.
Stone instinctively looked around to see if he was being followed. His calm eyes flicked and scanned, as they had a hundred times before. But just like Hong Kong, with crowds and teeming traffic on all sides, it was impossible. He joined the line for a cab. If someone followed him in a car it would be easier to spot.
‘Zhongxin,’ he said to the driver. The centre. Deliberately vague. It would take a while in this traffic and the driver was happy enough. Stone looked from the window at the shops and the signage — some neon and glitzy, some shabby and hand-painted. The Chinese characters were communist simplified versions, easier to understand than in Hong Kong. 24 Hour Printing/Copying. Ten Thousand Miles of Cloud — Hunan Restaurant. Learn English — Guaranteed Good Job. Learn Computers — Guaranteed Good Job. 1 Minute Pregnancy test, 1 Hour Abortion, Ultrasound for Sex of Baby.
Stone used the time to look again through Junko Terashima’s notes about Oyang.
It seemed Robert Oyang had contacted Terashima, the day after her ill-starred attempt to confront Semyonov at the press conference back in San Jose. She’d obviously made an impression, and Oyang had sent her the photo of “the Machine”, the photo Ying Ning had showed him that looked like a patch of bare desert. The photo that had made Junko come over to Hong Kong.
It was after that “ShinComm people” lured Junko to her death in the Snake Market. Oyang could have been complicit in that. On the other hand, the bad guys who’d done away with Semyonov could have done it to keep Terashima from talking to Oyang. Stone needed to get a handle on the kind of guy Oyang was. Firstly Oyang hadn’t done anything shifty with Stone. He wanted to meet at his office. ShinComm Tower, fifty-sixth floor. The meeting itself looked OK. Stone was feeling good about it. The meeting with Robert Oyang was his kind of thing. He loved confronting corporate suits, and this time there was a danger element thrown in.
Stone looked around out of the car windows. They were still there. Two people on scooters behind the car, both wearing full-face helmets. No one wears those helmets in sweltering Shanghai. No one at all. They could be tailing him.
It could be professor Zhang’s Gong An which was tracking him — or it could be ShinComm themselves. It was an enormous corporation with huge reach, especially in Shanghai. Either way, ShinComm would know about Stone — his web site, his campaigns, his pursuit of Semyonov, the business in Afghanistan. And so would Oyang.
The taxi stopped again. Another set of lights in the smoggy humidity. There were at least two, possibly three men back there following him. Stone looked to the side, to another shop window full of job ads. Wanted female under 21 — must know computers. Wanted male over 1.70 m — must be able to accept hardship, work long hours. Stone wound up the windows and asked the driver to start the aircon. The guy did nothing but Stone kept the windows shut in any case. The backseat was covered in thick, protective plastic, burning hot. Stone positioned himself to see through the rear-view mirror.
Stone looked again at the facts about Oyang. Thirty-four. Highly intelligent. Educated at the elite Beijing Foreign Language Institute. He worked as a diplomat first in Nigeria, then he went to the Chinese consulate in San Francisco.
Chinese diplomats are high achievers. Their education system is one round after another of competitive exams to reach the next level — from middle school onwards. Oyang must have a first-class brain to go as far as he had done.
According to Ying Ning, Oyang’s career stalled in the US, because he was too westernised, not a real communist. From Junko’s file, however, Stone could see no evidence of career problems. Maybe Ying Ning just didn’t like him.
Certainly Oyang was westernised, though. By the look of it, during his time in San Francisco, he craved recognition as some kind of Bay Area intellectual. Oyang spoke French and Italian, fluently it was said. He affected to like expensive wine, and also art. He was popular in San Francisco for his liberal views on democracy and politics. Not your average Chinese guy.
Stone’s mind wandered to the image of Zhang — also a Chinese official, but the very antithesis of this Oyang.
Stone read on in Junko’s notes. Oyang may speak Italian and buy expensive wine, but it could be just a front, a means to an end. He was a charmer, and he was doing all those things as part of his job.
Oyang had been wasted in Nigeria, but he was the perfect man for the Chinese to send to Silicon Valley and charm Californian technologists into joining China’s research projects. According to Junko’s notes, he soon became known to the leading lights in Silicon Valley. He must have thought he’d hit the motherlode when he got to meet Semyonov.
It was fun to look at Junko’s neatly written notes, and the comments Ying Ning had scrawled over them in a purple pen. Junko obviously thought Oyang was “a good man”. It was like he’d managed to charm Junko too. She noted that Oyang “spoke out in favour of workers’ rights in ShinComm”.
Ying Ning scribbled over this in English, “Oyang = director ShinComm. Oyang talk worker rights = hypocrite bullshit.”
Ying Ning took everyone for a hypocrite. But then, Oyang seemed like a master at telling people what they wanted to hear. Talks human rights in California. In Beijing — nada. Meanwhile he’s shipping his family off to Switzerland. The phrase “hypocrite bullshit” sounded right on the money in this instance.
They cab sped up, down the tunnel under the river. This was a danger area, the most likely site of “Tragic Accident Kills Tourist”. Stone craned his neck around. The two scooters were definitely there, one carrying a passenger. The danger would come if a scooter passed them. Someone could blind the driver with a laser. Like all Chinese cabs, this one had no seat belts, and the driver was doing sixty or seventy now they were out of the traffic.
They emerged from the tunnel into the open spaces and seventy storey buildings of the Pudong district. A stark contrast to the organic clog across the river. Nearly there.
Anyhow, what did Oyang want with Stone? Oyang had been Semyonov’s man, and now Semyonov was dead. Oyang might simply want to find out what Stone knew, and leave it at that. Or he might want to throw out information about Semyonov’s death, using Stone and his anonymous site. This was the kind of thing Stone loved. And since Oyang was known to be highly charming and intelligent, Stone would need to be on his mettle.
The taxi slowed up at the side of the road. The driver said nothing, but looked sourly out of the window at the crowds of the unemployed hanging around. Unmistakably country folk, from their walnut brown faces and their clothes. Men in ancient suits, women in coolie hats and paddy field rubber boots. Behind them was a shiny sign with the ShinComm logo, and the sixty stories of the Sh
inComm Tower. They’d arrived.
‘Farmers, look for work,’ said the driver.
Stone looked again. Farmers? They were desperate peasants, migrants hustling for work in the towering offices. The well-dressed office workers paid them no attention whatsoever. Like they didn’t exist.
‘Watch out for farmers,’ repeated the driver, eyeing the crowd with contempt from the side window. ‘No stop here.’
There must be five hundred peasants out there. Some kind of gangmaster had appeared by the tower. The crowd were shouting, shoving, begging for work. Stone made the driver stop and paid him. He wasn’t going to let the man’s distaste for this mob delay him. He got out, then began to push round the back of the car. Then he began to move with difficulty through the crowd toward the front door of the tower. It was slow going. The farther he got the more peasants there were.
Stone became aware of someone moving in the crowd behind him. Not one of the “farmers” — he was wearing a black T-shirt. Stone skirted the toward the side of the mob, his senses on full alert. Definitely someone moving fast behind him, too — perhaps two of them. He should confront them, they were close, he wanted to…
He span, catching one guy an elbow in the temple. The bone-on-bone impact shakes the brain in the skull and stuns. The chaos was such that no one even looked round in the crowd. Someone grabbed at his bag behind him. Stone swivelled back. A woman was screaming, her hair flailing above the crowd. What the hell? She screamed again, hysterically, as Stone reached her.
Too late he realised. He half-turned. There was a gun, its muzzle suddenly nestling in his spine. The woman looked straight at him, suddenly calm. A set-up. The taxi had driven away. Stone was shoved along at gunpoint through the crowd. It had all taken only a few seconds. A black van appeared in the heart of the mob. Stone was forced in.
The peasant mob banged on the side panels of the van as it moved off.
