by Tom Aston
Coming from him, it made Stone smile. Ying Ning merely took another drag on her cigarette and shook her head. ‘Yang guizi make excuse to be dirty,’ she said, paying Carslake’s casual racism back in kind.
Carslake helped himself to another of her cigarettes and lit up using her red star Chairman Mao cigarette lighter. ‘I don’t know how you smoke this Chinese shit,’ he said, examining the characters on the carton. ‘You ain’t got any American smokes? What the hell brand is it anyway?’
Ying Ning had brought Carslake back into a house she was using on the outskirts of the sprawling city. It was one of a few hundred small houses built by a main highway, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. No streets had been laid, however. They walked from the roaring four-track highway through clouds of dust, or through mud if the rain had just fallen. It being Sichuan, trees and weeds were rapidly gaining a hold in the brown, rutted mud of the “streets”.
How did Ying find these places? The house was small, with two tiny bedrooms. It was newly built, unpainted and unfurnished. But clean. Stone had returned there from Virginia Carlisle’s place to find their old friends Bao An and Lin Xiaohong infesting the place. Then Ying Ning arrived with the tall American. Stone had been feeding tidbits of information to his blog, and finally, Carslake had been interested enough to get off his sofa in LA and fly to Chengdu. Which was good, because Stone had asked him to bring something very useful with him.
This guy was more than a courier though. Despite appearances, Carslake’s type can be very useful. Because although people like Carslake might look lazy, it was often because they were obsessional and independent-minded. They focused on one thing, and the rest of life could go hang. That was Carslake. Stone had seen his blog — UFOWatch. Crazy, perhaps delusional, but Carslake had obviously done very little for the past few weeks but research the private life of Steven Semyonov. Carslake’s earlier blogs made out that Semyonov was an alien. Now he seemed to have gone back that on that opinion. Or maybe he was just embarrassed to come out with it face to face in front of Stone. Whatever. It made no difference since the guy was dead.
When it came to personal skills, however, Carslake might struggle. He had lived his life on the Net, and the transition to real life was proving a challenge. It was easy to state wild opinions, and come out with wild theories and sexist insults online. But he wasn’t on the Net anymore, and Carslake’s casual contempt for both women and the Chinese was experiencing a rude awakening in the face of Ying Ning’s scathing wit and derision. Bao An and Lin Xiaohong did little other than snigger when Carslake was around, with Ying Ning feeding them with a succession of one-liners in Chinese. They laughed at him at odd moments. He must have felt like an overgrown circus freak within twenty-four hours of arriving.
There was something fascinating in the dynamic with Carslake and Ying Ning. True to type, Carslake was too thick skinned to be bothered by them busting on him in Chinese. He ignored Bao An altogether, and with Ying Ning he adopted a new policy of appearing intelligent, while cranking up the slow-witted, derogatory comments in her direction.
Stone wondered if Carslake “liked her”. Good luck with that. If Carslake ever came on to Ying Ning, she’d eat him alive.
‘I’m talking about research, Miss Ying-Tong-Bing-Bong,’ Carslake would say. ‘Which is more than any of you motherfuckers has done.’ He claimed he had researched Semyonov’s background, and that the man was human after all, although he didn’t elaborate. Stone parked that one. If Carslake knew about Semyonov’s background, Stone would find a way of making him talk about it. A bottle of Chinese vodka would probably do the trick. Or even a carton of Marlboro.
‘Anyhow, Cutie Pie, are you going to tell us how we’re gonna find Semyonov’s Machine? I gotta get home for the basketball playoffs.’
Cutie Pie? Cutie Pie? Carslake was trying too hard now. But what the hell? It was free entertainment while it lasted. And he wasn’t a bad man. For all his front, and lazy arrogance, Carslake had had the presence of mind to list an even more incorrect location for the Machine on that blog of his. With any luck, Virginia Carlisle and her cohorts from GNN would be scouring barren forests in the wrong end of Sichuan by now.
The chance to quiz Carslake about Semyonov arose in the evening. Carslake suggested he and Stone should “grab a beer”. His bottle of whiskey bought on the plane was finished and maybe the energy he needed to carry on insulting Ying Ning was flagging. The two of them left the house, and Stone started out towards the bus stop.
Carslake looked round as they tramped across the dirt in the darkness towards the streaming lights on the highway. ‘Fuck these Chinese chicks, man,’ he said. It made Stone smile. He wondered if Carslake ever got out enough to do that in the US, let alone here. Then he saw what Carslake had seen. Ying Ning shooting pool at a table, under a tree outside yet another cell phone store. She was surrounded by a cluster of lads, all smoking and wearing factory uniforms with the logo “YunDong Shoe Co”, laughing and joshing with her. A typical Chinese scene. For all China’s Olympics prowess, the only sport you saw in China was pool — snooker and pool everywhere. By the roadside, on the grass — on shagged-out tables in every town and tiny village.
And there was Ying Ning in the half-light, downing another pool ball, cigarette in mouth. Stone had asked himself a few times what Ying Ning was thinking. About him, about Carslake, about the Machine. Ying Ning gave him nothing, nothing of herself. He could only guess how she was thinking from her actions. Why was she hanging out with Stone? Why was she happy to hang out with Carslake? Stone might as well ask a tree. He only knew that she tolerated them, from the fact that she was still there. She tolerated them because she too wanted to find the Machine, and find out what they’d all been up to. Semyonov, the Communist Party, the “billionaire clique” Ying Ning always talked about — she wanted to find them out in some appalling conspiracy. And as soon as Stone or Carslake ceased to be useful, she’d be gone. She’d evaporate into thin air.
Ying Ning played on as a couple of local girls came past — single, factory girls too by the look of them, wearing shorts and flip-flops and carrying pails of washing. The lads at the pool table concentrated on Ying Ning. Didn’t even glance at the other girls.
The tall American shook his head as if in despair and made for the four track highway. He loped out in front of the headlights, yelling for a taxi in English, and waving both his arms around like a demented windmill.
‘And fuck these Chinese buses. I’m gonna get us a cab into town,’ said Carslake. ‘We got to go to the Fedex office en route, my friend.’
Which was good news. Stone had enticed Carslake to Sichuan with a promise of a look at a UFO site. But his main purpose in luring Carslake there was to get hold of a device and bring it with him to China. A device which was going to show Stone exactly what was under that mountain in Western Sichuan.
Chapter 42 — 8:42pm 6 April — Chengdu, China
‘Time to come clean, Stone,’ declared Carslake. He’d barely closed the door of the cab. ‘What’s all this socialist brotherhood shit with you and Ying Ning? You’re no more an international revolutionary than I am.’
Stone met this with a blank look. It did its job. Carslake was quickly obliged to show his hand. ‘Your interest is weapons,’ said Carslake. ‘Which makes me think your interest out here is the same as mine.’
‘Which is what?’ asked Stone, deadpan again. Carslake had done his research. He was an interesting guy, this Carslake.
‘Come on, man,’ Carslake sneered. ‘These aren’t regular weapons. I’ve been digging around. You saw that horror show in Afghanistan. It’s the tip of the iceberg. There’s a freakin’ conveyor belt of technology coming out of ShinComm, and some of it ain’t for boy scouts. Technology like no one’s seen before, like it landed from Mars.’
Mars? Here we go. Stone readied himself for the alien speech. But Carslake had clearly started his work on ShinComm a long time ago. Even before Junko had confronted Semyonov at that press confere
nce. ‘And where are they doing the work? The research?’ asked Carslake, his gravelly drawl suddenly gone. ‘Answer me that? Where are the labs? You told me you went to the Factory City. No labs there.’
Carslake was asking the same questions as Stone had back in Hong Kong. No wonder he’d jumped at the chance to come along.
‘Perhaps the labs are out there in Sichuan, in the hills,’ said Stone. Deliberately lame.
‘Yeah. And what do you see there? Nothing. Because it’s underground.’ Carslake was talking a mile a minute. ‘And then there’s Semyonov — I mean, question mark. Have you seen that guy? He learns fluent Chinese in three months, completely fluent. Then he writes with both hands at the same time.’
‘It’s a trick. So what?’ said Stone.
Carslake’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘A trick? It’s not normal, man. You know it and I know it.’
‘No I don’t “know it”,’ said Stone, lying. ‘But what do you think? He’s on holiday from Venus or something?’
‘How should I know?’ shouted Carslake, looking suddenly affronted. He could see Stone was trying to draw him out. ‘I’m just saying. There are some non-human characteristics there. Remember what the chess champion said when the computer beat him for the first time?’
‘Gary Kasparov?’ said Stone. ‘He said it felt like playing against an “alien intelligence”.’
‘That’s right. And that’s what it feels like with Semyonov. Alien. Admit it, Stone. The guy’s a freakin’ billionaire. Twenty-nine years old. So where are the girls, where’s the yacht? And then to cap it all he gives away all his money.’ Carslake made hand gestures for emphasis, like he was handing out hundred dollar bills with a mad look in his eyes. ‘I tell you, Stone. It’s not human.’
‘Is that why they killed him?’ asked Stone. Carslake didn’t know, but Stone bet his ass the American would have a theory.
‘I didn’t say he was killed. I didn’t say he was alien either…’
‘You said both those things in your blog.’
‘Sure. But you can say all sortsa shit online,’ said Carslake. It was a good answer. ‘Let’s just say there was something alien about him. Maybe the Chinese thought the same and they killed him. That’s what we all think, isn’t it? They took his money and killed him. But, whatever. The cool thing is, the Machine is still there, and only Semyonov knew anything about it.’
‘So you think the Machine is real?’
‘Why else was Semyonov in China — at all? Semyonov was a very smart guy. He was looking for new things. Maybe China has made a discovery so gigantic, and they wanted Semyonov to help make sense of it. To exploit what’s there, to get at the technology and make it work. I get the feeling… we ain’t seen nothing yet.’
Stone looked back at the American, who stopped talking for the first time in twenty minutes. The driver glanced at them in his rear view mirror. You had to hope the guy didn’t speak English. ‘The Machine. What do you think it is?’ asked Stone, playing him along.
The wild look in Carslake’s eye came back. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m here in China. And that’s the reason you’re here too,’ said Carslake, but he couldn’t help blurting his opinion. ‘OK. Something is found buried in a remote part of China. Something ancient and weird.’ Stone thought of the gravitational anomaly. ‘The Chinese, being the people they are,’ said Carslake, ‘Want to take advantage of the discovery. They don’t bother about making an announcement. After all, they've been working at that site since the Sixties.’
‘That was the middle of the Cultural Revolution,’ said Stone.
‘When all kinds of crazy shit were happening. If you were a Chinese scientist here in 1968, you’d keep your mouth shut. You’d probably seal up what you’d found to protect it from the mob. Anyhow,’ said Carslake. ‘Thirty years later, China becomes a peaceful and prosperous place, and someone reopens the cave or whatever. They work away to understand what they’ve discovered, possibly for years. And what do they get?’ Carslake looked at Stone rhetorically. ‘They get nada. Finally someone…’
‘You mean Robert Oyang?’
‘…Brings in Semyonov,’ said Carslake. ‘A man of unique intelligence and creativity, to help crack the writing, or the technology, or whatever. Semyonov sees straightaway that this is mankind’s biggest ever discovery. Sells up everything, putting his whole fortune into the project. The Chinese regime insists he lives in China, and he has to give up his money…’
Those were exactly the two conditions Oyang had described. The “down payment”.
‘But someone in power loses his nerve,’ Carslake said. ‘They should never have told Semyonov about the Machine, and they kill him.’
Give Carslake credit. He’d tried hard not to mention the extra-terrestrial element, and apart from that, his theories had a certain logic. Stone knew they also had a lot of holes.
As the car pulled up, Carslake said, ‘This is the Fedex office, my friend. There’s some stuff waiting for me that we’re gonna need when we leave for the monastery. It’s going to show exactly what they have hidden under that mountain. Then we’ll know for sure.’
Perfect. Carslake had hired the equipment in LA and had it sent over. Was even talking like it was his own idea.
Stone stayed back while the figure in leather jacket and bandana disappeared into the office. Let Carslake go into the Fedex office alone. The Chinese customs could well have taken a special interest in that package, and if Carslake was going to be arrested picking it up, he may as well be alone.
Chapter 43 — 1:05am 7 April Chengdu, China
Ying Ning had done this kind of thing before. Had to have. She’d shaved the hair from around the wound on Bao An’s head and sewn back the flap of skin with neat quick movements of the hands. Bao An had cursed with pain all the way. Cursed Ying Ning, cursed the Chinese men who’d attacked him, cursed Stone and Carslake. At the end of it all Ying Ning doused the wound with iodine and started on the gash across his cheek. Stone was reminded of the way she’d done the collagen injections for him back in Hong Kong.
Carslake was nervous that some one was onto them now. Bao An had been attacked not far from the little house, in the darkness. Ying Ning knew better.
‘Those Chinese boys fight over me,’ she said, somewhat callously in front of Bao An. ‘Bao An make mistake to fight back. Maybe he run next time.’ Ying Ning was smiling a little too harshly. Stone could see what she was up to already. That was Bao An out of the picture then. Had she been testing Bao An? Flirting with those guys at the pool table to test him? Bao An should have ignored it. As it was, he was history, Stone guessed, and the other guy Lin Xiaohong with him. Stone saw it was Ying Ning’s way of winnowing out her followers before they went West to find the Machine. She could be a callous bitch, Ying Ning. Stone thought back to when she’d tried to seduce him in Shanghai. Maybe that was a test too. Stone could only assume he’d passed the test by turning her down.
While Ying Ning cleaned out the gash on the side of Bao An’s head, Carslake stood fascinated. The shaven patch on Bao An’s head was like a monk’s tonsure slipped over to the side, stained with purple-brown iodine. He’d be wearing a bandana like Carslake after this. That wouldn’t please him much.
Carslake’s eyes showed his mounting surprise as he watched Ying Ning work. Finally he spoke under his breath to Stone. ‘What is this girl, a fucking surgeon?’ he said, with genuine appreciation for once. Then he spoke loudly to Ying Ning, the booming, patronizing voice he always used to her. ‘You should leave this Commie wasteland behind, honey, forget about this dissident crap. You could get a real job back in the States.’
Ying Ning’s glance at Carslake was predictably contemptuous. ‘Sure,’ she said, her calm fingers laying butterfly crosses onto Bao An’s cheek. ‘I could be a good little Western slave girl, with biiig mortgage loan and credit cards,’ she said with the wry, dismissive smile. ‘I could spend all my money on fashion and swallow all that shit they feed you on TV.’
; ‘We don’t have to watch TV, honey. We don’t have to do anything. No one tells me how to think. Can you say that in China?’
‘They can tell me what to think,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to listen. They can tell me what they want. I don’t listen.’
That was true. Ying Ning wouldn’t listen. Whether she lived in China, the US or in the middle of Antarctica, she wouldn’t listen. She was supposed to be a Marxist, but unlike so many dissidents, Ying Ning wasn’t out there parroting anyone’s philosophy. It was the world according to Ying Ning, and it was a tough place for anyone who got close to her.
Ying Ning concentrated on repairing Bao An’s face, but when she finished, she turned to Carslake and stood, with one hand on her hip and the other holding a cigarette. Bao An silently stood up to light the cigarette for her, then sat back down. He was her bitch, this Bao An, and about to be dismissed from service.
‘It’s true. Your country is freer than mine,’ she said. ‘For now. But my country is getting freer. What about yours? Americans so worried how free are the other countries, what about yours?’
Carslake snorted at her and dismissed the offer of a cigarette for once. ‘Chinese shit,’ he muttered under his breath, and stalked off into the other room.
Ying Ning the dissident, political activist. That was the image. But an image created by her loyal followers in the Chinese blogosphere. The Fox Girl, hunted and hounded, making her way by cunning alone. She was always on the edge, but she would not stay quiet and she would not betray her cause. That was the image.
The reality was different. Ying Ning did fight for a cause, but the cause was Ying Ning. She was not part of a bigger movement. Those two Chinese guys — Lin Xiaohong and Bao An — they were lapdogs. She was using them, in the same way as she’d use any of her followers.
