The peasant mob banged on the side panels of the van as it moved off.
Chapter 30–12:04pm 2 April — Shanghai, China
‘Strip!’ he barked. ‘I say all the clothes off!’
The Chinese guy in the black T-shirt had exchanged the small handgun he used to capture Stone in the crowd of peasants. He was now holding an AK47, as were the other two Chinese in the back of the van. It seemed like overkill at a range of two and a half metres.
The van had pulled away from the ShinComm Tower and driven for five minutes. Now it had stopped and Stone was being made to strip.
‘I say all the clothes!’ he shouted again. ‘And stand up!’
There are ways of doing these things. This was the wrong way. OK — they were checking for RFID chips, which could be tracked. fair enough, but one of the Chinese lads was filming it on his phone, his tongue sticking gleefully in his cheek. Stone kicked his clothes across the van. Accidentally smashing the phone against the side of the van in the process.
‘Sorry.’
As Stone expected, the boss-man of the three scanned the pile of clothes with the RFID detector, rummaging through a couple of times. Nothing. The boss-man shrugged. He banged a couple of times on the side of the van, and they moved off again, Stone sitting unclothed on the floor of the van.
‘Is this what they mean by “coming naked to the conference table”?’ said Stone to the boss-man. Smart words, but he felt pretty stupid.
An hour and twenty minutes later he was at a large villa, by the look of it well outside the city of Shanghai. The boss-man threw him something to wear. Swim shorts. The shorts were the right size. Oyang had done his homework on Stone.
The sky was clear and hot. Stone was led through two sets of gates and around the back of the house, where there was a large swimming pool, two tennis courts and huge garden secluded by high stands of trees and bamboo. There were changing rooms and what looked like an outdoor kitchen. Just your regular Chinese family home then.
A Chinese man lay on a lounger reading the Wall Street Journal in English. There was a young woman by him in the tiniest of bikinis.
‘Oyang,’ said Stone, strolling up to him. ‘So kind of your men to collect me. As you can see, I found the time to change en route.’
‘After what has happened to my good friend Semyonov, Mr Stone, I have to take precautions,’ said Oyang, putting down his Wall Street Journal. ‘It is so easy to plant tracking or bugging devices and,’ said Oyang with a sickly smile, ‘My men wanted to body search you also, but…’
‘But they valued their front teeth,’ said Stone, staring Oyang in the eye. Stone had thought Oyang would be charming but steely, making veiled threats in order to keep the upper hand in the conversation. Instead, on first impressions, he was simply a creep. He kept glancing at that tiny bikini, though the girl didn’t seem to mind.
Oyang asked a flunkey for drinks, and made small talk until they arrived. At one point he turned to the shapely girl beside him, and muttered, ‘Daijobu?’
Stone’s swiveled towards the girl — it couldn’t be, could it? Oyang had just spoken Japanese to her. Stone thought of Junko at the press conference, and in Ekstrom’s sick video.
It wasn’t Junko, of course it wasn’t, but it was creepy nonetheless. After what had happened Oyang had a half-naked Japanese girl with him. She didn’t look up — seemed unaware of it. And as Oyang chatted in fluent English, and occasionally Japanese, it was clear he had the natural manners of a diplomat. He looked a little older than thirty-four, tall and thin, with sparse hair that had been dyed a greasy black. One of those men who looks elegant in a suit, but scrawny and out of shape in a bathing suit. At the moment he had on tennis gear. Shorts, shirt, tennis shoes — all the best brands, the highest quality, but the clothes hung off him untidily.
Oyang had a definite sparkle of intelligence though, and the self-confidence that flows from a first class brain, skill with languages and the knowledge that he’d clawed his way to the top in the most populous country on earth. He was no faker, Robert Oyang.
Stone could see why Junko had liked Oyang — believed every word he said. And the fact that he was credible was no reason to assume he was phony, as Ying Ning had done.
Oyang explained that the Chinese government had tasked him, as a bright young diplomat in California, to make friends with influential young figures in Silicon Valley and make assessments of them and their technology. At that time, though barely in his twenties, Semyonov was already one of the most influential figures in Silicon Valley, rising to pretty much the top of the tree.
‘And what was your assessment of Semyonov?’ asked Stone. ‘You must have got close to him?’
‘As close as anyone, yes. But it is not possible to fly too close to the sun,’ said Oyang wistfully. ‘Semyonov was not like the others. The others were very intelligent people who were driven, worked hard and had some luck. Semyonov was different. A quite extraordinary man.’
‘In what way extraordinary? More intelligent?’
‘Certainly he was more intelligent. And the others had luck, sometimes a lot of luck. It would surprise a lot of people to learn that Semyonov had no luck at all, but he couldn’t fail. You see there was a depth to his intelligence, he was not like other men,’ said Oyang. ‘Firstly, it was like talking to a man of great age, who had learned so many things. But not only facts and languages and technology. It was understanding. To be with Semyonov was to see only the surface of a deep ocean of understanding. How far can a man see into the ocean? Five or six metres, even in the clearest water. Yet when he looked at other people, Semyonov was able to divine everything in their minds. Our motivations, our worries, what made us happy.’
Oyang kept glancing at the Japanese girl’s almost naked body. She hadn’t said much, but she was charmed by Oyang for sure. Not just by his money, by his confidence, relaxed demeanour, and his florid but fabulous command of English. Oh yes, Junko would have believed this guy.
‘That could be intimidating,’ said Stone. It would have made Stone clam right up, for a start. But it kind of explained the feeling Stone had had at the party in Hong Kong that Semyonov was one step ahead of him. ‘Did that make you keep a distance from Semyonov?’ asked Stone. ‘Were you worried he would see your motives? What your government had asked you to do?’
‘Perhaps,’ Oyang replied. ‘But Semyonov saw everything in any case, from the very first time I met him. One did not analyse Semyonov. One stood before him as if naked, and divined the truth from what he said.’
Oyang’s English had a slight accent, but otherwise was better than perfect. It was easy to forget that he was Chinese at all.
‘Nonetheless you got him interested him in China,’ asked Stone. ‘In working and investing in China?’
‘You could say so, Mr Stone, but I never persuaded Semyonov of anything. It was his idea to work in China, and I followed him like a disciple,’ explained Oyang. ‘In Beijing, I took the credit of course. I told them that I had Semyonov interested in China, and as you know, things worked out that way. It was a great success for me. I was richly rewarded, let me tell you. I asked to leave the Chinese Foreign Service and take a job with ShinComm. I helped Semyonov set up New Machine Technology as a subsidiary of ShinComm. The money… well. The money with ShinComm is beyond my wildest dreams.’
‘And I’m guessing your dreams were fairly ambitious.’
‘Naturally. And the power, Mr Stone. Until you have power over hundreds of thousands of people, you cannot know… But I digress. None of this was my doing. I have done no more than follow Steven Semyonov. I would have done the same, even had the pay been modest.’
‘Hold on,’ said Stone, fighting through Oyang’s elaborate words. ‘You’re saying it was Semyonov’s idea to come to China? Not yours? He was never persuaded, still less blackmailed or brainwashed?’