The Machine

at Stone.

Stone could handle that guy, if he came looking for it. He kind of hoped he would. Stone looked directly at Semyonov’s red eyes — something no one else in that place seemed to want to do. But then he had a shock, like he’d been slapped across the face, or across the eyes to be precise. Semyonov finally looked Stone back in the eye, and Stone could see where the talk about an alien intelligence had come from. Up close, those eyes had an unknowable depth and intensity, even after a couple of seconds.

‘You’ve changed, Armistead,’ quipped Semyonov. ‘You look as good as that well- known peacenik, Ethan Stone. Still, it’s only fitting to have a Stone at the Crabflower Club, I guess.’ Semyonov’s shaven pate glistened slightly. He’d just made a highbrow remark, a joke intelligible only to himself. His face was expressionless, except for the depth in his eyes. It wasn’t just an intensity either. Stone held the eyes and wondered whether even one other person in there had seen what he saw in Semyonov’s eyes. There was a weariness. Semyonov was jaded. All this stuff, the money, the adulation, the brains. None of it was enough for Semyonov.

‘No. You’ve changed, Mr Semyonov,’ said Stone after a pause. ‘You surround yourself with all these clever, creative people. Do they know your latest toy is a nasty line in Weapons of Mass Destruction?’

‘Do you?’ replied Semyonov, still expressionless.

‘How many do you think you’ve killed already, Semyonov?’ said Stone, undaunted. ‘Keeping score? Is that the big announcement everyone’s gossiping about? The latest body-count?’

Stone looked back at Semyonov’s eyes to record the reaction, but a black-suited arm came between them.

Chapter 14 — 8:55pm 29 March — Zhonghua Hotel, Central, Hong Kong

‘He’s not always this charming, Steven!’ said Virginia’s voice, heavy with irony. A big security guy had stepped between Semyonov and Stone, and was standing with his back to Stone.

‘Peace Studies isn’t it?’ said Semyonov, easing aside the meathead security man. ‘You’re doing great work in your campaigns against the arms trade. I congratulate you, Stone.’ Did he actually mean this? ‘But you need to work on the publicity. Get on TV. You should get Virginia here to help you.’

‘You deny New Machine Corporation is making weapons?’ shouted Stone, as The Man turned.

‘I deny nothing, Mr Stone,’ said Semyonov, and he walked off with the tuxedo’d security man.

Stone said nothing for a second. That was a reaction he hadn’t expected. You’re doing great work. I congratulate you. Was Stone supposed to buy that? And then there was, I deny nothing. Questions raced through Stone’s mind. Stone was an intelligent guy, but Semyonov had just confounded him.

Virginia moved up next to Stone again in the crowd. Spotlights were on Semyonov as he walked up to a stage at the front and took his place alongside some frowning Chinese dignitaries. The music stopped, the noise level was dropping. The entertainers and the waitresses had disappeared

Everyone’s eyes were on Semyonov. ‘What’s he doing?’ Stone asked. The three Chinese dignitaries were dressed in the plain, button-fronted suits of the Chinese Communist Party. This meant it was a serious occasion. Semyonov and the three Chinese were on large TV screens positioned throughout the Crabflower Club.

‘You don’t know?’ smiled Virginia.

‘I crashed the party. Remember?’

The TV screens were showing an ornate document, one copy placed in front of each person on the dais. It was written in English on one half and Chinese characters on the other. A contract document in both languages. The screen showed the title.

Investment Joint Venture — New Machine Research Corporation, Jiangsu Province, People’s Republic of China

The dignitaries, seated on either side of Semyonov, signed their names at the bottom of the deed and used their formal Chinese ink stamps to make it official. There was polite applause. Now it was Semyonov’s turn to sign. The room was packed with witnesses. Cameras were on him from five angles. An awed silence descended.

‘He’s actually going to do it, Stone,’ whispered Virginia. Even as a hardened reporter, she was staggered.

‘He doesn’t even know what he’s investing in!’ whispered a voice next to them.

‘That’s not right,’ came another. ‘He knows everything, remember? ’ Joking, but with a grain of truth.

‘I guess he works in mysterious ways, huh?’

‘This is not a stunt, Stone,’ said Virginia solemnly, staring at the screen. ‘He said he’d do it. He’s giving them the whole lot. He’s going to sign it all away. Twenty-five billion dollars!’

Stone half-expected trumpets, some kind of fanfare. What they got was even better. On the screen, Semyonov picked up a gold fountain pen in his right hand, and a silver fountain pen in his left. There was another gasp as he proceeded to sign both halves of the document, English and Chinese, simultaneously, one pen in each hand. With the left hand he wrote his American signature, at the same time as he was signing with his right in elegant Chinese script.

‘I heard he could do that,’ whispered Virginia. She’d flushed red.

‘Have the Chinese brainwashed him, or what?’ asked a loud Australian voice behind them. Fair question. The camera panned over onto the Communist Party official next to Semyonov. His flat, unreadable face showed only indifference.

The Australian voice was there again. ‘Writing with two hands at once? It’s not a normal thing, right?’

No, not a normal thing. Definitely not normal.

‘I’ve seen him do that before,’ said another voice, ‘Semyonov can totally do that.’

‘Forget the writing,’ said Virginia. ‘Signing away your whole fortune to the Chinese state is not a normal thing.’

There followed not so much an excited buzz — more of an uproar, a chaotic scene, confusion. There was shouting, cheering, hooting and surges through the crowd like it was a rock concert. Stone began to push his way through the shell-shocked crowd in the Crabflower Club towards the table where, of all things, Semyonov was signing autographs. With both hands. Showing he could actually do it and it wasn’t a trick. A different witty message with each hand. It’s not a normal thing, right?

Stone caught sight of one. “and the barman says, this is some kinda joke, right?” was written with the left hand, while the right hand wrote, “A Californian, a blonde and a rabbi walk into a bar,”. An old one. And Stone was not in the mood for jokes.

Stone was three metres away. The bodyguard spoke in Semyonov’s ear again. The Man looked up to catch Stone’s eye. It looked like Semyonov was going to speak to him, but then the Chinese Party dignitaries stood up to leave. Stone was still eyeballing him, and it must have looked really intense.

Whatever the reason, Semyonov’s large white head and red eyes turned again toward Stone, and he made a tired gesture with his hand for Stone to approach.

‘Why did you do it?’ said Stone. It was the only relevant question, the only thing he could think of, because nothing here made any sense. But Semyonov was still impassive. He scribbled again with both hands, and handed the two slips of paper to Stone. The words weren’t even in English.

‘You didn’t get the Crabflower Club thing did you?’ said Semyonov, looking suddenly tired. Must he explain everything to these pitiable fools? ‘The Crabflower Club. Remember? It was the name of the poetry club in “The Story of the Stone”. The classic Chinese novel. I wrote you some verse, Stone. Thought it was appropriate.’

There was a shout to Stone’s left. ‘He can’t be leaving. Semyonov’s the party dude, he’s gotta stay!’

But Semyonov was indeed leaving. The Chinese VIPs made their way out through a rear door with the bodyguards. Semyonov turned his huge head and neck away from Stone, impassive again, like a great white bull, and was ushered away behind the Chinese. The SCC meatheads took him through the crowd at speed. Stone tried