Stone left the clubhouse with Virginia, and they were immediately surrounded by a group of polo players who evidently fancied their chances with the TV star. The supply of willing Shanghai wives must be running low.
Stone was genuinely mystified. Virginia was still smiling, charming, flicking the hair around. But he felt she was acting more than ever — stretching every sinew to keep a brave face. Why was she was putting out news stories she didn’t believe? Why come to Balong to put out Carslake’s story, which she thought was “crap”.
Virginia Carlisle strode past the crowds and on toward her hotel. ‘OK, Stone. You’re a clever boy,’ she said finally. ‘How much d’you know?’
‘You can stop fishing, Virginia,’ he said, ‘I know you’ve been speaking to Carslake.’
‘It doesn’t mean I believe what he says,’ said Virginia, but her guard was already dropping.
‘Of course you do,’ said Stone. ‘Because you knew all that stuff about Semyonov already. You always do your research on people — or get your lackeys to do it for you. And now you’re worried because Carslake knows more than you would like. Carslake knows more, hard, unexciting facts about Semyonov than anyone, and you don’t like that. Because you’re worried that guys like Carslake and me are starting to put two and two together. You know that stuff. Where Semyonov grew up, near Manchester New Hampshire. Where he went to school. His real name. Pictures from his school yearbook. His relationships, or the lack of them. His bizarre series of illnesses. The time he spent in jail…’
At this last point about Semyonov being in jail, Virginia looked at Stone, not with her superior, knowing glance any more, but with something akin to despair. Stone had caught her out there, and she knew it. A week ago in Hong Kong, she’d told Stone that Semyonov had studied at Columbia and MIT, when in fact he’d been in jail. She wasn’t even fighting this any more. Her eyes were saying that the game was up. Except Stone wasn’t quite sure which game it was.
They’d reached the door of her hotel room. Virginia stood at the threshold. Didn’t even take out her key. ‘I’m so tired of this whole story,’ she said. ‘Trying to control it.’ Her guard had finally come down, and she knew it. That frightened her. She was the big star who showed herself to the world every day, but right now she wanted to be alone, to hide in her room, until she could find a way to reconstruct her public image for the world.
‘You’re going to have to give me some space, Stone. I really can’t deal with all this right now.’
And that was it. She went in the door and closed it behind her. It was going wrong for Virginia. She’d been peddling garbage stories on GNN primetime, and now she was getting caught out. She’d spoken to Carslake, and she hadn’t liked what she heard. Then she’d spoken to Stone and that hadn’t helped either. She’d obviously realized she’d have to start her whole Semyonov narrative from scratch.
Stone walked away from Virginia’s room. The question was, why had she done it? Stone was still mystified with her behaviour. He needed to find Carslake, and see exactly what that nutjob had said to Virginia Carlisle.
Chapter 54 — 3:17pm 12 April — Balong Polo Resort and Country Club, Zhejiang Province, China
For an operator such as Johan Ekstrom, making a hit at a place like this was child’s play. The resort was spacious, full of people, with every reason for strangers such as him to be seen coming and going. People were arriving, and leaving, by car, by light aircraft and by yacht.
You plan, you kill a man, you leave. It was simple. Best of all, he had the advantage that the place was full of white Europeans, Russians, South Americans, you name it. Was there anywhere else in China where he would find an assassination easier?
Lucky for him, then, that last job spec had come through when it did. Because two assassinations — unconnected — were a different proposition. The second must be completed before the first has been discovered. Or while the hunt is on for the killer from the first hit. Then there’s the likelihood of being spotted near the two events, and being the obvious suspect. The risks are infinitely greater.
The second target would be the more challenging. Ethan Stone. It was tempting to wrap that one up, leave, then deal with Oyang elsewhere. But this Zhang from the
Ekstrom was wearing polo gear of white trousers and polo shirt of crimson and white quarters. The colours of the Royal Bengal Club, Buenos Aires. He had on riding boots and was carrying the thick leather leg guards of a polo player, concealing the Glock handgun in his waistband. Seventeen round magazine, with suppressor.
And of course the polo helmet with face guard. No point taking unnecessary risks with security cameras. Ekstrom walked down the corridor to Oyang’s suite at four fifteen. Two minutes max. No need to spin it out. He hadn’t been paid to do that. He’d found out that Oyang had given the butler time off until six. Idiot. By the time the butler discovered Oyang, Ekstrom would be watching the main event: the last moments of Ethan Stone.
Ekstrom stood outside the door of Oyang’s suite, and shielded his hands from view of the security camera with his body. He snapped on the latex gloves, swiped the master key through the door lock, and slipped inside. No alarm. No guard. Oyang was making this all too easy.
Johan Ekstrom hated surprises. At least he hated this kind of surprise. He’d just been cheated out of what was rightfully his, and he’d had to change his plans. Worse still, a clean, simple job had just turned into a messy one.
No wonder he hadn’t needed to deal with any security or Oyang’s “butler”. Oyang had sent them away deliberately. Ekstrom picked up the dining chair that was lying on its side on the thick carpet, stood up on it and took out his trusty Swedish Army knife. He sliced though the white rope. As it sprang back, he realised Oyang had used the belt from a white cashmere bathrobe to hang himself.
Oyang’s body collapsed lethargically to the floor. This was no good. In order for Ekstrom to frame Ethan Stone for a murder, Oyang had to have been murdered. Now he had to make a suicide look like murder.
After the business with Alban, Ekstrom would have guessed it would be difficult to get a cadaver to sit up properly. But not this difficult. Ekstrom put the chair on its side, and managed to balance Oyang’s back up against it fairly straight. But then the head lolled back badly. Hardly surprising given that the neck was broken. The eyes were still staring, bulging slightly, and the mouth hung open obscenely.
Ekstrom got there in the end. He couldn’t shoot the body on the ground. For one thing the round would come out the other side and damage the floor. For another, ballistics tests would show how near he had been. Ekstrom stood back to take the shot from ten paces as planned. He took twelve for good measure, then placed a.22 round in the centre of Oyang’s forehead, execution-style. Reminded him of that idiot soldier he’d executed on camera in Afghanistan.
Chapter 55 — 3:17pm 12 April — Balong Polo Resort and Country Club, Zhejiang Province, China
Stone tracked Carslake down to his room in the Seasons hotel. He was lying on a sofa, watching TV.
‘You been here all the time, Carslake?’
‘Sure. I gotta save some money, man. It’s gonna cost me if I even breathe outside this room. Those people out there. Designer clothes, cocktails, goddamned Maseratis. They look at me like I’m a piece a shit.’ Carslake’s eyes stayed doggedly at the TV as he spoke to Stone. He was lying of course.
‘Did you notice Virginia Carlisle’s here?’ said Stone.
‘The babe-licious Virginia Carlisle? No. Why should I? You really think she wants to hang out with me?’ He laughed.
Stone cut him off. ‘You contacted her didn’t you? You called Carlisle and told her to come here.’
‘You think she takes notice of me? After I sent her to the wrong end of Sichuan looking for the Machine?’ he said.
‘Chuck it, Carslake. You couldn’t resist getting yourself on TV.’
