Stone looked with steely gaze across the press of tuxedos and cocktail dresses. The guests were each shoving gently but insistently towards the spot in the crowd where Semyonov would move onto next. Stone held his champagne glass lightly, maneuvered himself closer. He tried to get Semyonov’s eyes. To catch his gaze. The man was shorter than Stone’s six-two, but not by much. His smooth head — hairless but unshaven it seemed — and his chunky physique were distinctive. Finally Semyonov’s impassive red eyes face turned towards him, just as a female hand grabbed Stone lightly on the bicep through his jacket.
‘Stone!’ An American voice. Depressingly familiar. ‘Stone!’ She said with false delight. Upper class, North Eastern United States. Self-consciously, intelligently deep for a woman. The preppy, Vasser-educated woman from the airport. Virginia Carlisle.
‘I knew it was you,’ she said. ‘Did you find anything?’
‘I guess not,’ said Stone without looking at her. He was holding Semyonov’s gaze still. ‘You?’
‘Suuure,’ replied Virginia, immodestly. ‘But you’ll have to wait to see it on GNN “Wake up World” in the morning.’ She had on a black silk dress and looked more glamorous than ever. She moved up beside Stone and smiled at Semyonov five metres away through the crowd. ‘I was gonna say it’s a surprise to see you, but I guess I knew you’d get in here. Junko couldn’t make it, then?’
‘No, Virginia. She couldn’t,’ Stone replied, his jaw clenched. He couldn’t look at her, so he continued eyeballing Semyonov. Virginia was trying to be genuinely friendly now, as if their meeting in the Limo never happened. An actress. On another day, at another party, he would like Virginia if he was honest. She was sassy and upfront. She was intelligent, attractive, driven. Like him? No. Not like him. But there was definitely something.
‘Steven just looked at you Stone,’ said Carlisle. ‘He picked you out in the crowd. Wow!’
‘I didn’t notice,’ Stone lied.
‘Don’t be modest, Stone. Modesty’s a sin. You’re a cult figure,’ commented Virginia. ‘So act like it. You could be just as famous as me in your own way, except that everyone knows me and no one knows you. You just need more airtime on TV. You could be someone. A hero for the peaceniks and the anti-globalisation gang.’
‘Like you gave a shit about the “anti-globalisation gang”,’ he said.
‘Like you give a shit about TV,’ she retorted. ‘But you should. Most people here don’t even know your face. But it looks like Steven knows you.’
‘Maybe he was looking at you,’ Stone said, affecting boredom, still staring at Semyonov, who was now making an effort not to look at Stone. That pleased Stone. Semyonov, who had everyone’s eyes on him, could feel Stone’s cool grey gaze on him. Guilt? Or was he about to ask some guy wearing a silver hammer to nestle an automatic into Stone's ribs and show him the door?
‘Semyonov likes guys like you,’ Virginia went on, flashing a smile at Stone. Patronizing. ‘Radicals, charity people, do-gooders.’
‘Suuuure,’ said Stone, aping her preppy American voice. ‘Do-gooders. Semyonov just loves us. Sorry to disappoint you, Virginia, but I had to crash this party, remember? Obviously not doing enough good.’ Stone was thinking of the Snake Market only minutes before. He hadn’t done much good there either.
‘Anyhow, Virginia. I guess you’ve done your research again? What do you know about Semyonov?’ asked Stone.
‘I know plenty. It’s my job,’ said Virginia. Self-satisfied look again.
Stone still concentrated on Semyonov. He was going to be in The Man’s face any minute.
‘He was always a bright kid,’ said Virginia. ‘Studied at Columbia, then a masters at MIT. But he was no more than a bright kid. There were others like him. His search business was just the right thing at the right time. The weird thing is he was a regular guy back then. Averagely good looking, played a little basketball, brown hair. He looked and acted normal. Look at him now.’
Stone watched the beads of sweat on Semyonov’s smooth forehead. What was Carlisle talking about? The man’s skin was whitish-pink, and entirely hairless, and he had to be fifty, sixty pounds overweight.
‘Maybe the exertion of acquiring those billions did something weird to him,’ said Virginia. ‘Or maybe stress.’
Semyonov didn’t look stressed. The pinkish skin was completely without lines or dryness. In fact he looked — well, just weird, like a plump, bouncing baby, inflated to adult size and given an IQ of 200.
‘I have heard the whackos claim he’s an alien,’ said Virginia. ‘That you can’t just gain fifty points in IQ in your twenties,’
I’m not surprised.
‘Anyhow, he’s not average,’ she said. ‘He’s not even an average geek. And I guess looks don’t matter if you have the smarts.’
Stone felt a thrill of anger. Junko Terashima killed, Hooper and fifty others dead in the Afghan village — did none of that matter if you “have the smarts”? Maybe Semyonov’s mind had become morally addled by his money and his IQ.
Virginia Carlisle’s face may be known on five continents, but Stone was barely listening to her. He wanted to see The Man’s reaction. To see that big, smooth, white face react when Stone asked about the weapons. Guilt? Pleasure? Shock? Relief even? Semyonov was close now, and the crowd tighter than ever around him. Two metres away.
Stone slipped away from Virginia, past a knot of three Australian programmers. Stood in front of The Man. His eyes smouldered. A bodyguard noticed and slid in beside Semyonov, spoke in his master’s ear and then stared again 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.’