A taller, blonde woman swept in front of the uniformed girl.
‘Ethan Stone, The Man of Action!’ It was an American voice, female. Relaxed and confident, and vaguely mocking. ‘So pleased to meet you! I’m a great fan of your web site,’ she said with another smile. Her face was familiar. She carried on, walking by his side. ‘It’s just a shame no one bothers to look at it.’
Stone recognized her immediately, as she knew he would. The voice, the film-star looks — Virginia Carlisle, top reporter for GNN. War zones, Wall Street crises, celebrity murders. This woman had dominated the eyeballs on GNN TV for the last five years. What was she doing here? Stone walked away, but she strode beside him wearing her TV smile. He didn’t need this.
She had the kind of flowing blonde mane you might see in a haircare advertisement. Undeniably beautiful — attractive, if he was honest. Perhaps a bit upperclass for him, he thought, as she walked beside him.
‘Thanks for your kind words, Ms Carlisle,’ said Stone walking along. She was the last person he should talk to right now. She’d got wind of his story, or Terashima’s, and if he told her anything more, Ekstrom and his weapons would be live on prime time. Stone made to move away from her in the crowd. There was a man at a discreet distance holding a big Sony TV camera. Ready to leap out when Carlisle gave the signal. Great.
Stone quickened his pace through the crowd, but Carlisle held him. She grabbed him not by his shoulder, or his arm, but his hand — her manicured fingers taking his. If she’d grabbed his sleeve Stone would have pulled away. As it was it surprised him. It was oddly intimate, flirtatious. He looked round at her instinctively. It was a good trick she had there. Where had she learned that?
‘Stone. We have to talk,’ she said. Her tone had changed, as if suddenly they were old friends. She was still holding his hand.
‘No, we don’t need to talk,’ he said, moving off again. In fact it would be a disaster if they did. She knew too much already.
‘Do you know who I am?’ she said, at last showing a flash of irritation. Stone saw what was happening. Virginia Carlisle was the big star at GNN, where Junko Terashima had been a rookie reporter. Junko’s words came to his mind:
Someone at GNN is blocking me…
Interesting. GNN’s top reporter doorstepping him for information at Hong Kong Airport. And “someone” at GNN was blocking Junko’s investigation of Semyonov. No coincidence.
‘OK,’ he said, pulling his hand away from her. ‘Let’s talk. But not here.’
Stone walked with her to her glossy Mercedes — idling in the no-park-zone for the last hour without compunction. No metro train or beat-up Hong Kong taxi for Virginia Carlisle. Stone held the door for her — he figured she was used to that — then stepped in beside her onto the cool leather seats of the limo.
‘I flew in on the red-eye myself,’ remarked Virginia Carlisle. Translation: I should look like shit after the flight — like you. But I look fantastic. ‘I showered in the Platinum Lounge,’ she explained and turned round to Stone — looking the tall, slim Englishman up and down. Now she was in the car she dropped the flirtatious wheedling. ‘Don’t you need to collect your bags?’
Stone gestured to his small backpack. ‘I’ve got what I need.’
Carlisle glanced at the bag with incomprehension. No doubt she had three jumbo cases in the trunk.
Stone felt Virginia checking him out, examining his appearance, making her mind up. The shock of dirty blond hair, the faded jeans and denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up in the tropical heat. She saw he was tall but wiry, and had intelligent grey eyes, which creased when he smiled. She picked out the green New Age tattoo, beneath the pale blond hairs of his right forearm.
‘Do I pass?’ he asked. In spite of himself, Stone had to admit Virginia Carlisle was an impressive woman. As attractive as on TV, if not more so, but not in the least like her onscreen persona. On GNN she appeared to wear no make-up, wore combat fatigues, and had that stunning blonde mane blowing in the Iraqi breeze or wherever she was. Inside the Mercedes, she was all Fifth Avenue, in a tailored skirt just above the knee, tasteful blouse, and with large diamond studs in her ears. Real diamonds. Her tanned legs were arranged for Stone to look at, like they’d been enhanced in Photoshop for a magazine cover, and ending in five-hundred-dollar shoes. A whole different look from the war zone shots on TV, but she still had that rangey, athletic appearance. She was a strong woman, with a New England edge to her voice — an upper class, Ivy League thing, which she suppressed on television.
The legs were on display, but her body language was different. Her torso was turned rigidly forward, and she turned her neck to talk to Stone over her shoulder. A sign of unease, or of caution at least.
‘You know why I’m here, don’t you?’ she said, finally.
‘You’re from GNN. You worked with Junko Terashima,’ said Stone. ‘You stole her story from her, then fired her. Am I right?’
Stone was glad to see her eyes blaze angrily for a second. Nothing like insulting a journo’s integrity.
‘What do you know about Junko, Stone?’ she snapped. ‘What is she up to?’
He’d guessed right. She was either trying to steal Junko’s story, or she was desperate to block it.
‘What is this?’ he chuckled. ‘A quiz show?’ Stone looked away. He wasn’t such a rookie as to sit there and let himself be questioned. Nonetheless, he felt a frisson of pleasure in sparring with this woman. He threw it back at her. ‘You’re a famous person, Virginia Carlisle. An investigative reporter. Suppose you tell me what you know about me before we go any further. I guess you’ve done your research — or had an underling do it for you.’
Virginia looked round at him in the back of the limo with that knowing smile again.
‘You sure you want to hear?’
‘Sure,’ said Stone. ‘Something tells me you’ll have an opinion.’
‘OK. You asked for it,’ she sat up as if before the camera. ‘Let’s say it’s a celebrity profile feature. What shall I call this piece? Let’s try — Ethan Stone: Where it all Went Wrong.’ She looked at him for signs of surprise. ‘Stone, you’re one of those clever kids from some crappy town, who gets a scholarship to a good high school. You went to study math at Cambridge. Which is almost like a good school in the US, but cheaper. You got the whole education without spending a dime.’
‘Very good,’ said Stone. She certainly had researched him. No doubt knew a lot more. ‘I’d say you went to a “good school” yourself. Ivy League?’
‘Sure,’ she said, scathingly. ‘Except unlike you, I wasn’t embarrassed by it, and I didn’t drop out. You did a year of math, then a year of Chinese, weirdly, then you flunked out and joined the army.’
Stone was impressed. Not many people knew about his time in the army. Doesn’t go down too well in the “peace community”.
After five minutes in the green hills of Lantau Island, the Limo was speeding down the highway into the city. ‘OK, you get the idea, Stone,’ she said. ‘I did my homework. I know about you. More than you know about me. You move around. You never use banks or credit cards. You’ve been spotted using at least five different identities. You’ve done some clever stuff, exposed some bad people. Especially the Al-Wahabi scandal, which just landed you in hot water. Which I guess is why you cleared out of Europe, hey?’ She smiled mischievously. ‘But, let’s cut the fluff-talk. What do you know about Junko Terashima?’
‘I’m not here for Junko,’ he replied. It was partially true.
‘So you’re telling me you don’t know her? You just happened to fly to Hong Kong?’ She’d changed tactic. Now she was the hectoring TV interviewer, hovering artfully between derision and sneer to make her “subject” look dishonest and shifty.