The Outcast (29 page)

“I'd have thought so. They must be here for me. Maybe they're Nergui's people. I don't know how they found me here, but …” He shrugged. His experience with Muunokhoi had taught him never to underestimate what people might know, or how they might have come to know it.

“What do you want me to do?”

Tunjin looked at her gratefully, feeling guilty for his earlier suspicions. “Buy me some time, if you can. I don't want to end up in Nergui's hands just yet. Not till I have some idea what's going on here. Go down and keep them talking for a bit. Challenge their ID or something. Ask for a phone number so you can check up on them. That kind of thing.”

“You'd be surprised how resourceful I can be,” she said.

“I don't think I would. Is there another way out of the building?”

“There's a rear staircase. It brings you out into an alleyway at the back. Follow it around and you'll get to the main road.” She stopped and reached into her pocket. “Tunjin.” She stopped, as if weighing up an idea. “Look, I'm going to regret this. But my car's out there. One of those little Daewoo things, parked at the side of the building.” She told him the registration. “You should be able to get to it without them spotting you.” She looked at him closely. “Are you in a state to drive?” she asked. “I don't think I would be.”

“I'm ashamed to say I've driven in much worse states than this,” he said. He felt scarcely affected by the vodka he had drunk earlier, though he knew that that was little more than a delusion. On the
other hand, the prospect of being picked up by Nergui's men was a great aid to sobriety.

The buzzer sounded again, held down for a long moment.

Solongo pressed the intercom again. “I'm sorry,” she said, brusquely. “What is it you want?”

“We need to speak to you, madam.” The last word was added apparently as an afterthought. “If we could just come up.”

“I'll come down,” she said. “Then I can check your ID before we do anything else. I'm sure you'd want me to be prudent.”

The voice said, “Madam—” But Solongo had already released the button and was opening the door. Tunjin followed her on to the landing. “The back stairs are there,” she said, pointing down the corridor. “It's a fire exit, so once you're through you won't be able to get back. I'll go down and keep them talking as long as I can.”

Tunjin smiled. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You also owe me for the vodka,” she said. “Good luck. I'm hoping I'll be able to have another drink with you one day.”

Tunjin opened his mouth, as though he was about to say something about that. Then he shook his head. “I hope so, too. Like I say, I owe you one.”

 

It was simpler this time. There was no hesitation, no game-playing. Just question after question after question. A relentless barrage from the fat cop and his thin colleague. The first time, they had seemed tentative. Now, they were confident. Sure of their ground.

But to Wu Sam it made no more sense.

There was another body, he gathered. Another student. There had been a tip-off, and the body had been found in the cellar of his own apartment block. And they had incontrovertible evidence that Wu Sam was the murderer.

Except that he wasn't. He still had no idea what they were talking about. He had no idea what kind of proof they could have.

But why go to these lengths? They could plant whatever evidence they needed. They could take any steps they liked to render his confession unnecessary.

And then, as the two men endlessly circled his chair, barking out their questions he realised that this was just another case to them. If he was being framed it was being done elsewhere, by someone else. By the contact.

These men were, like himself, just pawns in the game, playing their part. Working to break him, to get him to confess. To make it all official.

“So take us through it one more time,” the fat one said. He was sitting down now, rocking the metal chair back on its legs, blowing casual smoke rings around his cigarette. “How did this body come to be in your cellar?” His tone was calmer now. Earlier, he'd been aggressive.

“I don't know,” Wu Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I
know nothing about it. It's not my cellar. It's just part of the block.”

“The block where you live,” the fat one pointed out. “You're doing research into—what was it again?” He spoke as if making conversation at a party.

“You know what I'm researching,” Wu Sam said. “I've told you everything I can.” His mind was beginning to work again, after the initial shock of being dragged back in here. He had some leverage, after all. He knew who the contact was, he knew what the contact had been doing. The challenge was to find someone who might believe him.

The fat one was regarding him thoughtfully, as though he had some inkling of what was passing through Wu Sam's mind. “Okay,” he said, wearily, “let's try this again, shall we?”

“I'm being set up,” Wu Sam said, suddenly. The words had slipped out of his mouth before he had thought through what he was going to say. “Can't you see that? I'm being framed.”

The fat one stared at him, and for a moment it looked as if he might start laughing. “You're being framed, are you?” He glanced up at his colleague. “Well, that's original. Don't think we've heard that one before, have we?”

“Not today,” the thin one said.

“A set up,” the fat one said. “Well, we'll bear that in mind. But let's come back to the body, shall we? Just tell us—”

He stopped suddenly as the door of the interview room swung open. Wu Sam looked over the fat one's shoulder, expecting some underling bearing a message for his interrogators, but whoever the new arrival might be, he was no underling. He stood silently in the doorway, gazing fixedly at Wu Sam. His face was dark, his skin shining in the dim light like polished wood, an unyielding mask. But his eyes were a piercing blue, and Wu Sam felt as if they could see into his soul.

The fat one twisted in his chair, clearly surprised by their visitor. “Sir, we were just—”

The man nodded. “That's fine, Tunjin. You two go and get a break. I'll look after this for a while.”

He was still at the window, staring out at the empty street, the silent grasslands, the low line of the far mountains.

“I've been trying to track down Nergui,” she said from behind him. “He's not answering his cell phone, but I've left messages. And I've phoned Doripalam's office. They'll get in touch and then we can get this moving.”

Gundalai remained motionless. “They won't do anything,” he said, quietly.

“They will,” Sarangarel said. “It's their job.”

“But that's all it is,” Gundalai said. “It's just a job. They won't take it seriously. They'll think this is some kind of stunt.”

“They might be right, you know. Have you considered that?”

His eyes looked dead, unfocused. “You think so as well?”

“I don't think anything. We have to take that text message seriously but it doesn't really say anything, does it? Just claims that he's in trouble and tells you to call the police. If he really is in trouble, how come he's in a position to send you a message? And if he can send you a message, why can't he give you more information? I don't know. Odbayar's an activist. This wouldn't be the first time he's tried to grab the headlines.”

He turned away and walked across the room, throwing himself down on to the sofa. Suddenly, he looked much younger than his
years. “But he'd have told me. He wouldn't have done this without me.”

“I'm sure you're right,” she said, without much conviction. “Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it? We have to treat that message seriously. I'm sure that's how Nergui and Doripalam will see it.” She paused. “In any case, you know Nergui can't afford to take any chances with this.”

“Odbayar being who he is, you mean? Well, no, I wouldn't expect Nergui to take any risks with his career.”

“I can't think of many people less concerned about their career than Nergui,” she said. “But it's because of who Odbayar is that we—and they—have to take this seriously. If he has been kidnapped, it's most likely because of his father. Why else?”

Gundalai stared at her, as though about to argue. “I just know that I'm worried about him. I think something's happened to him. I don't know why or how. But I'm worried.”

“You might not think it,” she said, “but if anyone can find him, Nergui can.”

He nodded, but looked unconvinced. “If you can manage to get hold of Nergui, that is,” he said. “We need to be doing something. It must be possible to track where that text was sent from. They must be able to pinpoint where his phone is.”

“I've no idea. I don't imagine it's easy. It probably takes time.”

“Especially when nobody's even trying to do it,” he said, bitterly. “I just wish I had some idea of where to go, what to do. I thought he might send something else. But there's just silence.”

“I know it's difficult,” she said. “But we have to wait.”

Gundalai jumped up and strode over to the window. “I can't just wait—” he stopped suddenly, as though frozen. “That's my phone.”

Sarangarel had heard nothing, but Gundalai was already fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out the cell phone and stared at the screen. “It's him,” he said. He looked up and his face seemed to have come to life again. “It's another message. He's telling us where he is.”

*

“This was your idea, right?” Nergui said.

“Batzorig's,” Doripalam said, jerking his thumb towards the young man engaged in discussion with the official in the small wooden cabin. “That's why I insisted he come with us.”

“Very wise.” Nergui nodded. “There's no reason why he shouldn't suffer as well.”

“It's the vertigo I'm worried about,” Doripalam said. “I've never been up in one of those things.”

“It's a new experience for all of us. That's the great thing about working with the younger generation.”

They were standing in a small military airfield at the northern edge of the city. There was a line of small hangars along one side, a pre-fabricated hut that provided office accommodation, and the small cabin containing the uniformed young man in charge of tracking the aircraft movements. Somewhere off to the right, there was one of the innumerable
ger
camps that ringed the urban centre like a besieging army, line on line of the distinctive round tents.

Batzorig was repeating his earlier telephone conversation, although now his hand was strengthened by the presence of Nergui and Doripalam. Finally, he straightened and turned back towards the two older men.

“All sorted,” he said. “Ours for twenty-four hours. Fully fuelled and with pilot.”

“That's good to know,” Doripalam said. “I'd hate to have to take it up on my own. Who's paying for all this?”

“There's some sort of inter-agency recharge arrangement,” Batzorig said.

“You don't know, then?” Doripalam said. “I don't know that I have a budget to cover it.”

“The ministry will no doubt pick up the tab if necessary,” Nergui said. “Assuming that I'm still in a position of any influence by the time we get back. And if I'm not—well, the cost of this probably won't matter too much.”

Doripalam had not asked how Nergui's conversation with the minister had gone. When he'd returned to his office, Nergui had
still been sitting at the desk, flicking aimlessly through the various case files. He had looked untroubled, and had dismissed Doripalam's initial polite enquiry with a smile. There was no obvious way for Doripalam to return to the subject after that.

“Do you think this is really necessary?” Doripalam said, gesturing towards the helicopter.

“I think Batzorig's right. If our suspicions are correct—or even if they're not—we need to track down Professor Sam Yung as soon as possible. We could waste a lot of time trying to do that.”

“Even with this, we may waste a lot of time,” Doripalam pointed out. “I already have the local force up in Ondorkhaan trying to find him. I don't know that we'll be able to do much they can't.”

“How many men do they have up there?” Nergui asked. “A handful? And no doubt the usual local incompetents. I can't imagine they'll be putting a lot of effort into it.”

“Maybe,” Doripalam said. “But maybe we're better off here than going off on some wild goose chase.”

“Why? You have all the bases covered as far as you can. You have a team tracking down all Odbayar's friends and contacts, another team investigating the hotel explosion. You have the forensics reports due on the murders, but we haven't even identified the victims yet. I don't see what else you can do for the moment. And if anything breaks in the meantime, this thing will get us back quickly enough.”

There was no arguing with Nergui's logic. But, as always, Doripalam had a suspicion that it was the operational thrill that motivated Nergui, another chance to escape the routine of his desk job and get his hands dirty.

“What about Tunjin?” Doripalam asked. “Have you tracked him down yet?”

“No, but I have people looking. There aren't many places he can go.”

“I still don't know what you're up to, Nergui, though there's nothing new in that. But you know Tunjin well enough not to underestimate his resourcefulness.”

Nergui made no response, but gestured out towards the helicopter. “I think it's time for us to be boarding.”

“You sure we're both allowed to ride together?” Doripalam said. “Doesn't the ministry have rules about that kind of thing?”