The Shadow Walker (20 page)

“With no link to the murders here?”

“No. Those haven't even been mentioned. Some people may make the connection, but with so little information I wouldn't expect it.”

The Minister nodded. “Well, that's something. And what about your Englishman?”

“I'm not sure. His presence here is something of a token gesture. He wasn't planning to stay more than a few days. But I'm keen for him to stay a little longer, if his bosses can be persuaded.”

“Why?” The Minister frowned. “Do we really want some foreign policeman peering over our shoulders, prepared to embarrass us?”

“I don't think that's a risk. He's a dedicated policeman, not—with all due respect, sir—a politician.”

The Minister laughed. “But he's in contact with the British ambassador?”

“The ambassador is in contact with him. Which is no surprise. But I don't think that's a cause for concern. The truth is, we can make good use of McLeish's experience and expertise in this case. We don't have too much of that among our own people.”

“That's true enough. Okay. I'll trust your judgment on this one, Nergui, for the moment at least.” The Minister paused, leaning forward over the table. “But, Nergui,” he said, after a pause, “remember—no more disappointments. We can't afford it. Not again.”

“So what do you
think
is going on?”

“As I say, I really don't have a clue,” Drew said. Nergui keeps talking about patterns, but there's no pattern to it at all.'

“So far as you can see.”

“So far as I can see,” Drew agreed, mildly irritated by the ambassador's implied superiority. Still, he imagined that the ambassador rarely implied anything else.

“But what about the mining connection? That seems to suggest some kind of link.”

“Well, yes, but I've no idea what. There's not really much to
it, when you try to piece it all together. Okay, Ransom was a geologist. Delgerbayar, the murdered police officer, was involved in some supposedly trivial gold prospecting case. Collins and Maxon were both working in the minerals industry. That's about it.”

“Plus this strange convocation of visitors to the Gobi.”

“Yes, and that.” But at best, Drew thought, it was as if they had a few pieces from a much larger jigsaw puzzle. A couple of edges, a bit of sky, part of a face. But nothing that might make a picture.

“And this chap Maxon has really gone missing?”

“Apparently.”

“That seems difficult to believe.”

“That's how Nergui feels. He thinks it's virtually impossible.”

They were sitting in the ambassador's personal lounge, a comfortable room with low armchairs, thick piled carpet and glossy mahogany tables. It was late morning and autumn sunshine was incongruously bright outside the window. The ambassador sipped his coffee. “And do you believe him?”

Drew hesitated perhaps a fraction too long. “I think so,” he said. “I mean, I've no idea what to make of any of this, but I've seen no reason not to trust Nergui so far.” This was true. On the other hand, he also didn't know whether there was any positive reason why he
should
trust Nergui.

The ambassador did not look convinced. “Well,” he said, finally, “is it safe to assume that Maxon is behind all of this?”

Drew shook his head. “No. Not necessarily. I mean, of course it's possible. He's been in the country longer than Collins—for nearly three weeks. And, interestingly, although he's now here as a tourist, it's not his first visit. He's been here, supposedly on business, a couple of times before—made visits to various of the mines in the north of the country. We're in contact with the FBI, but they're not telling us much. There's nothing to connect him to the murders here, so far as we can see.”

“But if he isn't, then it looks as if we have two psychopaths on the loose simultaneously. Quite a first for this place.”

“Assuming,” Drew said, “that Maxon was responsible for Collins's and Batkhuyag's murders.”

“You think there's any chance he wasn't?”

“I really don't know,” Drew said. “I mean, if these two murders had happened in isolation, of course he'd be the obvious candidate in the frame. But it's still hard to see quite why he'd have killed those two at that point. And it's hard to tie any of that in with the earlier killings.”

“Maybe they're not linked.”

Drew shrugged. “Maybe not. In which case, as you say, we have two rampant psychopaths and one hell of a coincidence.”

The ambassador nodded, making a show of stirring his coffee again and selecting one of the luxurious biscuits from the plate in front of them. “So what do you think they know?”

“Who?”

“Nergui's people. The Ministry. Intelligence. They must have more knowledge than they're letting on.”

“I don't get that impression. But then I wouldn't, I suppose.” He paused. “To be quite frank, I'm feeling out of my depth in all this.”

“Out of your depth?” The ambassador raised his eyebrows. “An experienced policeman? You're dealing with a bunch of amateurs here. Other than Nergui, that is.”

“It's not that,” Drew said. “Though this case is like nothing I've ever had to deal with as a policeman. It's the politics. It's the sense that there's something else going on, coded signals I'm not picking up.”

“Ah, the
politics
…” The ambassador sat back in his chair, smiling. “Well, I'm with you there. Even though it's my job.”

Drew didn't bother to add that he saw the ambassador as part of the problem. He thought it was probably better to move on. “But to go back to your question, no, I don't get the impression they know more than they're letting on. Certainly not at the operational level, anyway. It's difficult to tell what Nergui might know, as I'm sure you've experienced. But I think he's as disturbed by
this as anyone. More than most, in fact. And I think that's because he doesn't usually come up against things he doesn't understand.”

“Well, that would make sense. I think Nergui's used to being in control of things. And I imagine he must be under a lot of pressure, though we'd never know.”

“Pressure?”

“From his Minister. If all this has just been the work of some lone psychopath, that would have been bad enough in terms of its impact. If, as it appears, it's something more complicated than that, then the Minister will be getting very anxious.”

Drew finally got around to taking a sip of his coffee, which was already growing cold. “Why?”

“Well, there's a lot of noble talk about, you know, protecting the fabric of society and all that—and I'm sure Nergui genuinely believes some of that—but for the Minister this is just our old friend politics once again.” The ambassador paused, as if he were wondering how openly to speak. Drew had already decided that the ambassador's apparent willingness to take Drew into his confidence was simply more game playing. He would share only what he needed to, Drew had concluded, in the hope of getting something back. “It's the problem with democracy, I suppose,” the ambassador went on. “Since this country introduced democracy at the beginning of the 1990s, there have been many changes but the Communist Party has largely retained power.”

“So what's the problem? Aren't the Communists firmly entrenched now?”

“To some extent, but there's a lot of public unrest. There are plenty who think the country's going to hell in a handcart. Who knows what's around the corner? A psychopath on the loose for too long wouldn't be particularly helpful to the career of the Minister of Security. But if it's something more than that—particularly if there are commercial interests involved in some way—well, that could really be a knockout blow.”

“So the Minister will want this sorted?”

“One way or another, yes. And quickly.”

“What do you mean—one way or another?”

The ambassador shrugged. “I'm sure you must encounter these kinds of problems from time to time. Politicians want solutions. They don't really care whether the solution really solves the problem, so long as they can be seen to have done something.”

“That kind of thing doesn't usually get down to my level, I'm glad to say.”

The ambassador smiled, coldly. “Then, young man, you should count yourself very lucky. Enjoy it while you can.” He spoke as though Drew's privileged status might change at any moment.

It was only after Drew had concluded his meeting with the ambassador that he remembered that he and Nergui were due to have dinner at the embassy that same evening. The relative lightheartedness he had felt at finally getting away from the ambassador melted away. What he had said was true. He was increasingly feeling out of his depth in this world, unsure who to trust or what to think. The prospect of an evening between the ambassador and Nergui was not an enticing one.

And how long was he supposed to stay out here? The original plan had been for him to fly home at the end of the week, with only the possibility of a return. But then he had received a message on his cell phone from the Chief Constable's office to say that Nergui had requested he stay here a few more days, with the Ministry picking up the expenses. It was made clear that in the interests of international relations—not to mention the PR—Drew should accept the request.

There was also a message from Nergui suggesting that they meet in the bar of the Chinggis Khaan for a drink before dinner. He had last seen Nergui during their flight back from the Gobi that morning. Drew had been feeling exhausted after their disturbed night and although Nergui had the same brightness and energy that Drew had noted from the start, he looked troubled by the events of the night.

Their conversation on the return flight had been desultory,
partly because of Drew's tiredness and partly because there seemed to be little worth saying and the case was, in theory, being handled by the local police chief, but there was no doubt that in practice he reported to Nergui. The relationship had been obvious to Drew, watching their conversation at the murder scene, even though he could not understand what was being said.

Compared with the previous murders, these were straightforward. Collins had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest and back, and appeared to have died from the loss of blood. Batkhuyag had been strangled, probably with a belt. Although no precise time of death had yet been established, both had been dead for some time before Nergui had found them, which explained how Maxon had been able to make the escape. The working assumption was that Maxon was the killer, and only Nergui seemed to be treating this as anything other than simple fact.

Even before they had embarked on their morning flight back to Ulan Baatar, a full-scale manhunt was underway. The local police chief had confidently expressed the opinion that Maxon would be picked up by the end of the day. After all, he had pointed out, how easy could it be for a Westerner to hide in the Gobi?

Nergui had called as soon as their plane had touched down to see whether this prediction showed any sign of being fulfilled. The answer was no. No one had yet reported seeing or even hearing of Maxon or any other Westerner outside the tourist camp. Police officers on motorbikes were making the rounds of all the surrounding
gers,
but so far to no effect. Still, it was, as the chief kept repeating, early days.

Drew assumed that by the time they met that evening, Nergui would have something more concrete to report. As before, Drew came down from his hotel room to find Nergui holding solitary court in the corner of the bar. Drew was pleased to note that he had already ordered the beers.

Before Drew could ask the obvious question, Nergui was already shaking his head. “Nothing,” he said. “No news at all.”

Drew sat down opposite Nergui and took a long pull on his beer. “When did you last check with them?”

“Twenty minutes ago. They've promised me they'll call as soon as they have anything to report.” He smiled. “But I'm not sure I trust them to be assiduous enough so I'll probably call them again later. Just in case.”

“Someone must have seen him.”

“You would have thought so, wouldn't you? I don't see how a Westerner on the run can stay unnoticed in the middle of the Gobi for long.”

“Is it possible he's being sheltered?”

“I suppose so. It's quite possible that there's some herdsman out there who's not heard the news—though many of them have shortwave radios, these days—and who's taken pity on him. But you'd have thought we'd have found something.”

“Maybe he's not trying to hide. Maybe he's committed suicide or just ridden off into the desert.”

Nergui nodded. “I suppose it's not beyond the realms of possibility, if it is true that he's responsible for these killings.”

“You still think he might not be?”

“I genuinely don't know. It is the logical assumption. Although we then have to consider what the link is with the earlier murders, or we're left with two killers. But mainly it is that old instinct again, nothing more. I don't think it is as simple as that.”

“You think the same person is responsible for all these killings?” It sounded ridiculous, Drew thought. But the alternative seemed even more absurd.

Nergui shrugged. “There is no point in speculating. But my instinct says no. Which is a truly terrifying prospect.”

“I understand you've asked my bosses if I can stay on here.” Drew realized too late that the statement sounded accusatory. He hadn't intended that, but maybe he was right to be annoyed.

Nergui nodded. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I have been thoughtless. I should have asked you first. But I had the impression you were keen to stay a little while longer. And I was certainly keen to draw
on your experience.” He paused. “But I was forgetting about your wife and family. That was inconsiderate. I am sorry.”