An Autumn Hunting

by Tom Callaghan

  I nodded.

  ‘And you know who shot him?’ I asked in return. Now it was her turn to nod, her face even more serious than usual, her body suddenly coiled, tense.

  ‘Tynaliev would be pretty unlamented throughout Central Asia if he’d died,’ Saltanat said, ‘but he didn’t. And from his luxury private room at the Hyatt Regency, an entire floor swamped by his bodyguards, he sent a message out to his counterparts, his rivals in Tashkent, Almaty, Dushanbe.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘The tricky bastard said “Providence has spared me, but my would-be assassin is still at large. This attack says any of us is vulnerable. My friends, this time it was me. Next time, his bullet could be for you. We must deal with him so that no one emulates his folly.” ’

  Saltanat said, ‘Actually, that’s a rather more logical and restrained way of putting it. His actual words were, “Gut the bastard and deliver his head and balls.” ’

  A dark suspicion began to slither into my mind.

  ‘The word went out, together with mention of a reward for my head. And that’s why you’re here. To hunt me down. And kill me.’

  Just like the first time we met, back in Bishkek as I tried to hunt down the killer of Yekaterina Tynalieva and avoid her father’s rage.

  Saltanat’s eyes never left my face, as she reached for her bag.

  I felt numb, beyond shock, betrayal written across my face like a blow. I couldn’t move, thought about throwing the glass in my hand at her, couldn’t raise my arms. I felt my balls tighten with fear.

  Saltanat’s hand emerged, holding a gun no longer than my middle finger. I stared at its black mouth, knowing that if it spoke, its voice would be the last thing I’d hear.

  ‘Turn around, Akyl. Please.’

  ‘Can’t bear to look at my face?’

  ‘Just do it,’ she said. Was there a note of sorrow in her voice? I couldn’t tell.

  ‘I’ve always said I wanted to be buried next to Chinara. Up in the mountains, overlooking the valley,’ I said. ‘But that isn’t going to happen, is it?’

  I looked at the cheap mass-produced painting on the wall, showing an old lady in a floating market boat selling noodles. Garish, banal, but the colours hit me with a fierce intensity. Hardly the most profound vision of a dying man. But perhaps the best I deserved or could hope for.

  And thinking that, I shut my eyes, tensed my shoulders, prepared to die.

  Chapter 34

  The explosion filled the room, but it was the blast of a voice, not a gun.

  ‘Don’t be such a fucking idiot, Akyl, I’m not going to shoot you. Although I probably should. But that doesn’t mean I trust you either. I need to know what’s going on, and standing naked at gunpoint usually encourages people to speak freely.’

  I decided turning around too quickly wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. Better to answer her questions, and let her deal with Quang, Aliyev and Tynaliev, in no particular order.

  ‘First of all, why did you try to kill Tynaliev? I know he was a shit, but he owed you.’

  ‘Owned me, more like,’ I said. ‘And I knew that one night, lying awake at four in the morning, he’d decide I knew too much about him, I might be a threat to his wealth and his position. And an hour later, someone would drag me out of my apartment and into a secluded field to watch the dawn for the last time.’

  ‘Then how was it you didn’t kill him before he could kill you? Point-blank in the back, I heard. Twice. That Yarygin of yours, it’s not a gun, it’s a cannon. I’m surprised they didn’t find pieces of his liver halfway across China.’

  ‘I used an old Makarov, not mine, obviously,’ I said, reproach clear in my voice. ‘What can you expect with a piece of shit like that? The amount of vodka Tynaliev drank every day, I was only surprised the bullets didn’t ricochet off his liver and hit me.’

  ‘If you’d succeeded in offing him, his successor would probably have had you promoted,’ Saltanat said. ‘As it is, you’re in up to your neck. I would never have thought you’d move over to the dark side.’

  ‘I didn’t move, I was pushed,’ I said, irritated. ‘And is it all right if I turn around now? Talking to a wall gets boring pretty quickly.’

  ‘Put the glass in your hand down first. And move as if you’re treading on very thin ice. Which, of course, you are.’

  Finally, I turned around, pleased to see the gun in her hand wasn’t pointing so resolutely at my heart.

  ‘Why don’t we get dressed and I’ll explain it all to you?’ I suggested.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Pick up your clothes and go shower.’

  Half through the bathroom door, Saltanat called out to me, ‘Akyl, you need to lose a couple of kilos. Too many expensive meals with your gangster friends.’

  That reminded me I hadn’t eaten proper food since I’d landed, and maybe the thought of sudden death and then reprieve straight after sex had given me a surprising appetite.

  ‘Maybe we can go out and eat something?’ I suggested, and closed the bathroom door.

  But when I came out, Saltanat was gone.

  Chapter 35

  The corridor was empty, of course, and Saltanat was too sharp an operator to have not planned more than one escape route well in advance. The deep-voiced receptionist wouldn’t remember the woman who’d arrived with me, or which direction she’d taken.

  I went back into my room, the sharp, almost acrid smell of sex and perfume still riding on the air, felt my stomach turn inside out. A combination of fear, adrenalin, survival and the knowledge that trained killers from every Central Asian country had become bounty hunters racked my body, and I knelt before the toilet vomiting them all out of my system as best I could.

  When it was clear I had nothing left to bring up, I stumbled to the shower, stood under scalding hot water, turned it to ice-cold. But the sweat of fear still stuck to my body.

  Towelling myself dry, wishing I’d never given up drinking vodka, I noticed a cheap black mobile phone lying on my pillow. Left by Saltanat, obviously, an untraceable pay-as-you-go burner to which only she had the number. I checked the directory; there was only one number stored in the memory.

  The phone vibrated in my hand, and a message ran across the screen. It read, ‘Need to talk more.’

  I wasn’t sure if my heart could cope with another conversation like the one we’d just had, but I typed ‘Where? When?’ and sent the text. I waited for a few minutes without a reply. I wanted somewhere secure to hide the phone in case Quang or his friends came by, found nowhere. Tired to the marrow of my bones, I said fuck it, slid the phone into my jacket pocket. The best hiding place is in open view. Except when it isn’t. Time to put the bed to less active use.

  *

  The driver picked me up early the next morning. Before leaving, I’d hidden the mobile on a high ledge on the balcony of my room. A thorough search would find it, of course, but there’s only so much you can do in foreign territory. Foreign it certainly was; I hadn’t worked out yet whether it was hostile.

  Instead of returning to Nana Plaza we drove for an hour until the city sprawl began to give way to the occasional patch of green. Finally, we pulled up outside two massive bronze gates set in a high wall topped by broken glass. I was uncomfortably reminded of the villa of Morton Graves, the foreign paedophile I’d killed back in Bishkek. He’d kept his victims in the cellar, where he filmed all kinds of horrors before killing the small boys and girls. I wondered if I was entering a death zone of my own.

  The gates opened, we drove through, and they swung shut behind us. There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of here if things turned tense.

  I got out of the car and looked around. Another courtyard, but a world away from the one at Nana Plaza. Immaculate areas of lawn, with a narrow stream meandering from one boulder to another, crossed by Japanese-style wooden bridges. A larger lake had stepping stones fashioned from white marble, laid out to resemble nature rather than any human design. One perimeter wall had a water feature set i
nto it, running at irregular intervals to give a pleasing melodic effect. I wasn’t just looking at money and lots of it; I was admiring taste and style.

  The villa itself was a single storey, with a veranda running around each side. The walls were wood-slatted to give a sense of tradition, although I was sure reinforced steel lay behind them. As I stared, Quang appeared from the right-hand side, accompanied by the overweight elderly man I’d seen the day before. Quang gave a wai of welcome, which I returned.

  ‘I thought you might like to begin our discussions in rather more elegant surroundings, Mr Borubaev.’

  His use of Mister rather than Inspector was unsettling, as if I’d been demoted in importance, although I was surely no longer a member of the Bishkek Murder Squad, or indeed, the police force. It was a ploy to show our relative status, and despite myself, I could see it worked.

  The driver frisked me, with particular emphasis on the sleeve of my suit, as if I imagined I could hide a steak knife there twice. I was glad I’d hidden the mobile; I suspected Quang would not approve of me carrying it. Straightening my jacket, I followed Quang and the old man into the villa.

  I’d heard about the Jim Thompson House in central Bangkok, had even promised myself a visit if I could manage it. Quang’s house contained sculptures of inscrutable heads staring out with empty eyes, ornate carved wooden traditional furniture, even exquisite silk drapes and wall hangings. I had no doubt everything was of the highest quality and immensely valuable, like living in one’s own private museum. After all, what was the point of being Thailand’s most successful drugs overlord if you couldn’t spend your money on the best in life?

  ‘First, may I offer you some breakfast?’ Quang asked. ‘We have a local speciality, joke, a jasmine rice congee, although my chef has omitted the marinated pork out of respect for you.’

  I didn’t explain I wasn’t a Muslim; I figured the less Quang knew about me, the fewer flaws he could find in my story when he sat down to pick it apart.

  I shook my head, thanked him for his hospitality, asked for tea.

  ‘I know you are a very important and busy man, Khun Quang, and I don’t wish to take up any more of your valuable time than I have to.’

  ‘As you wish, let us begin,’ Quang said, gesturing towards a beautiful rosewood conference table that cost more than my apartment in Bishkek. As we sat down, a servant entered, pouring each of us a cup of tea and a glass of water. Quang smelt the aroma of the tea with an appreciative smile.

  ‘Lapsang souchong, from Fujian in China. You’re familiar with it?’

  I shook my head: in Kyrgyzstan we’re more used to iced tea from Lipton, or fermented mare’s milk.

  ‘A weakness of mine, I’m afraid, and rather expensive. But then, the best usually is, don’t you find?’

  The tea tasted of pencil shavings.

  ‘As you know, I have no faith that modern communications cannot be intercepted. What man invents, man can decipher. I never conduct business online, by telephone or any other means that can be recorded, copied, or used against me.’

  He took a sip of his tea, nodded approval.

  ‘The reputation of your superior, Mr Kanybek, precedes him, although we have never met. He does not wish to visit Bangkok, and I – forgive me – don’t find your northern cold and snow to my taste.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, noting the use of ‘superior’ to put both Aliyev and myself in our respective places.

  ‘He knows that to contact me at all requires a whole series of cut-outs and go-betweens,’ Quang continued, ‘and even then I will only discuss matters that may compromise me on a face-to-face basis.’

  ‘Pakhan Kanybek shares your sentiments,’ I replied. ‘He believes the snow leopard stays alive from the hunters by remaining out of their sight. That’s why I have been sent here, to act as his personal emissary, pouring his words into your ear.’

  Quang listened intently, while the old man sat nearby on a sofa, apparently asleep.

  ‘We both share similar retail interests, although we serve different markets,’ I began.

  ‘Heroin,’ Quang interrupted. I paused, uncertain how to continue.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, ‘this house is entirely secure, scanned every day for listening devices in every room. The windows are vibration-free, so sound waves from conversations cannot be intercepted. My staff are all absolutely loyal, knowing as they do that any lapse on their part would result in the torture and death of their entire family, immediate and extended. And needless to say, I have certain financial arrangements in place with senior police officials and army officers. Please continue.’

  ‘The one market that causes you some problems is the former Soviet Union,’ I said. ‘You supply large quantities of extremely high-grade heroin, and your shipping and distribution networks are the finest in the world. But the very quality of your product causes problems in our market.’

  ‘Please go on,’ Quang said.

  ‘Quite simply, the addicts in our market are poor and indiscriminate about the drugs they take. You will have heard of krokodil, I’m sure?’

  Quang nodded, and the old man turned to look at me, before shutting his eyes and resuming his slumbers.

  ‘Easy to make, no smuggling or transportation costs, essentially home-made so no need to generate a profit margin except to make enough to sell to pay for the ingredients. And more to the point, it’s fatal in a very short period of time. The customers who use krokodil die off even quicker than they can be replaced, or weaned away onto purer, safer drugs.’

  ‘As you say, that’s your market, not mine.’

  ‘A major problem of the Afghan trade is that it’s become harder to reach the more lucrative markets. A greater clampdown by the West, drones watching smuggling convoys headed west, political pressure backed by promises of aid or bribes to wipe out the poppy fields.’

  Quang said nothing, simply templed his fingers together, stared at me.

  ‘It’s easier to send shipments east, transport them through Tajikistan and from there to Osh, my country’s second city. The mountains are spattered with unofficial paths, littered with border guards who can earn a year’s money by going for a piss behind the border hut at the right time.’

  Quang shrugged.

  ‘And?’

  ‘The worldwide market is expanding,’ I said. ‘Look at the way opium production has tripled in the Golden Triangle in the last decade. But prices haven’t dropped significantly.’

  ‘I know all this, Mr Borubaev,’ Quang said, impatience clear in his voice. ‘I’m waiting to hear your proposal. As you said earlier, I’m a busy man.’

  ‘Injecting addicts die sooner or later, usually sooner. An overdose, an unusually pure shot or a bag cut with brick dust, baby laxative or whatever boosts the street dealer’s profits. So you’re relying on future addicts, the ones who are still sniffing glue or getting drunk on cheap beer, before they graduate to the hard stuff.’

  Quang didn’t bother to hide looking at his watch. I knew it was time for me to cut to the chase.

  ‘What we would like is for you to agree to exit our markets, and allow us to take over your distribution chain.’

  As I’d expected, Quang was too intelligent to be angered by this suggestion. He merely raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.

  ‘By leaving the marketplace to us, we get a monopoly that allows us to set prices and quantities, to stabilise the market, to maximise profits. We can make more money per gram, per kilo, per tonne than you can because our network costs are lower.’

  I paused, took a sip of water. No matter how often I’d rehearsed the arguments with Aliyev, I still felt my nervousness would scupper any agreement, and a bullet in my brain would be my pay-off.

  ‘Where we in Kyrgyzstan benefit is that we’re a transit country. The Fergana Valley is one of the most fertile areas of Central Asia. We ship thousands of tonnes of produce all around the region, to the point where the authorities know they can only seize a
tiny amount of what we transport. Every shipment from Thailand is scrutinised, regarded with suspicion.

  ‘With us, the volume is so overwhelming the authorities don’t have a chance. Try to find a kilo of heroin in a truck loaded up with three tonnes of apples, or nuts, or onions, or cabbages. You have to open every bag, and even then, if you find something, who can you arrest? The driver, who swears blind he knows nothing, and probably doesn’t?’

  ‘Your points are very clear, if I may say so, but I’m still waiting to hear how pulling out of a market benefits my organisation, however low the profits, however great the risk or inconvenience of doing business.’

  It was time for me to pull the rabbit out of the hat with a grand flourish, a bow, and hope I wasn’t booed off stage.

  ‘I’ve already pointed out what we both know – injecting users aren’t a long-term proposition on an individual basis. And the demographic is an aging one as well. We can help you reach a younger consumer, one who doesn’t want oblivion or death. And that’s what we’d like to offer you in exchange.’

  Quang studied me for an endless moment, and then gave the slightest hint of a nod and a smile.

  ‘It all sounds very promising, Mr . . . forgive, I should say Inspector, should I not?’

  ‘I think I’m almost certainly a plain, run-of-the-mill mister, thank you. But I appreciate your remembering.’

  Quang tapped twice on the table, and the servant from earlier reappeared, so swiftly I assumed he’d been hovering, lurking outside the door.

  ‘I look forward to hearing the rest of your proposition. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t suggest lunch, a chance to gather our thoughts, refresh our bodies. You are, after all, an honoured guest.’

  Quang nodded at the servant, who scurried away as silently as he’d arrived. Turning back to me, Quang stood up.

  ‘Lunch? In an hour? Perhaps you’d care to rest until then?’

  I got the impression nobody refused an invitation from Quang, so I simply nodded.

  Chapter 36