The Shadow Walker in-1

by Michael Walters

  “It’s very interesting,” Drew said, honestly. He found himself wondering again about this man’s role and rank, and also, for the first time, wondering about his background. Mongolia had been, in effect, a satellite of the USSR until the beginning of the 1990s. It was unlikely that Nergui had risen to a senior role in the police without being part of the previous regime, particularly since the Communist Party, with its newfound enthusiasm for democracy, had remained in power here for much of the past decade. Drew’s understanding was that the police, in its current civilian form, was a product only of the mid-1990s, so it was likely that Nergui’s career had been formed in the government militia.

  “Well, we will have more time to discuss such things this week, no doubt. I am at your service as your host. But, equally, please tell me if you desire time to yourself. I know how oppressive such trips can be.”

  “Thank you,” Drew said. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  “Well-” Nergui waited while coffees were placed before them. “You have your meeting with the ambassador at ten?” Drew nodded. “You saw the embassy as we passed-just a few minutes’ walk away. There’s probably not much point in your coming to police headquarters till after your meeting, so we can arrange a car to collect you from there once you’re finished.”

  “I don’t know how long the meeting’s likely to take, I’m afraid. Probably just half an hour’s courtesy chat, but you never know.”

  Nergui smiled. “The ambassador will assume you know things he doesn’t. Which is no doubt true, but not about this case-he’s been kept fully informed. He’ll also want to make sure you know which side you’re on.”

  “I’m not aware I’m on anybody’s side,” Drew said.

  “We don’t even know what the sides are,” Nergui agreed. “But he will remind you, very discreetly, that the British Government is your paymaster, just in case there should be any-conflict of interest.”

  “Is there likely to be?”

  Nergui shrugged. “Not from me. But we are involved in politics here. Politicians think differently from the rest of us. They perceive conflicts where we do not.”

  Drew nodded, not sure if he was really following this. He recalled Nergui’s earlier words: “I’m a patriot at heart.”

  “You seem to know the ambassador well?” he said.

  “I come across him from time to time. In the course of duty. He’s a likable enough person.” Nergui left the comment hanging in the air, as if there were more he could say. “Well,” he said, at last, “tomorrow, then-I’ll give you my office and cell numbers, and then you can call me when you’ve finished and I’ll send a car over.”

  Drew found himself absurdly surprised that the country had cell phone coverage. But, of course, in a remote country like this a cell infrastructure made more sense than fixed lines.

  “I think the best use we can make of tomorrow is for us to give you a short tour of the city, and show you where the four bodies were found. Doripalam can also talk you through the various crime reports and witness statements. They’re not in English, of course, but we can give you the gist easily enough.” Nergui paused. “There is nothing we can do, really, but press on and hope something turns up. And maybe we can throw a few stones into the pond and see what ripples we cause.”

  Drew wasn’t entirely sure what he meant but nodded anyway. He noticed that Doripalam was watching the older man closely.

  Nergui rose slowly to his feet. “But, as I say, you’ve had a long day. We will let you get some sleep. Give me call as soon as you’re free in the morning.”

  Drew watched Nergui and Doripalam walk slowly across the restaurant, Nergui pausing to speak briefly with the head waiter. Suddenly, sitting alone, Drew thought about Ian Ransom, who had presumably eaten alone in this very room the evening before he was killed. Drew would shortly have to make his way through the silent hotel corridors to a room identical to that where Ransom met his brutal death. The thought was far from comforting.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was stupid, he knew, and he’d spent the first three or four months trying to resist it. He knew what they thought, and told himself that he didn’t care. After all, why should he have any respect for them? He recognized what they were, most of them, and given half a chance he’d have had them out of the place. But it was impossible; there were no alternatives. That, of course, was precisely why he had been given the job in the first place. Because, everywhere you looked, this place was desperately short of alternatives.

  So he should have just ignored them. That was the advice that Nergui had given him, and it was the advice he would have given anyone else in the same position. But it was much easier to say than to do. He knew how much they despised him-almost, he supposed, as much as he despised them. He knew that they were watching, waiting for him to make his first slip. And he was determined not to give them the satisfaction.

  So, against his better judgment, he found himself arriving earlier and earlier each morning, getting in before any of the others arrived, making sure he was fully on top of everything. And of course Solongo, who had initially seen his promotion as finally proving him to be a husband potentially worthy of her social aspirations, now began to complain bitterly about the amount of time he was spending in the office. There was, he thought, no way of pleasing everyone, but at the moment he felt he was pleasing no one, least of all himself.

  And now, on top of all that, Nergui’s return had made everything ten times worse. He didn’t entirely blame Nergui himself, though he knew full well that Nergui would have been unable to resist the prospect of returning to the scenes of his former glory. But that didn’t help his own position. To the rest of the team, Nergui’s arrival had simply confirmed their view that Doripalam had never been up to the job in the first place. Solongo had tried hard to conceal her disappointment when he had informed her, but he was clear that she too now assumed that his promotion was only a stopgap and that Nergui would be kept in the role until a more suitable candidate was found. She had never really believed that her husband was senior management material.

  In the face of all that, he should have told them what to do with their job. Or at least he should have ceased putting in all the extra effort that had become the norm over the past few months. And yet here he was again, stumbling into the building at six thirty in the morning, the day not even light, preparing for another day of minimal achievement.

  As he made his way along the corridor, he was surprised to see that the lights were already on in one of the other offices. The night shift would have been on duty, of course, but they were unlikely to have ventured up to the management offices. Then he realized. Even now, it seemed, Nergui couldn’t resist demonstrating that he was always one step ahead of everyone else. Knowing Nergui’s domestic circumstances, though, Doripalam wasn’t sure whether to feel irritated or pitying.

  He tapped lightly on Nergui’s door and poked his head around. “Good morning, Nergui. See you haven’t changed your habits.”

  Nergui looked up from the mass of paperwork. “Usual story about old dogs and new tricks, I’m afraid.”

  Actually, Nergui was sorry that Doripalam had found him here so early in the morning. He had always had a reputation for working absurdly long hours, which others found intimidating and which he knew wasn’t particularly justified. There was nothing wrong with intimidating people now and again, but Nergui didn’t want Doripalam to think he was engaged in some egotistical game. There was enough tension between the two men already.

  The truth was that Nergui needed little sleep. He had a suspicion that he could probably survive with virtually no sleep at all. But over the years he’d gradually settled for around four hours a night, generally between around one and five a.m.

  This morning, he had thought it worth getting in early. Although he had been through the case papers countless times, he wanted to reread them before they met Drew again later in the morning. Nergui had no illusions as to why Drew had been sent here. He knew it w
as a token gesture aimed largely toward the victim’s family and the UK media. He also recognized that there was probably little that Drew could add to the investigation in the limited time he was here.

  However, his years of working in this environment had taught Nergui that it was worth making best use of whatever resources were thrown in his direction. At the very least, Drew would bring another perspective to the case-and a fairly astute one, as far as Nergui could judge-which might complement his own experience and Doripalam’s perspicacity. More importantly, Drew was an experienced investigating officer, of a kind all too rare in this country. Nergui wanted to extract whatever value he could from his brief presence.

  Since arriving in the office at five thirty, he had read painstakingly through the case documents, highlighting apparently important points, making detailed notes, producing short English translations of anything he felt might be of interest to Drew, and reviewing again the innumerable, largely unpleasant photographs.

  Doripalam gestured to the mounds of papers and files in front of Nergui. “Surprised you managed to keep awake,” he said. “Find anything new?”

  “What do you think?” At least Nergui now felt that he was thoroughly up to speed with everything in the notes. Nevertheless, the overwhelming impression that he was left with was an absence of any serious leads, nothing they could pursue with any feeling of confidence. “Apart from the usual routine stuff, which you’ve clearly got well in hand, I can’t see anywhere else to go.”

  Doripalam nodded. “Well, I’m disappointed to hear you say that, but I wouldn’t have been pleased if you’d found something I’d missed.”

  “I’d have been astonished. I didn’t see it in the notes, but I take it we’ve done DNA testing on the victims’ clothes?”

  Doripalam raised an eyebrow in mock reproach, though he accepted that Nergui was only checking that all avenues had been covered. “Official reports aren’t back yet,” he said, “but unofficially they’ve told me there’s nothing. There is some extraneous matter on the clothes but nothing that’s consistent between the victims or that matches any of our records.”

  Nergui nodded and sat back in his chair, looking vaguely around the office as though seeking inspiration. His temporary office here was smaller and more functional than his room in the Ministry, but only marginally so. He was not a man who sought comfort or domesticity in the workplace, or, for that matter, even in his home life, but just for a moment he was struck by the bleakness of the room-the cheap functional desk, the pale green Ministry-issue paint on the walls, an old metal filing cabinet, a two-year-old calendar on the wall. Suddenly he felt as if the state of this room simply demonstrated how thin their resources were, how pitifully ill equipped they were to face whatever it was that lay out there.

  Nergui did not underestimate his own capability, he knew he was ideally suited to the role to which he had, for the moment, returned. He hadn’t always been successful. But where he had failed he was confident that few could have done more.

  So normally, even in these circumstances, he would be approaching this job with relish and optimism, particularly after the deadening experience of recent months. He knew the pressures he was under; he knew that the Minister’s job-and therefore his own-might depend on the outcome of this case. That didn’t worry him. It was the price of entry to this level of the game.

  But what did worry him, as he sat here looking at Doripalam’s tired but still enthusiastic face, were the implications of this case for the city, maybe for the country. This was a fledgling nation in its current form, struggling to find an identity. It was still a primitive state in many ways-its people fearful after decades, even centuries of repression and hardship, where for generations life had been scraped daily from the bare earth, where nothing lay between man and heaven except a thin protection of wood and felt.

  There was something about these killings that stirred a primordial unease in Nergui. It was not simply that the streets of the city might be stalked by a psychopath, killing randomly and brutally, Nergui could deal with that. Such a killer would eventually make an error, and might even choose to reveal himself. But what really disturbed Nergui about the killings was the sense of purpose. The sense of deliberate, planned savagery. The sense of some narrative, moving slowly toward its dark resolution.

  He slammed shut the file in front of him. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some coffee. I think we both need it.”

  “I’m a United man myself, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, well, we all have our crosses to bear.” Drew wasn’t surprised. Like all City fans, he believed that Manchester United had been invented for people who didn’t really like soccer.

  The ambassador laughed. “I thought it was you lot who bore the stigmata.” Which, Drew noted, was exactly the kind of thing you would expect a United fan to say. Upper class private school preppies who had never even visited Manchester, except maybe for a champagne dinner in the executive box at Old Trafford.

  “Takes me back,” the ambassador mused. “I was brought up in Wythenshawe, you know. Seems a long way away now.”

  I bet, thought Drew, who had grown up in the neighboring but substantially more upmarket suburb of Hale. Wasn’t that just typical? You couldn’t even be confident in your prejudices these days.

  “Coffee?”

  And it was true that the ambassador did seem to have left Wythenshawe a long way behind, as they sat in apparently antique armchairs in this oak paneled room, a silver tray of fine china set out on the low coffee table between them. Drew wondered vaguely where Mongolia sat on the hierarchy of ambassadorial assignments. He couldn’t imagine it was one that they were all clamoring for at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. On the other hand, it was an interesting enough place, and pretty stable compared with some of the options on offer. It was probably the kind of posting they gave to the bright young things on the rise, or to the loyal servants on the way to retirement. Judging from his white hair and tweed-jacketed manner, it was safe to assume that the ambassador fell into the latter category.

  “Thank you.” Not only was the china very fine, the coffee was also predictably excellent.

  “Well, Chief Inspector, thank you very much for sparing the time to see me this morning.”

  As if I had a choice, Drew thought. “Not at all. I was very keen to seek your opinion in any case, so thank you for the invitation.”

  “I’ll be happy to share whatever insights I can with you. I’ve been here for a few years now, and this region has always been one of my areas of interest. Wrote a dissertation on it at Oxford, as a matter of fact. It’s an extraordinary place in many ways. One of the few substantial countries that’s still relatively untouched by the forces of globalization.”

  “That must be changing, I imagine?”

  “It is but still relatively slowly. It’s very remote here. There are still comparatively few tourists. Not that many nationals have traveled outside the country. Your man Nergui is something of an exception there.”

  “He seems to have traveled remarkably widely,” Drew said. He had the sense that the ambassador was keen to impart information, presumably in the hope of receiving some back.

  “So I understand,” the ambassador said, in a tone that implied a fairly comprehensive knowledge. “Lived in the States for a couple of years, and in the UK, and he seems to have spent time in Europe, Asia-well, you name it.”

  “Seems a little odd for a policeman,” Drew commented. “Even a senior one. No one’s offered to send me on my travels. Except here, of course.”

  The ambassador laughed. “Well, yes, I think it is a little odd for a policeman, especially here where they generally seem keen to ensure that the police are as insular as they can make them. But there’s more to Nergui than meets the eye.”

  It was clearly a prompt, but Drew decided just to take a slow sip of coffee and let the ambassador approach this on his own. He knew from endless hours of interviewing suspects that there was nothing more effective
than prolonged silence for encouraging others to speak.

  “He’s an interesting man is Nergui,” the ambassador said finally, “and I’m not sure I’ve got anywhere close to fathoming him. But there are certain things you should be aware of.”

  Drew raised an eyebrow and reached out to take a biscuit. There was no point in making this easy for the ambassador, or in giving him any sense that Drew owed him any information in return.

  “The first thing you should know is that he doesn’t work for the police. Not formally.”

  “He doesn’t? But I thought he was in charge of the investigation here-”

  The ambassador nodded. “Oh, he’s certainly in charge of the investigation. He has his remit from the Minister of Justice himself.”

  “Then-”

  “But Nergui himself now works for the State Security Administration. Another arm, as it were, of the Ministry of Justice and Internal Affairs.”

  “And the State Security Administration is what?” Drew asked, already having a good idea of the answer.

  “Essentially counterintelligence, as I understand it,” the ambassador said. “As a department, it deals with anything that potentially comprises a threat to the state. Terrorism. Espionage. Sabotage. All that.”

  “Like MI5?”

  “As you say.”

  “So Nergui’s a spy?”

  The ambassador shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure that that’s necessarily the terminology they’d use. But, yes, Nergui is a senior officer in the intelligence service.”

  “What’s his background?” Drew asked, wondering what he’d got himself into here.

  The ambassador frowned. “Well, that’s one of the odd things about our friend Nergui,” he said. “No one seems to know too much about him. Or at least no one’s telling us.” Drew was momentarily amused by the conceit that, since no one had told the ambassador, it must follow that nobody else knew either. “He’s a mysterious fellow. Something of a state hero, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear. He rose through the ranks of the government in the days when it was essentially an oppressive arm of the Communist Party, but seems to have avoided getting too tainted by all that. Mind you, the rise of democracy and the fall of the Soviet Union haven’t prevented the Party from retaining a large majority here over most of the past decade. We now have a reformed Communist Party promising to govern like New Labour.”