He would come. She was sure of that. Soon, he would come.
That night, she lay awake, listening to the faint sounds of the spring breezes rustling through the tent frame, the occasional distant sound of a bird or a barking dog. She imagined him out there, perhaps already approaching, perhaps close at hand.
She imagined meeting him again.
The next morning, when her cell rang, she was almost certain it would be him. She was sitting outside the ger, her husband’s old heavyweight del slung over her shoulders against the early chill.
She answered hesitantly, wondering what she would say.
But it was not him. It was the police, again. A different policeman, more senior than the one who had visited before. No, they had nothing more to report. But, yes, he would like to meet her, hear her story for himself.
She agreed to a time later in the week, not taking in what the emollient voice was saying. She did not fool herself that the call had any significance. It was the publicity, she thought. In that sense, at least, her plan was working. She was getting her story out there. She was getting it noticed.
Perhaps that would help to keep him away. Or perhaps it would bring him sooner. She was no longer sure which she preferred.
He came the next day. When he appeared, it was hardly a surprise to her and she realized that she had forgotten to be afraid.
He was alone. She had somehow imagined him arriving with an entourage, the center of everyone’s attention, because that was how she remembered him.
But of course he was alone. He parked his truck carefully, yards away from the remaining cluster of gers, and walked slowly across the scrubby grassland to where she was sitting. The morning sun was behind him, and he was little more than a silhouette, but she fancied she could see the empty depths of his eyes.
She remained seated almost until he reached her. Then she rose and slowly made her way into the tent, feeling his presence close behind her.
The discussion went as she had expected. He did not stop to question what she might or might not know. He did not bother with explanations. He did not attempt to bargain or cajole. He simply told her what he wanted and waited calmly for her to agree.
When she refused, for a moment he looked almost surprised. Then he repeated his request, quietly, in the same polite tone. The sense of threat was palpable.
She refused again. And then she told him what she knew, or what she thought she knew. She told him what she had, and what she would do with it.
She did not know what reaction she expected. Perhaps she had hoped that he would simply turn on his heel and walk away. Perhaps.
But when the first blow came, she knew she had been waiting for it. She tensed just for a moment as his fist struck her cheek, and then she staggered against the wall of the tent. His second blow struck her in the chest, and she fell back, her head hitting the solid wood of the tent frame.
She was semi-conscious, aware of an absurd disappointment that she should have succumbed so easily. She felt his foot slamming hard into her back. She thrust herself against the side of the ger, knowing now that at least this—all of this—would soon be over.
But then he was leaning over her, and she saw his eyes, blank and expressionless as he pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket.
And she realized that it was all only just beginning.
*
“It’s a new one. Really moves when you put your foot down.”
Doripalam didn’t doubt it. He eased himself further down into the backseat of the Daihatsu 4x4, and tried to relax. This was something of a challenge when being driven by an over-enthusiastic young officer with a habit both of driving too quickly and—perhaps a greater immediate concern—of slowing insufficiently on the tighter bends.
“See that,” Luvsan said, twisting the wheel. “Holds the road beautifully.”
“So far,” Doripalam agreed, feeling the dirt road slide beneath them. “Though I am not sure how long the fates will be on your side.” That would be all he needed at the moment, he thought. A brand new vehicle written off by an idiotic young officer. Particularly if he succeeded in writing off his commanding officer at the same time. Though some might see that as a bonus.
Once again, Doripalam wondered quite why it was he had decided to take on this trip. The case had received some coverage in the press, for reasons he knew all too well, but he could hardly pretend that it was a major priority. The truth was that there was almost certainly nothing to it. Nothing that the police could deal with, at any rate.
Partly, it was about the public profile of the department, he supposed—a necessary but tiresome part of his job. Given the coverage that this story had received in the media, he needed to be seen to be taking some action, however much he might think it to be a waste of time. If questions were asked in the Great Hural, as they conceivably might, he could at least demonstrate his personal commitment to the case.
But, if he was honest, there was only one reason he was out here today, speeding north into the shadow of the mountains when he should have been firmly seated behind his battered desk. He was avoiding Nergui. He was avoiding his former boss, his mentor, who was making yet another return visit to what inevitably still felt like his home turf. Not that he could avoid Nergui forever, or even for very long. But by the time Doripalam returned to headquarters, later that day, Nergui should at least have completed the round of ritualized greetings and glad-handing. Doripalam knew Nergui well enough to recognize that he would neither welcome nor be fooled by such ceremony. After all, most of those who were acclaiming Nergui’s return had previously been only too glad to see the back of him—and for much the same reasons that they now resented Doripalam. But he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to use Nergui’s arrival as yet another stick to beat their current boss.
So, all in all, this was a pretty cowardly excursion, and would probably end up producing precisely the opposite effect from that Doripalam had intended. On the other hand, it would give Nergui the chance to get himself installed without further interference. And it would perhaps give Doripalam the chance to prepare himself for—well, for whatever it was that Nergui was up to. He was still unclear about precisely what that might be. And, knowing Nergui’s ways, that continued to disturb him.
They had left the city well behind them now, and were heading north toward the mountains. It was another beautiful spring day, the sky a deep clear blue, the grassland lush and fertile at the start of the new year. Luvsan religiously consulted the truck’s state-of-the-art GPS navigation system as they sped away from the city, but it was hardly necessary. The single hard-packed road stretched endlessly in front of them, and the landscape around them appeared deserted, mile after mile of rolling steppe.
“That’s the place,” Luvsan said, unexpectedly. He gestured ahead of them, momentarily taking both hands off the wheel. The truck jerked and swerved slightly, until Luvsan calmly tweaked back the wheel with his left hand. “See that,” he said. “Handles like a dream.”
Doripalam sat back in the seat, breathing hard, wondering quite what kind of dreams Luvsan was used to. But he could see the encampment now—a small scattering of the traditional round tents, the gers, still some distance away across the empty grassland. It did not appear to be a particularly large camp, just five or six tents. Quite probably most of the group had already moved on, seeking new pastures for their animals now that the spring was here. If so, he thought, it was not surprising that the mother had decided to stay on here. He wondered how long she might have to wait.
As they drew parallel with the camp, Luvsan twisted the wheel with obvious enthusiasm, and pulled off the dirt road toward the cluster of tents. Doripalam relaxed, resigning himself to the bumps and bruises that would result from speeding across this rough terrain. He knew from experience how much this empty landscape could distort one’s sense of distance, but even so he was surprised by how long it took them to draw close to the camp. Finally, though, they drew up by the gers, Luvsan hitting the brakes
more abruptly than necessary so that the truck skidded slightly on the hard earth.
“You’re sure this is the right place?” Doripalam said. The camp looked deserted, though he knew that the nomads would never abandon their gers as they moved to new pastures.
Luvsan twisted in his seat and gave Doripalam a look that bordered on the pitying. “Of course it’s the right place,” he said. “I was up here about ten days ago, when we first interviewed the mother.” He paused, looking back out through the windscreen. “There were more tents then, though. Some of them must have moved on.”
“It’s spring,” Doripalam said.
“They’ve not left much, though,” Luvsan said. “I don’t see any animals.”
He was right, Doripalam thought. One would normally expect to see grazing sheep or goats, as well as the tethered horses used for transport. And it was unusual to find a camp of this kind which wasn’t jealously guarded by at least one over-sized dog, running out to greet any passing truck. But here there was nothing. No animals, no sign of life at all. Not even one of the ubiquitous motorbikes that were increasingly becoming the preferred mode of desert transport. Just the small cluster of gers, a tiny island of human construction in the middle of the vast natural landscape.
“Maybe the rest haven’t moved far. Probably Mrs. Tuya is waiting for us, and then she will join them.” Doripalam had arranged this visit a few days previously, speaking to Mrs. Tuya on a surprisingly clear cell phone line.
“And how’s she planning to travel?” Luvsan said.
Doripalam shrugged. “I presume the rest will return to collect her.”
Luvsan looked skeptically at him. Doripalam shook his head. “Okay, you tell me.”
But Luvsan was right again. Doripalam’s suggested narrative didn’t make much sense. Mrs. Tuya traveled with her family, a tightly knit community. It was conceivable that some might travel ahead to seek out the more fertile areas, but it was unlikely that they would leave her alone to deal with the police. Especially given her state of mind, and everything she had been through over the preceding two weeks. This was supposed to be a routine meeting, but for the first time Doripalam felt a stirring of unease.
He slowly opened his door and climbed out into the cool morning air. The summer was some way off, but it would be warm later, he thought. Apart from the whisper of the wind through the sparse grass, there was almost complete silence. Behind the gers, the steppe stretched out until it merged with the darker green of the snow-tipped mountains.
“It’s eerie,” Luvsan said from behind him. “The silence.”
“Not something you often encounter in your own company, I imagine,” Doripalam said, but the jibe was half-hearted. “What state was Mrs. Tuya in when you interviewed her?” he asked finally.
“She seemed okay,” Luvsan said. “I mean, worried, as you’d expect, but relatively calm in the circumstances.”
Doripalam nodded. He wondered just what “relatively calm” might mean, given these particular circumstances. A missing teenage son. Disappeared on his first significant journey away from the family. A puzzling final phone call which indicated that he had found a new job. And then nothing.
“I read the transcript of the interview,” Doripalam said. “She seemed calm enough but she wasn’t giving much away as far as I could see.”
“She answered the questions fully enough,” Luvsan said. “But you’re right. There was something closed about her.”
“You think she was hiding something?”
Luvsan shrugged. “I’d guess not. But it’s hard to be sure. People behave strangely when they’re worried. And I think she holds us partly to blame for not making more progress.”
“She might be right,” Doripalam said. “That’s certainly what the press think. But it’s hard to make much progress when we don’t even know for sure that a crime’s been committed.”
“You think he might have just taken off on his own?”
“He’s a teenage boy,” Doripalam said. “I don’t think it’s beyond the bounds of possibility, do you?”
There was still no sign of life or movement from the gers. Doripalam realized that both of them had been stringing out the conversation in the vague hope that someone might emerge from one of the tents, relieving them of the necessity of entering the gers themselves.
“It doesn’t look as if there’s going to be a welcoming committee,” he said, finally. “I think we’ll need to take a look for ourselves.”
Luvsan nodded and then, in an unexpectedly loud voice, called out: “Hold the dog!”
It was the traditional greeting, called as one approached a ger as a visitor. Doripalam had always found it mildly absurd, and here—with no sign of life, canine or otherwise—it sound ridiculous. There was no response, so he walked slowly forward and pulled open the door to the leading ger.
He blinked, peering into the darkness. He ducked and stepped into the tent, moving slowly to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Luvsan followed a few steps behind.
The ger appeared to be deserted. There were a few pieces of furniture in there—some brightly colored chests, a cupboard, a low table with a white cloth thrown across it. Opposite the door, there was a single bed covered with a garish tapestry.
“No one here?” Luvsan said, stating the obvious.
“Doesn’t seem so,” Doripalam said. “The place is very tidy. Doesn’t look as if anyone left here in a hurry.”
“But it looks as if they did leave,” Luvsan said, stepping past Doripalam into the gloomy interior of the tent. “Not much sign of life.” He pulled open one of the brightly painted cabinets. Inside, the shelves, lined with old newspapers, were empty.
Doripalam turned and stepped back out into the bright sunshine, blinking from the glare. There was a stiff breeze now, whipping through the scrubby grasslands, and Doripalam realized that, despite the brilliance of the morning sun, he was feeling cold.
He walked across to the neighboring ger and, without bothering to call a greeting, he pulled open the door. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw that this tent was as empty as the first. Again, it was tidy, still furnished with garish cupboards and tables. But there was no sign of habitation.
“Just the same?” Luvsan said from behind him.
“Exactly the same. Tidy but deserted.”
“How long do you think they’ve been gone?”
Doripalam shrugged. “No way of knowing. I spoke to Mrs. Tuya—when? Four days ago.”
“And there was no sign that she was planning to leave?”
“Of course not,” Doripalam said, with a touch of impatience. “She didn’t say much, but my impression was that she was planning to stick around as long as it took. Until she had some news.” He walked further into the empty ger, and pulled open more cupboard doors. All had been emptied, and no trace of any recent inhabitation had been left. “And why would they clear everything but not pack up the gers? Nomads don’t leave their gers behind.”
“Not through choice,” Luvsan agreed.
The two men stepped back out into the sunshine, Doripalam carefully pulling the door of the ger closed behind him.
“We’d better check the rest,” he said. “Just in case.” There were three more gers, standing some meters back from the first two. “You take that one, and I’ll look at these two.”
Luvsan nodded and stepped across to the ger that Doripalam had indicated. Doripalam himself turned and pulled open the door of the next tent.
Even before he had fully opened the door he knew that this one was different. The smell was not strong and was quickly whipped away by the breeze, but, to a policeman of Doripalam’s experience, it was unmistakable. He reached into his pocket and, for the first time, pulled out a flashlight. He suspected that he would want to spend as little time as possible inside the tent.
He switched on the flashlight and stepped forward cautiously into the darkness, holding the flashlight out before him. Once inside the tent, the smell
instantly grew stronger, almost unbearable. In the sunshine, the interior of the tents was growing warm, and he could hear an incessant buzz of flies.
As his sight cleared, he moved the flashlight beam carefully around the interior. At first, it looked much like the previous two—tidy, apparently deserted, no sign of life.
And then the light finally fell across the sight he had been anticipating. There was no sign of life here, either, at least not human life, but the life had, he thought, departed relatively recently.
The body was lying sprawled against the side of the tent, its limbs spread out across the earth. The head was set at an odd angle. Doripalam moved the flashlight to light up the body and saw, with a shock, that the throat had been brutally cut.
He forced himself to move closer, scarcely breathing, trying not to inhale the rich scent of human decay. It was the body of a middle-aged woman—probably late forties, through it was difficult to be sure as the face lolled unpleasantly away from him. She was dressed in a traditional dark brown del, the heavy robe bunched tightly around her twisted figure. A pair of highly polished black boots protruded from beneath the robe. It looked as if she had been attacked and then fallen back against the wall of the tent.
But there was something more, something odder. Reluctantly, Doripalam reached out and moved the body slightly. Its arms were trapped underneath the trunk, twisted awkwardly. As Doripalam succeeded in raising the body slightly, he saw that the figure’s arms were tied, knotted with strong plastic twine at the wrists. The arms themselves were bare, the thick felt of the del apparently ripped away. Along the length of each arm, he could see an ugly tapestry of what looked to be bruises and inflamed burn marks.
Doripalam heard footsteps behind him, and allowed the body to fall back to the hard earth. He turned to see Luvsan standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the sunlight. He moved the flashlight light to shine full on the dead woman’s face.
“Mrs. Tuya?” he said.
Luvsan moved forward and stood behind him, all his previous energy and enthusiasm apparently sapped. “I think so,” he said, finally.
The Adversary Page 3
