The Adversary

by Michael Walters

  “And Mrs. Tuya was brutally murdered,” Doripalam said. “And her family are terrified.”

  Nergui had been watching the slow movement of a freight train through the center of the city. Now he turned back to look at Doripalam. “What do you mean?” he said. “What does that have to do with Muunokhoi?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly nothing. But I somehow made the link in my mind as you were talking. Maybe I’m finally trusting my instinct. Anyway, you remember the story. Gavaa had moved to the city. Boasted he’d gotten some impressive job, but nobody knew what. Then he went missing. And then we found his mother’s body—”

  “And you think this might somehow be connected with Muunokhoi?” They had turned back toward the temple now, and were walking back down toward the cluster of buildings. A line of orange-clad monks emerged from the temple and walked slowly ahead of them. The rows of prayer wheels glittered and clattered in the early evening sunshine.

  Doripalam shrugged. “It wasn’t a connection I’d made till just now. I had a sudden image in my mind of the mother’s mutilated body.” He paused. “I’ve heard all the stories about Muunokhoi and what he’s capable of. Those four terrified men up in the mountains—”

  Nergui nodded. “Did you get anything out of them?”

  “I sent someone up there, but they clammed up, apparently. Nothing at all. Nothing to add to what they told me.”

  Nergui nodded. “It may depend on who you sent.”

  Doripalam turned and looked at him. “Did your inquiry give you any idea who we can trust? Or who we can’t?”

  “No. I’ve identified one or two junior officers who I’m pretty sure are on the take, but even there it’s hard to find real evidence. But among the senior officers—no. I wouldn’t even want to guess.”

  Doripalam stopped walking. They were looking out over Nairamdal Park, where Nergui had held his midnight meeting with Tunjin. “You really think it’s that serious?” Doripalam said. “You really think we’ve been infiltrated that deeply?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Nergui said. “Muunokhoi does what he likes.” He paused. “But there’s something else happening here. We’ve never gotten close to Muunokhoi before, never gotten anywhere near to laying a finger on him, other than Tunjin’s doomed effort. And Muunokhoi’s never needed to get his hands dirty. And yet now—”

  “What?”

  “Now we have Tunjin missing, on the run from Muunokhoi—”

  “How do you know he’s on the run?” Doripalam was watching the older man closely, realizing that as always he was several steps ahead in his thinking, already playing with thoughts that Doripalam had not yet begun to conceive.

  “He called me,” Nergui said. “I met him. Here.” He gestured out toward the green sweep of the parkland, the distant blue sliver of the lake. “The night before last.”

  “But why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you do something?”

  Nergui looked back at Doripalam. “What should I have done? I did not—do not—know who to trust. I could not even offer Tunjin the protection of the police. Think of that.”

  “But he’s safe?”

  “For the moment. Tunjin is no fool, despite appearances. He can look after himself.”

  “I hope so,” Doripalam said. “I wouldn’t wish to be on the wrong side of Muunokhoi.”

  They had resumed walking, making their way down from the Monastery grounds out toward the park. “But why is this happening?” Nergui said. “Why is Muunokhoi risking playing his hand? Why is he bothering to pursue Tunjin? Why has he had Sarangarel abducted?”

  “You don’t know for sure that he has,” Doripalam said. “I mean, you don’t know for sure that Muunokhoi is behind this.”

  “I know,” Nergui said. His voice, as always, carried an absolute authority. “And I think you’re right. That he was also behind the murder of Mrs. Tuya. And quite possibly behind the disappearance of her son. But why are these things happening? This is not Muunokhoi. This is not his way of working.”

  “Maybe it’s not Muunokhoi,” Doripalam suggested. “Maybe it’s—I don’t know—maybe someone in his organization. Some loose cannon. Taking things into his own hands.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nergui said. “That wouldn’t be Muunokhoi’s way of working either. It might happen once—perhaps an over-enthusiastic servant. But it would not happen twice.” He paused. “There is something wrong here. We need to find Sarangarel. Quickly.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Doripalam said. “Even assuming you’re right, and Muunokhoi is behind this—” He raised his hand to cut off the older man’s objections. “I’m not disagreeing with you. But we have no evidence. Muunokhoi is an important man. We can’t simply have him arrested. We can’t even go and search his property, unless we have a far more substantive reason than anything that’s emerged so far.”

  “There are things we can do—”

  “I know, and I’ve already set them in motion while you were negotiating your way out of hospital. I’ve got surveillance on all of Muunokhoi’s houses and business premises. I’ve got Muunokhoi himself under surveillance. And of course I’ve set all the standard processes in place to try to find Mrs. Radnaa. The kidnapping of a judge would still be a serious offense even if she weren’t a friend of yours.”

  Nergui nodded, accepting the mild rebuke as justified. “Of course,” he said. “You know your job.”

  “But you’re worried.”

  “I’m worried. And if you’ve set all this in motion, then Muunokhoi will already know we’re after him.”

  Doripalam shrugged. “There was no way of avoiding that,” he said, “if your suspicions about infiltration are correct.”

  “And it may not be a bad thing. There is something happening here. Perhaps Muunokhoi will feel the pressure.”

  “Perhaps,” Doripalam said, “but I do not think we should place much faith in that possibility.”

  They had entered the park now, the children’s play area ahead of them. In the late afternoon the park was crowded with families, teenagers eating ice creams, old men in traditional robes talking the day away.

  Nergui stopped walking and looked at Doripalam as though a thought had just struck him. “What happened to Mrs. Tuya’s family?”

  Doripalam looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You spoke about the four men. Up in the mountains. Afraid they were being chased. What happened to them?”

  “They—” Doripalam stopped, his mind suddenly pursuing the train of thought that Nergui had presumably already followed. “I left them up there. Told the local police to keep them under surveillance. Give them any necessary protection. But I didn’t really think—”

  “That they needed it?”

  Doripalam hesitated. “No. I mean, they were clearly afraid. But I couldn’t see why anyone would want to pursue them. Even given Mrs. Tuya’s murder. They had nothing that anyone might want—”

  “Except that we don’t know that,” Nergui said. “We don’t know anything.”

  “And if you’re right,” Doripalam said, “by offering them police protection, I might have sentenced them to death.”

  Nergui shook his head. “We don’t know that,” he said. “But we can’t take anything for granted.” He stood silently for a moment, watching the carefree crowds spreading out across the green of the park. “We can’t trust anyone.”

  Doripalam nodded and took out his cell phone. He flicked through the saved numbers and dialed the direct line for Tsend, the police chief up in Bulgan. He found himself redirected through to a secretary.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s tied up in meetings all day. I can take a message.”

  “Tell him it’s Doripalam of the Serious Crimes Team. Ask him to call me back urgently.” The tone was more peremptory that usual for Doripalam, but he had little expectation that Tsend would return his call quickly.

  He ended the call, looked at Nergui and shrugged. “I’m not sure how far I’m going to get through off
icial channels,” he said. “Tsend was hardly co-operative when I was up there before. I assumed it was the usual cynicism about visitors from the capital, but who knows?” He began to flick through the saved numbers again. “There’s one other route I can try.”

  He dialed the number for the local station where Yadamsuren, the outstationed officer, was located and, after a few moments, succeeded in being put through.

  “It’s Doripalam,” he said. “From the Serious Crimes Team. You remember?”

  “I’m not likely to forget quickly,” Yadamsuren said. “My shoulder’s still sore.”

  “I’ve been trying to get through to the main station in Bulgan,” Doripalam said, “but I can’t raise anyone who might be able to give me any information. I just wanted to know what happened to our four nomads. They’re still around, I take it?”

  There was a long silence at the other end of the line, so that Doripalam began to think that the signal had been lost.

  “I don’t really know,” Yadamsuren said, finally. “I’ve not really had any contact since it all happened.”

  There was something in Yadamsuren’s voice that made Doripalam uneasy. “What about their gers?” he said. “Have they been back there?”

  There was another pause, less extended, but somehow more freighted with meaning than the previous one. “No,” Yadamsuren said. “I’ve not seen them here. The gers are still there—” There was a hesitation. “Some of the officers from Bulgan came out,” he said. “They conducted some sort of search through the tents.”

  “A search?” Doripalam said, looking up at Nergui. “For what?” He had, he thought, made it very clear that this was a Serious Crimes case. The local brief was simply to provide protection, not to get involved in any kind of investigation.

  “I don’t know,” Yadamsuren said. “They didn’t give me any kind of explanation. Well, there was no reason why they should. I mean, I assumed—well, I assumed that it was your people behind it.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Well, not much. They told me that I should just keep an eye on the gers until they were dismantled. And to find someone to look after the animals, temporarily.”

  “When the nomads returned, you mean?”

  “Well, that wasn’t very clear. I had the impression it would be the police who would do it. Presumably just to keep the tents safe. I assumed that the nomads were under protection of some sort.”

  “They are,” Doripalam said, deciding that there was no point in raising Yadamsuren’s interest further. There was no reason to suspect Yadamsuren, but any information could potentially get back to those who were perhaps less trustworthy. “Just seems to be a bit of confusion, that’s all. That’s why I’ve been trying to find out what’s going on. Thanks for your help.”

  He ended the call. Nergui was watching him closely, having apparently followed the gist of the conversation.

  “I think we need a trip to the mountains,” Nergui said.

  Doripalam nodded. “I’ll go,” he said. “You need to be here. In case there are any developments on the kidnapping.”

  Nergui shrugged. “There is nothing I can do here except worry. It is better that I’m taking some action.” He paused, still scrutinizing Doripalam closely. For a moment, Doripalam wondered whether Nergui really did trust him, or whether he was reluctant to allow the younger man to make the trip on his own. But he also knew that Nergui, ever the pragmatist, was right. There was little they could do here for the moment, except make sure that the usual investigatory processes were in place.

  “And if you’re right,” Nergui went on, displaying his usual uncanny ability apparently to follow Doripalam’s train of thought, “if there is some link between Muunokhoi and the Tuya murder, then perhaps this is another thread we can begin to pull. Let us hope that something of this begins to unravel before it’s too late.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “Well,” the voice said, “it’s always pleasing to welcome an unexpected visitor.”

  The tone was surprisingly relaxed in the circumstances. After all, even Tunjin had to acknowledge that he did not, just at the moment, present the most prepossessing sight. His usual shambling overweight figure was clad in a T-shirt and pants which were quite clearly showing the impact of his brief period of living rough. His always-greasy hair was matted down on his head. And, on top of all that, he was covered in grass and bruises from his tumble down the hill.

  He might have expected a rather less calm response from the man facing him. On the other hand, he also had to recognize that the man in question was holding a handgun, pointed unerringly at Tunjin’s heart. Perhaps the man could afford to be relaxed.

  Tunjin looked behind him at the broken fence, wondering precisely what kind of explanation he might offer for his presence. “Um, I’m sorry,” he said. “I slipped.” It didn’t sound particularly appropriate.

  The man was dressed in a plain dark suit, with a pale gray tie. He was Mongolian, but otherwise had few obviously distinguishing features. His hair was slicked back and he wore a pair of mirrored sun glasses, providing Tunjin with a disconcerting convex view of his own disarray. Tunjin noted irrelevantly that the effect of the curved mirrors did little to flatter his already obese figure.

  The man, unsurprisingly, ignored Tunjin’s offer of an explanation, and instead gestured with the barrel of the gun. “I think you had better come this way,” he said. “So that we can welcome you properly.”

  Tunjin walked forward in the direction indicated by the gun barrel. The house was ahead of them, a rear door open in the spring sunshine. Tunjin hesitated, wondering if he should enter.

  “Keep going,” the man said. “Inside.”

  Tunjin nodded, noting that the man’s voice had become less welcoming. Tunjin found this oddly reassuring. At least, that was closer to what he understood.

  He followed the path toward the door, glancing momentarily around at the tidiness of the garden. The grass was well-trimmed, the conifers neatly pruned. It hardly looked organic, he thought. It was as if someone had sculpted it from stone or wax. Even the colors seemed too bright.

  “Inside,” the man said, again. His tone was definitely less friendly now, almost aggressive. Tunjin obeyed, and stepped through the doorway into the gloomy interior.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect beyond the door. Perhaps a hallway, or a kitchen. Instead, though, he found himself in a blank, empty room, probably originally intended as a scullery or cloakroom. Tunjin stopped, hearing the footsteps of the man with the gun behind him.

  “Turn round,” the man said.

  Tunjin turned, taking the opportunity to look around the room. There was little to see. The room was painted gray, with a floor of heavy stone tiles. There was no window, and the only light came through the door by which they had entered. There was a further door at the far end of the room, a solid-looking wooden edifice which appeared to be closed and, perhaps, locked. There was no furniture, and no decoration on the walls. Even as an entrance hall, the room looked bizarrely bleak and inhospitable.

  The man reached behind him and pressed the light switch. Tunjin glanced up. There was a single bare light bulb, which gave a harsh glare that served only to expose the asceticism of the room. The man smiled thinly, and then reached behind him to pull closed the outer door. It was a duplicate of the interior door—just as solid, just as impenetrable. It slammed shut with a dull thud, and the man carefully turned a large key in the lock. Still smiling, he slipped the key into his trouser pocket.

  “There,” he said, “now we’re secure.” He was still smiling, but there was no warmth to the smile. It was as if the expression was a mask, painted on his face.

  He walked forward slowly, still holding the gun pointed steadily at Tunjin’s chest. For the first time—as though, up to that point, he had somehow managed to resist the evidence of his own eyes—Tunjin realized that his predicament was serious. He was in trouble. Deep trouble. And he had walked—or, more accurately, fallen—into it e
ntirely of his own volition.

  The sun was setting behind them, staining the western sky a deep crimson. Blood, Nergui thought. It does really look like blood. It was as if a tide of blood was pouring down on the city. As if chaos really had arrived. As if all control was lost.

  “I’m getting old,” he said to Doripalam, sitting beside him. “I’m getting melodramatic. Sentimental.”

  Doripalam laughed. He was leaning forward, concentrating on the road. He wondered whether they should have brought another officer, someone who could at least have done the driving. Luvsan, for example. He loved this kind of trip. Loved the buzz of driving these new 4x4s up on to the steppe. But Nergui had insisted they make this trip alone.

  “I look forward to the day when you’re sentimental,” he said. He paused, wondering whether to point out that, to take just one instance, Nergui had preferred to make this trip to the mountains rather than to stay in the city and wait for news of Sarangarel. It was a rational decision—of course it was, there was little that Nergui could do in the city—but it was not one that many men would have taken in the circumstances. But perhaps that thought was better kept to himself. “Melodramatic,” he went on, “perhaps, yes, I can see that. But you’ve always been that. It’s nothing to do with growing old.”

  Nergui grunted, although it was unclear whether this sound represented assent. “It’s as if,” he said, after an extended pause, “as if we lost control a long time ago, but didn’t know it. As if everything had spiraled out of our grip, and now we’re flailing around trying to hold on to something—”

  “Yes, melodramatic,” Doripalam nodded, his hands gripping the steering wheel. The empty road stretched ahead of them. In the distance, they could see the mountains, a dark strip against the translucent mauve of the evening sky. “That’s definitely the right word.” The truck hummed beneath them, echoing the repetitive pounding of the road. “It’s strange, though, isn’t it?” Doripalam went on. “Okay, if you’re right, things have been out of our control for a long time. Or, at least, we’ve had nothing like as much control as we thought. But maybe that didn’t matter too much—”