Murder in Mongolia

by Fritz Galt

  There was more time for the anxiety to gnaw at him. What was she bargaining away? They hadn’t discussed terms.

  Eventually a man responded, his voice equally low and unemotional.

  So that was how horse-trading worked in the desert.

  “What’s happening?” Matt asked out his window.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake said. “All’s well.”

  Down the road, a loud shriek arose from the schoolhouse. The children screamed excitedly and then it was all over. One of the wrestlers had made his move. It had either worked or it hadn’t. And the match was over.

  Jake grew more uncertain with every passing minute. He wanted the discussion in the shop to end. He was about to give up on it and personally liberate Bill Frost.

  Not only Jake’s future was at stake. So was Amber’s. So was the town’s.

  Bill Frost might not know it, but he held the key to everyone’s future.

  Nicole and Courtney’s Peace Corps powwow in the tiny tire repair shop lasted half an hour. And when it was over, Jake had no idea what had been achieved.

  A short, thickly built man with a flattop haircut and crinkled ears eased out of the store on what looked like sore legs.

  He didn’t acknowledge the presence of so many goofy-looking foreigners pinning their hopes on him. Rather, he walked around the car and inspected the tires and undercarriage like any good garage mechanic would.

  Jake knew there was nothing wrong with the studded tires. Or the car. The man hardly seemed in a position to be picky.

  At one point, the guy placed a hand on the front hood and rocked the car with impressive strength. The shocks were able to withstand the rough treatment. Then he stood on the running board by Eve’s door and checked out the spares on the roof.

  He returned to the ground and wiped the dust off his hands.

  Okay, so the car was slightly dirty. But it was the nicest looking vehicle for miles.

  Squinting into the bright sunlight, the man offered a few words to Nicole.

  Nicole and Courtney flipped their fur-lined hoods off their heads in preparation for the final round.

  The man said more.

  “What’s he saying?” Matt asked from the driver’s seat.

  “Got me.”

  “Close the window,” Eve said.

  The man plunged his hands deep into his pockets, his stance wide, and took a deep breath.

  It looked like decision time.

  “Khoyor,” he said.

  Nicole shook her head and held up four fingers. “Dorov.”

  The man looked disgusted and wouldn’t look at her. He jingled keys in his pocket. And all Jake saw was the landing strip on the crown of his head.

  Nicole and Courtney conversed between themselves, and Courtney looked at the car. She seemed to be doing some mental arithmetic.

  She whispered something to Nicole.

  Nicole looked at the man, who stood solid and unwavering.

  Whatever terms he was asking for didn’t matter to Jake. He would give the guy both spare tires if that would free the environmentalist, clear up why the TV celebrity was in Mongolia, put everyone’s mind at ease, restore peace to the world, and get Amber back.

  He had already lost his job at the FBI over this. What more could he lose?

  Finally the man nodded, and a grin appeared on his face. “Gurav,” he concurred.

  Nicole assented, and the deal was sealed with an awkward handshake between the small college grad from America and the wrinkled car mechanic from Mongolia.

  Courtney cupped her mouth and whispered to Jake. “Three horses.”

  She seemed proud of the deal, but he had no idea what horses had to do with anything.

  Still jingling the keys in his pocket, the man started walking down the street. His Peace Corps counterparts walked beside him, and Courtney motioned for Matt to follow.

  The studded tires crunched over the cold ground as Matt followed the threesome.

  Jake jumped into the car to warm up.

  “What the heck is going on?” Matt asked.

  “Beats me,” Jake said. “But it looks like we’ve got a deal.”

  “I can see that, but what’s the ransom?”

  Jake didn’t know.

  “Give them your gun,” Eve said.

  Jake shot a look at her. “How did you know about my gun?”

  “I can see it through your coat,” she said.

  Matt looked at him. “She’s right. You’re pretty obvious.”

  “Well, I’m willing to trade tires or give him cash. How much does everyone have?”

  They checked their wallets and came up with a grand total of 59 dollars and 160,000 tugriks.

  “Okay,” Jake said. “That’s what we’ll offer.”

  Instead of leading the car to the building at the far end of town where Bill Frost was being held, the man led the two women into a shed opposite the schoolhouse.

  Okay, Jake was really confused.

  Several minutes later the three emerged, each leading a sad-looking pony. Muzzles low and coats thick for the winter, the small horses wobbled about and seemed barely able to support their own weight.

  The group hadn’t asked for a carnival ride.

  Jake jumped out of the car.

  Matt joined him, looking ready to play bad cop. “What’s going on here?”

  “We just bought three mares,” Nicole said.

  “We don’t need horses,” Jake said.

  The man handed Jake the reins of his steed.

  Jake stared at the dark brown mare with her oversized head. She turned to eye him.

  Then taking the keys out of his pocket, the man walked off toward the last building in town.

  “Follow him,” Courtney said.

  Matt jumped behind the wheel, and the parade lurched forward.

  “Are we getting Bill Frost or not?” Jake asked, catching up to Courtney.

  “We are.” She seemed proud.

  “For what? Why is he giving us horses?”

  “Three horses and Bill Frost,” she said.

  “What will we do with horses?”

  Nicole turned and gave them both a reassuring smile. “Oh, you’ll need horses.”

  Jake would have put his gloves on if he had known he would be outside for so long. At least the horse’s breath kept his hand warm.

  “Don’t walk straight in front of her,” Courtney said. “She can’t see you.”

  “What do you mean?” Had they just bought a blind horse?

  “When horses use their binocular vision, they can only see down their noses,” she said. “They have a blind spot in front of their foreheads. Don’t you know anything about horses?”

  Jake didn’t want to admit that he had little personal experience with them.

  They finally came to a halt and the man hobbled on his bowed legs up to the last building. It was a cinder block masterpiece with bricked-in windows.

  “Is this the jail?” Jake asked.

  “Doubles as seed storage,” Nicole said.

  “What kind of seeds?”

  “Melons, of course.”

  Matt and Eve and the scientists all jumped out of the car to witness the handover, perhaps vying to be the first to ask the environmentalist their questions.

  What Jake saw next nearly made the whole trip to Mongolia worthwhile. Stumbling out of the dark building with a hand up to shield his eyes was a bewildered-looking celebrity that even Jake recognized. As if stepping off the screen of a documentary, Bill Frost looked imposing as he approached the group of foreigners.

  Jake reached out to shake his hand.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Bill said, refusing the handshake and jamming his hands firmly into his pockets.

  Jake was at a loss for words.

  The guy wore a heavy arctic parka and wool hat. Underneath all that, he looked healthy and well fed.

  Jake retracted his hand and turned to the Mongolian jailor.

  “Let’s get this
over with,” he said, already put off by the freed man’s lack of gratitude.

  He looked the garage mechanic up and down. “What do we owe you?”

  “Well,” Nicole said. “You have three horses and a prisoner.”

  “I don’t get it,” Jake said. Was this some sort of good-will gesture?

  “Let’s get out of this pigsty,” Bill said.

  Jake grew convinced that the town was just happy to get rid of Bill Frost.

  But the Mongolian seemed uninterested in talking to Jake. The man walked over to Matt and held out a hand.

  Matt’s eyes narrowed. Then he finally seemed to understand. He pulled off a glove and prepared to shake hands. It was a moment of Mongolian-American friendship that called for a photo. But Jake was holding a horse and couldn’t reach his phone.

  Matt and the man vigorously shook away, a serious look on the old guy’s face. The moment needed to be treated with solemnity, and Matt played the formal role of a diplomat well, accepting the host country’s generous gift.

  After the handshake, Matt put on his glove and stood there beaming.

  But the Mongolian jailer’s palm remained outstretched.

  Slowly it dawned on Jake that the man was asking for more.

  “I think he wants the keys,” Jake told Matt.

  The diplomat’s grateful expression remained unchanged. He didn’t understand.

  “Matt, we just traded away the car,” Jake said.

  Matt turned to Nicole for confirmation.

  “Give him the keys,” she said. “He gets the Land Cruiser.”

  Jake glanced at Bill Frost, whose expression turned incredulous.

  “You gave away the car?” the hostage spat out accusingly.

  Matt reluctantly turned the keys over to the local extortionist.

  Swearing, Nils and Tracy rushed back into the car to retrieve their medical kits and lab equipment.

  Jake went back for the Mongolia file and one last look around the interior. The United States Government had one unfortunate teacher in Ulaanbaatar to reimburse. Or would National Geographic pick up the tab?

  The frozen group watched their beloved Land Cruiser take off for the distant horizon, the tire shop owner at the wheel.

  “Where’s he going so fast?” Jake wondered aloud.

  “Probably to alert the authorities,” Matt said.

  “Not good.”

  Just then a nearby door creaked open and a local boy came staggering out onto the street.

  Perhaps eight years old, he was handsome and nicely dressed.

  But what got everyone’s attention was that he was bent over, holding his belly, and coughing up the contents of his stomach.

  He was so sick, he was unable to speak even as Nicole rushed over to help.

  Meanwhile, Nils threw his winter gloves aside and knelt beside his First Aid kit. He slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves, then rushed over to Nicole and the boy.

  He gently helped lay the poor lad down on the hard-packed dirt while Nicole cradled his head.

  Jake wanted to help. He dropped his horse’s reins. She might have wanted to run away, but was too weak. He retrieved the medical kit and brought it to the doctor. Closer to the boy, he could see how malnourished he looked, from his thin arms to his gaunt face. The vomiting turned to dry heaves with weak abdominal contractions. The child was barely breathing.

  “He’s in shock. He needs adrenalin,” Nils said. “Grab the EpiPen.”

  Tracy was already on it, and had the large needle prepared for Nils.

  By the time he got the boy’s pants rolled up and pressed the EpiPen against the inner thigh, the boy was no longer retching, or moving.

  Nils pushed the auto-injector firmly into the flesh. The pain of the needle sliding into the boy didn’t even elicit a reaction.

  “He isn’t breathing,” Jake said.

  Nils handed the used pen back to Tracy and laid a hand on the boy’s chest. “He’s in respiratory arrest.”

  He told Nicole to tilt back the head and reached into the boy’s throat to clear out any vomit that might have gotten lodged inside. There was plenty of clear liquid, but only a small chunk of watermelon.

  Then he placed his fingers on both sides of the boy’s windpipe. Ten seconds later, he reported, “He’s entered cardiac arrest. Prepare the defibrillator.”

  While Tracy untangled the pads and plugged them into the machine, Nicole gently unbuttoned the boy’s shirt.

  Nils placed one hand on top of the other and counted aloud as he gave the boy thirty chest compressions. Then he pinched the boy’s nose and was about to give a rescue breath when Tracy said, “Wait! The AED is on.”

  Nils placed one adhesive electrode pad below the boy’s right collarbone and the other under his pectoral muscle along his left side.

  “Stand clear,” Nils cried.

  Nicole said a few words to her pupil and gently laid the boy’s head on the ground.

  Then Nils pushed a button on the machine.

  The word “Analyzing…” appeared on the screen.

  After a few seconds, the screen read, “Press Shock Button.”

  “Stand back,” Nils said. “Pushing the shock button.”

  Jake and the others watched numbly. Wind blew a weed across the road.

  The needle on the dial jumped several times, and the chest muscles, such as they were, contorted briefly.

  “I’m going to give mouth-to-mouth,” Nils said.

  “No,” Tracy said. “Don’t.”

  Jake glanced at the defibrillator and saw no sign of a heartbeat. But Tracy wasn’t focusing on that. With gloved fingers, she wiped a swab through a puddle of sputum. “We have to analyze this before we can make further contact with victims.”

  It must have been the hardest thing for a doctor to do, but Nils gently set the equipment aside.

  Tracy handed him a stethoscope.

  Jake stared through the frosty air at the house from which the boy had emerged. Why was there no parent to chase after him?

  As Nils listened in vain for a heartbeat, Jake turned toward the house.

  Slowly, with both anger and dread, he approached the open door. At first blush there was nobody inside. There was no sound or movement, only a cold draught blowing through the place. Through the icy air came the terrible reek of vomit.

  As he adjusted from the brightness to the dark, he began to make out the forms of people lying crisscrossed on the floor. He almost stumbled over the first body, a once-plump woman whose skin had become prematurely wrinkled and whose expression showed signs of a slow and painful death.

  Beyond her, five or six more people lay in pools of puke, heaped over each other in final acts of assistance before their own deaths.

  He covered his nose and mouth.

  The cause of death was unclear, but there were signs to go by. For instance, there was nothing on the stove, and animal carcasses hung innocently from the walls. But on the table sat a transparent pitcher, near-empty glasses, and half a watermelon. He nudged bodies aside and approached the pitcher. There was no smell of chemicals, but that didn’t mean the contents weren’t poisonous.

  He picked up a knitted hat and used it to protect against germs as he grabbed the pitcher by the handle and brought it outside.

  “There are more bodies inside,” he told the others.

  Nils slowly regained his feet.

  “Water!” Bill said, and shuffled over to get a drink.

  “Not so fast,” Jake said. “This might be what caused their deaths.”

  “I need to get a sample of it,” Tracy said, and broke out a test tube.

  “I haven’t had a drink in forty-eight hours,” Bill said. “I’m dehydrated.”

  And then they heard a thud near Courtney. One of the horses she was holding had collapsed. The poor animal kicked vainly at the air and banged her head repeatedly against the ground.

  “My God,” Matt said. “The whole village may have been poisoned.”

  Courtney
dropped the reins of her horse, squatted down, and cradled the stricken creature’s head in her arms.

  “She stopped breathing,” she said.

  Indeed, Jake saw no movement of the horse’s chest or flanks. Nor did he see frozen vapor trail from her nostrils.

  “Don’t touch her,” Nils ordered. “We need to be careful. She might be contagious.”

  Courtney gently lowered the animal’s head and knelt there, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Meanwhile Nicole’s mare galloped out of town, and Jake watched in horror as the horse he had been holding abruptly crumpled to her knees and fell dead.

  Nils turned to Bill Frost, whose face was frozen in confusion. “What is the cause of all this?”

  The cluster of deaths seemed inexplicable. Not only humans but horses were dying in the same manner.

  Bill stood in the middle of the road, his strong shoulders bowed in humility, his face fallen.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”

  “I’m freezing,” Eve said.

  Suddenly everyone realized how cold they were. They must all be on the verge of hypothermia.

  Nils removed his surgical gloves, carefully turning them inside out. He placed them back in their original bag and sealed it for disposal. Then he picked up his winter gloves and quickly thrust his hands inside.

  For the first time, Jake looked at the transparent pitcher in his hands. Inside was a clear liquid that looked and smelled like plain water. Strangely, despite the cold air inside the house and the sub-zero temperature outside, the liquid showed no signs of freezing.

  “What do you make of this?” he said. “The family in that house had only a watermelon and a pitcher of water to eat and drink. And yet, look at this. The water isn’t freezing.”

  Tracy Woolman came over to him and examined the pitcher, smelled the liquid, and swirled it around to check its viscosity. “Doesn’t smell like alcohol, methanol, or antifreeze.”

  “It can’t be regular water,” Matt said.

  The professor looked around at the group. “Did someone say this town grows melons?”

  Courtney nodded.

  Jake turned to Nicole to confirm, and for the first time, he saw the look on the young Peace Corps volunteer’s face.

  “Do you know this child?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes tight. “He’s Enkh. He was my star pupil. He had just finished reading Charlotte’s Web.”