The Shadow Walker (16 page)

“It's always a waste of time,” Nergui agreed, “but we have to do it. You never know when someone might let something slip. Look at Batkhuyag.”

“He was being smart,” Drew said.

Nergui nodded. “I like it when people are smart. It's when they make mistakes.”

“He's just got a big ego. Likes to tell you what he knows.”

“That will get him into trouble in a place like this,” Nergui said. “Maybe it already has.”

Nergui frowned. “There are some patterns forming here,” he said, slowly, “but I have no idea what to make of them. What are your thoughts?”

He sounded as if he was genuinely interested, though Drew suspected that he was being humored. “I've no idea,” he said. “What have we got? Delgerbayar makes his unscheduled trip down here, meets someone presumably by arrangement, gets into an argument with them, slips away when the police arrive and comes here, though we've no definite sightings. The person he met may or may not have been a guest here.” It didn't sound all that much, now that Drew came to summarize it. “Then somehow, somewhere, he gets himself killed, and ends up, headless, in the factory where we found him.” He plunged on, willing himself not to envisage that scene again. “And then we find that, within hours, although the news has been kept under wraps, the local police are gossiping about his death and apparently saying that he brought it on himself. It's not a lot.”

“It isn't,” Nergui agreed. “And we shouldn't necessarily make too much of the police down here. You're not likely to keep that kind of thing very quiet, especially when so many officers were involved in finding the body.” He paused. “Which may, of course, be another reason why the killer set it up like that.”

“But why would they think he had it coming?”

Nergui shrugged. “Maybe just the usual small town resentment of HQ. Maybe they didn't like the fact that he'd invaded their turf.”

“Or maybe they know something.”

“Maybe. Which brings us to our group of tourists—those who were chatting to the police in the bar last night. We should talk to them next.”

“It's not going to be an easy conversation,” Drew said. “Especially if you're trying to keep Delgerbayar's death quiet.”

“I think we should still keep it quiet. If the news is out there, I
want to know who's spreading it, and I'd rather it wasn't me.” Nergui paused. “Just a friendly conversation is all we need.”

Nergui had asked Batkhuyag to track down some of the tourists. They were back now from their trip and were in their
gers
or out in the setting sun, resting before dinner. Moments later, Batkhuyag returned followed by two quizzical-looking men. Both were middle-aged, one short and overweight, the other tall and deeply tanned. The latter was wearing sunglasses and made no move to remove them as he entered the dim interior of the
ger.

Nergui watched until Batkhuyag had backed out of the tent, and then gestured to the two men to sit. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am very grateful that you were able to join us.”

The overweight man scowled faintly. “What's this all about? We're supposed to be on vacation.” He was an American.

“I understand. I apologize for interrupting your leisure. I will be as brief as possible.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“You have been here a few days, that is right?”

“Four days. We're flying back up to Ulan Baatar tomorrow. It's an organized tour.”

“I hope you're enjoying your visit to our country.”

“It's very interesting. But I'd be grateful if you would get to the point.” Drew was watching closely. It was clear that the overweight man had little time for small talk, but it wasn't clear if there was any agenda, behind his desire to conclude their discussion. The other man, Drew noted with some interest, had still not spoken, but was watching the discussion with a faint smile playing across his face, as though he were nothing more than a disinterested observer of the interview.

“Of course,” Nergui smiled. “As I think you have been told, I am a senior officer with the Ministry of Security here—”

“I was told you were a cop.”

“In effect, I am. I'm on secondment to the Serious Crimes Team. My colleague here—” Nergui gestured toward Drew, “—is most definitely a cop. He is a Chief Inspector with the British police.”

The overweight man looked across at Drew, baffled now. Whatever assumptions he had made about this meeting had clearly been overturned. “What's this all about? What's a Brit doing here?”

“It's a long story, Mr.—?”

“Collins.”

“Mr. Collins. I won't bore you with the details, as I realize how precious your time is. We're investigating a potentially very serious crime in Ulan Baatar, which has also had an impact on some British interests there, hence Chief Inspector McLeish's presence. Sadly, it appears that the case may also involve one of our own officers who went missing a week ago.”

“What does this have to do with us?”

“Nothing directly,” Nergui said. “Except that we believe that, after leaving Ulan Baatar, the officer in question came here.”

“Here? Why would he come here?”

“We do not know. As yet. He was seen at the airport, and we have some evidence that he came here. But we do not know what he did or who he saw. We are therefore interviewing a number of people—mainly staff, but also some guests—who may recollect him and shed some light on what he did here.”

“And why do you think we can help?”

Nergui shrugged. “I have no idea whether you can or not. As I say, we are simply speaking to a cross section of people. You have frequented the bar here in the evenings?”

“No law against that, is there? We tried that kind of law once. I wouldn't recommend it.”

“On the contrary,” Nergui said, “it is encouraged. Though perhaps some of my countrymen partake with a little too much enthusiasm. No, I simply wondered whether you had seen the officer in question in the bar?” He handed the photograph over to Collins.

Collins scrutinized it closely, then twisted and handed it to the other man, who looked at it very briefly without removing his dark glasses, and shook his head. “I'm afraid we can't help you,” Collins said.

“No? Well, we have to keep asking. Thank you for your time, Mr. Collins and—?” He looked at the other man, who smiled and nodded back, but still said nothing. “We are very grateful to you. I hope you will enjoy the remainder of your trip. Have you had a chance to meet any of the locals down here?” He added the last question as an apparent afterthought.

“Locals? One or two—I can see what you mean about them knocking back the booze. We've had one or two lively nights in the bar.” With the interview at an end, Collins sounded more relaxed.

“The local police use this place a lot,” Nergui said. “We thought that might have been why our colleague came here. But they seem to know nothing about this.”

“They—” Collins began, then stopped. “I don't know who we met. We couldn't really make ourselves understood. Except through the international language of the bottle.” He looked back at the other man, and Drew wondered whether some sort of signal passed between them. But Collins had his head turned away and the other man had not removed his glasses, so there was no way of knowing. “Well, if you've finished with us, gentlemen, I think we'll go and prepare ourselves for another night of socializing and inebriation.”

“Please, be our guest,” Nergui said. “Have an enjoyable stay. Everything in moderation, as they say.”

“Except moderation,” Collins said, as a parting shot. The door of the
ger
closed softly behind him.

Nergui waited a moment, swinging softly on his chair, then said, “What do you think?”

“I think he's guilty as hell,” Drew said.

Nergui nodded slowly, as though contemplating this opinion and giving his reluctant assent. “But of what?”

“Haven't a clue, I'm afraid. Probably nothing to do with this case.”

Nergui laughed and rose slowly from the chair. “Come,” he said, “we've spent enough time in the darkness going slowly round in circles. Let's at least step into the sunshine as we do it.”

Drew followed Nergui out of the tent. At first, the light was blinding after the dim interior of the
ger.
Although it was still only midafternoon, the sun was already low above the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert. The day was growing noticeably cooler.

“It will be cold tonight,” Nergui said. “Zero or perhaps lower.”

They walked slowly out of the camp gates, and made their way across the sand, Nergui leading. There was no obvious destination. The undulating sands stretched emptily ahead of them. Off to the left, in the far distance—it was impossible to tell how far—there was a small clustering of
gers,
but little else to be seen on the expanse surrounding them.

They walked a few hundred yards away from the camp, and Nergui stopped, looking back. “It looks very peaceful, no?”

“Miles from anywhere,” Drew agreed.

“Miles from anywhere,” Nergui repeated. “Miles from civilization, certainly.” He kicked the sand with his foot. “Desert,” he said. “Emptiness.” He began to walk again, heading away from the camp as if striding toward the desolate horizon. Drew followed, glad to be out in the air, but wondering where this was leading.

As though reading Drew's thoughts, Nergui stopped again, turning to face Drew. “I do not like this,” he said, at last. “I do not like the pattern.” He spoke as though commenting on an item of clothing or furniture, and for a moment Drew was unsure what he meant.

“The case?”

“The case,” Nergui said. “I do not like the fact that we are down here in the Gobi. I do not like the involvement of the police. I do not like the systematic nature of these killings. I do not like the fact that—in the face of all that—we nevertheless appear to be dealing with a psychopath.”

“We still can't be sure of that.”

“No, we can't. Though I am not sure how else you would characterize such killings. But it is not just that. It is the totality of it that disturbs. It does not—how can I put this?—it does not fit together.
And most of all, because there is a pattern here I still cannot read, I do not like the fact that we are down here, in this part of my country.”

Drew was lost now. He watched Nergui, who was striding up and down the sand, as though he were unable to stand still for a moment.

“I don't understand. What is it you find so disturbing about this place? I mean, it's a desolate enough spot, but—”

“Desolate,” Nergui repeated. “Yes, certainly. But it is the emptiness that disturbs me.”

This was all becoming a little too philosophical for Drew's tastes. He would not have imagined that Nergui was a man prone to these kinds of imaginative fancies, but then he did not understand this culture.

Nergui smiled. “You think I am a superstitious fool?”

“No,” Drew protested. “It's just—”

“I am expressing myself badly, trying to capture a feeling I have.” He shrugged. “The famous detective's intuition. You have that?”

Drew smiled. “I think it's usually just a polite word for blind guesswork when I haven't a clue what's going on.”

“That could well be the case,” Nergui agreed. “But it is not entirely fanciful, I think, not in this case. We Mongolians are accustomed to the open air, to emptiness. It is our heritage. But today it feels to me as if we are surrounded by forces that are threatening that birthright. Do you know what lies that way?” He gestured toward the southern horizon.

For a moment, Drew was thrown by the apparent
non sequitur.
Then he turned to look where Nergui was pointing. The sun was beginning to disappear below the horizon, and the camp to their right was throwing huge shadows across the landscape around them. It would soon be dark.

Drew peered into the shadows. The line of the horizon was sharp against the deepening blue of the sky, but he could see nothing.

“You cannot see it from here, though it is not so very far,” Nergui said. “Close to the Chinese border, down there, you will find one of our country's largest deposits of gold and copper, ready for exploitation.”

“Not yet being mined?”

Nergui shook his head. “The deposits were discovered a few years ago. There are several different exploratory sites now, and there has been initial work carried out by various consortia—companies from Russia, Canada and the US, among others. Interest has been growing, as it's gradually become clear how substantial the deposits are. How much money there is potentially to be made. The Chinese are interested, as are the South Koreans. We are, as you might expect, nervous of the Chinese.”

“If there's so much money to be made, why has it taken so long to get off the ground?”

“Mining is a risky and expensive business—we are talking about investment in the billions. I think, until the scale of the deposits was known, there was a nervousness about becoming involved. Perhaps there still is, but there is beginning to be a jockeying for position. Everyone wants to get in on the act. I am no geologist, but I believe there is much more out there.” He paused. “This could transform our country. That is also a cause for nervousness. We are talking about a level of investment that is more than our gross national product—maybe several times more. If China or Russia were to make that level of investment—”

Nergui was pacing across the sand, beginning to walk back toward the camp. The sun had set, and darkness had spread across the desert with startling speed. Already above them, the sky was filling with stars.

“What do you think they might do?” Drew asked, walking behind Nergui.

“Maybe nothing. But it is not an altruistic state. We have spent decades being a puppet of the Soviet Union, and before that centuries as a satellite of China. I would not like those days to return.”