The Shadow Walker (17 page)

Drew thought about Nergui's background in the industrial sector, his experience in the US and Europe, his still unspecified role in the Security Ministry. It was not hard to see the connections in a society like this. “And you think that has something to do with this case?”

Nergui stopped and turned. The scattered lights of the camp were bright behind him. “I do not know,” he said. “But we are here, in the Gobi, within striking distance of the exploration. We are here because we are following the trail of a murdered policeman who was supposedly investigating some trivial case of amateur gold prospecting. You are here because you are investigating the murder of a British geologist.” He shrugged. “Of course, this may all be coincidence. But I feel something.”

This all sounded fanciful to Drew, who had never had much time for the notion of the detective's intuition. His earlier response had been flippant but it had also been pretty close to the truth. He didn't often trust his own instincts. When he did, he had generally found it to be a mistake. Certainly, some of the people they had seen today, like the manager at the airport, had seemed evasive. But people often had something to hide, usually nothing to do with the matter at hand. Probably Batkhuyag was taking bribes from suppliers, or even maybe from the police, for some scam or other. He was the sort who wouldn't want the police digging too deeply into his business, but it was likely that his fears had little to do with the case they were investigating.

“But what kind of connection could there be?” Drew said. “I mean, we're talking about brutal murders. The work of a potential psychopath. International mining companies may well have their ethical shortcomings, but I'm not aware they resort to that kind of stuff.”

Nergui stopped as they approached the gates of the camp. “You are right, of course. I am probably just talking nonsense. It is hard not to be affected by the nature of the crimes we are investigating. It is hard not to see this as the beginning of the end of
the world. The beginning of the end of our world, I mean. Things are changing here. I do not know what will emerge.”

He stopped and looked back out toward the open desert. Far in the distance, it was possible to make out one or two lights, but otherwise, beyond the camp, the darkness was complete. The sky was heavy with stars now, sharper and brighter than Drew had ever seen. The absence of ambient light, the clarity of the air, made Drew feel that they really were poised on the edge of the galaxy, at the edge of the universe. And he felt, too, that at any moment they might begin to fall.

“Finally,” Nergui said, “you will have an opportunity to sample some authentic local cuisine.” He paused. “I apologize in advance.”

Drew laughed. “I'm sure the wine and vodka will compensate.”

“I am not sure about the wine, although I will see if I can influence our host. The vodka will be fine. But beware the airag.”

“Airag?”

“Fermented mare's milk. It is an acquired taste. But you may prefer never to acquire it.”

“Sounds—interesting.”

“It tastes interesting. But we are not likely to be offered that here. You might be offered it if you visited a family in a
ger,
and I'm sure they arrange for the tourists to try it. People even distil airag vodka, which at least means that the inebriation compensates for the taste.”

“You don't like it?”

“I love it, but I think you would not. But perhaps I am underestimating your Western tastes. In any case, as I say, we will not be offered that this evening.”

They were sitting at the end of a bench table in the large tent that served as the camp's restaurant and bar. The space was already filling with crowds of tourists—most of them apparently English speaking, a mix of Americans, Canadians and British to judge from their accents.

“I still find it extraordinary that people come here as tourists,”
Drew said. “With all due respect, it's not an obvious holiday destination.”

Nergui smiled. “No, only in the days when we had a captive market of those not allowed to journey beyond the iron curtain. We are working hard to promote our tourist industry, though—it is one of the ways we bring wealth into the country. These days, it is still mainly the serious travelers who come here, those who enjoy visiting the most faraway places. This is one of the last remaining wildernesses on earth. After all, it is little more than a decade since we had no Western visitors at all. Even now this place hasn't yet opened up in the way that Russia or Eastern Europe or even China have.”

“It is an extraordinary place,” Drew agreed.

“In a strange way, it is becoming even more extraordinary as the influences of the West begin to arrive,” Nergui said. “We no longer know who we are. We were Communist, but never wholly subscribed to the creed. The Buddhists were suppressed but never really disappeared, and now they are stronger than ever. A large proportion of our people are still nomads and herdsmen. And many of those in the cities would like to be. But Western influences are growing. We are building our fancy business hotels. The large multinational corporations are investing in our development. We are sitting on vast resources which we and others would like to exploit. But we still drink airag. And we still eat this stuff.”

As he spoke, the first course of the meal was being served, and a waiter dressed in traditional crimson robes was hovering at their shoulder. Nergui gestured him to proceed.

As it turned out, the meal was edible enough, though scarcely luxurious. The opening course was a salad largely comprised of tomatoes and cucumber. Then there was some plain grilled meat—the ubiquitous mutton, Drew thought, though it was difficult to be sure. Finally, some plain but not unpleasant, cake. As the salad was being served, Nergui rose and walked over to the bar where Batkhuyag was standing chatting to another member of the camp
staff. Nergui returned a few moments later, smiling and holding a bottle of red wine. “It's the usual Eastern European stuff,” he said, peering at the label. “Romanian. But it will help the food down.”

There was a water jug and glasses on the table. Nergui filled two glasses with the wine, and held his up toward Drew. “To peace,” he said.

Drew returned the toast. “And to our—your—success in solving this case.”

Nergui took a sip of his wine. “I think the two may well go together,” he said.

“Thought you two gents would have found somewhere better to eat than this?”

Collins was hovering over them, a glass of beer clutched firmly in his hand. It was still early in the evening, though the meal was finished, but he already had the air of a not-quite-contented drunk.

“The options are limited,” Nergui pointed out, smiling.

“You guys are staying here?” He swayed slightly, then carefully lowered himself to the seat. There was no sign of the man in the dark glasses.

“Just tonight,” Drew said. “We fly back to Ulan Baatar tomorrow morning.”

“Shame, shame,” Collins said, sounding almost sincere. “We're having a good time down here, despite the lousy food.” He gestured with the beer glass, narrowly avoiding tossing its contents across Nergui. “Beer's crap too, but at least there's plenty of it. And vodka.”

“There is always plenty of vodka,” Nergui said. “That is one blessing.”

“No shit, sunshine.” Collins beamed at them both, as though they were his new best friends. “Great stuff, the old vodka.”

“Have you tried the airag?” Nergui said, sipping at his own glass of wine.

“Iraq?” Collins said. “We invaded that bastard.”

“No, airag. It is our traditional drink.”

“Thought vodka was your traditional drink.” Collins seemed to be losing interest in the conversation, his gaze wandering around the room as though in search of more stimulating company.

“This is our other traditional drink,” Nergui said. “You will be offered it on one of your tours. You must drink plenty. You will like it and it is good for you.”

“Does it get you pissed?” Collins said.

“It is fermented,” Nergui said, simply. “You can, if you wish, obtain airag vodka.”

“Sounds wonderful. I'll get some to take home.”

“Very wise. I'm sure it will be very popular in—where are you from, Mr. Collins? I mean, where in the USA?”

“Texas,” Collins said. “Dallas. Where else?”

“Where else indeed? I apologize, Mr. Collins, it should have been obvious.”

Collins stumbled slowly to his feet. “Good to see you again, guys.” He staggered slightly, then regained his balance. “I'm back to the bar. Get you guys a drink?”

“That's very kind, Mr. Collins,” Nergui said. “Not just at the moment, thank you. But we will join you at the bar, if we may?”

“It's a free country,” Collins said. “Hey, is it a free country?”

“Nothing is free, Mr. Collins,” Nergui said. “There is always a price.”

Collins looked at him, baffled, then clearly dismissed Nergui's words as some kind of obscure Mongolian joke. “See you at the bar, gents,” he said, lurching backward.

“Do we really want to spend the evening with him?” Drew said.

“I can think of more edifying ways of relaxing, certainly,” Nergui said. “But there are two good reasons why it might be a good use of our time.”

“Which are?”

“He is on his way to being very drunk. And he does not have his minder with him.”

“Minder?”

“Our anonymous friend in the dark glasses. Of course, I do not
know if that is his role. But he joined our meeting today for some reason, and he seemed unduly reluctant to say anything at all.”

“Probably just shy. Found your presence intimidating.”

“Of course. That will be the reason. But, in any case, Mr. Collins seems far more talkative in his absence. It is probably worth our while to listen.”

“We'd better not leave it too long, then. He looked as if he might well be comatose within the hour.”

“Come then,” Nergui said. “Let me buy you a beer.”

Most of the tourists were still sitting at the tables, the babble of conversation rising as the evening progressed. Drew followed Nergui across the room to the bar, where Collins and a small group of other tourists were clustered. Batkhuyag saw them coming and moved over to serve them.

“Beers for us,” Nergui said, “and perhaps we can buy Mr. Collins and his friends a drink.”

Collins turned toward them, his face reddened by the alcohol. “Gentlemen,” he said, loudly, “let me introduce the cops. This guy's come all the way from the United Kingdom. They're looking for one of their friends who's gone missing. Anyone seen him?” Collins looked around the group, as if he were seriously expecting a response. The others looked slightly embarrassed, and Drew suspected that they were probably looking for an excuse to leave Collins to his drinking. Drew didn't get the impression that the presence of two police officers was likely to reduce the group's discomfort.

“We're off duty now, Mr. Collins,” Nergui said. He held up his beer. “As this demonstrates.” Nergui was still wearing one of his dark suits but he was, for once, wearing his bright blue shirt open necked and without an equally lurid tie. Drew thought he look almost relaxed.

“You guys really are cops?” one of the others said. His accent was American, from the southern states. “Collins isn't bullshitting?”

“Not this time.” Nergui smiled. “But we are here to socialize now, nothing more.”

“Cops are always cops,” Collins said. “You bastards are never off duty.”

“What makes you say that, Mr. Collins?” Drew said, smiling as politely as he knew how. He noticed that one of the group had already discreetly peeled away and was heading back to the dining tables. “Have you had many dealings with the police?”

Collins took a large swallow of his beer. “Jeez, I'm a businessman. Can't get you bastards off my back. You and the fucking IRS.”

“So what line of business are you in, Mr. Collins?” Drew said. He tried to make it sound like nothing more than a social inquiry, just making conversation, but he was aware that his real curiosity was too close to the surface.

“See what I mean?” Collins roared, gesturing to the remaining two tourists. “Never let up, the bastards.”

Nergui intervened smoothly. “Never mind,” he said. “Tell us how you're enjoying our country.” He turned to face the other two men, directing his conversation away from Collins. “This is your first visit?”

“Certainly is.” This was the man who had spoken earlier. “It's a fascinating place.”

“It's a craphole,” Collins said, but the spleen had diminished in his voice.

Nergui turned. “I'm sorry you think so, Mr. Collins. It is, unfortunately, the only country we have.”

The other two men guffawed, and Drew noticed them discreetly exchanging a signal that they should leave Collins to it. He watched as the two men moved away and walked back to join a group of mainly elderly men and women at one of the dining tables. He didn't get the impression that Collins was particularly welcomed by the rest of the tourists.

Collins shook his head and laughed. “You're right,” he said. “I'm being a discourteous asshole. This country's okay. Not exactly Dallas, but okay.”

“What made you decide to visit our country, Mr. Collins?”

He shrugged. “I travel a lot. Europe. Middle East. Far East. You name it. I enjoy traveling. Business or pleasure. I like going to interesting places. This is an interesting place.”

“For a craphole, you mean?” Drew said.

“Hey, buddy, I was out of line. I apologized. Enough already.”

“Of course,” Nergui said. “I take no offense. You leave here tomorrow?”

Collins nodded. “Back up to Ulan Baatar, then into the north for a few days.”