Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“For the second shoe to drop?”

“A graphic expression. Yes, precisely that. A sense of something incomplete.” He shook himself, and began to attack the mutton dish which had just been placed before him. “We should stop talking shop and find something more pleasant to discuss. You enjoy soccer? Manchester United?”

“Manchester City, I’m afraid,” Drew said. “The bitter rivals.”

“Ah, but not so successful, I believe?”

“You could say that. But we’ve had our moments. Do you play soccer here?”

Nergui nodded. “Yes, we play. It’s becoming more and more popular. And rugby. People still like the traditional sports-horses, archery, wrestling. The three manly sports, as we call them. But every day we become more part of the global community.”

“Do you want that?”

Nergui shrugged. “What I want is neither here nor there. Compared with the vast majority of people in this country, I am a global citizen. I’ve lived in Europe and the US. I’ve traveled regularly across Asia, the Middle East, Australia. I can see all the benefits of the changes that are taking place here. But I also see many losses.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Well, the losses are obvious. We’re losing our traditional ways of living, of thinking. We’re losing traditional family ties. This country has been through many changes over the last century. Things are improving now, but these are still difficult times. We have the potential to be a wealthy, successful economy, but we live in poverty and we are surrounded by predators. Not just Russia and China, but the West, too.”

“Predators?”

“Maybe I exaggerate. But I think not. I’m a patriot at heart, probably all the more so since I have traveled so widely. Most of my fellow countrymen take this country for granted. They have seen nothing else. They complain about the government. They complain about the police. They complain about the economy. All very understandable. They have been through difficult times. But I think they do not realize how much they could still lose.” He laughed suddenly. “I am sorry. We start to talk about soccer, and immediately I plunge you into despair.”

“You get used to that,” Drew said, “supporting Manchester City.”

Nergui laughed appreciatively. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I am being selfish. You must be tired and I just sit here rambling on about the state of our nation.”

“It’s very interesting,” Drew said, honestly. He found himself wondering again about this man’s role and rank, and also, for the first time, wondering about his background. Mongolia had been, in effect, a satellite of the USSR until the beginning of the 1990s. It was unlikely that Nergui had risen to a senior role in the police without being part of the previous regime, particularly since the Communist Party, with its newfound enthusiasm for democracy, had remained in power here for much of the past decade. Drew’s understanding was that the police, in its current civilian form, was a product only of the mid-1990s, so it was likely that Nergui’s career had been formed in the government militia.

“Well, we will have more time to discuss such things this week, no doubt. I am at your service as your host. But, equally, please tell me if you desire time to yourself. I know how oppressive such trips can be.”

“Thank you,” Drew said. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Well-” Nergui waited while coffees were placed before them. “You have your meeting with the ambassador at ten?” Drew nodded. “You saw the embassy as we passed-just a few minutes’ walk away. There’s probably not much point in your coming to police headquarters till after your meeting, so we can arrange a car to collect you from there once you’re finished.”

“I don’t know how long the meeting’s likely to take, I’m afraid. Probably just half an hour’s courtesy chat, but you never know.”

Nergui smiled. “The ambassador will assume you know things he doesn’t. Which is no doubt true, but not about this case-he’s been kept fully informed. He’ll also want to make sure you know which side you’re on.”

“I’m not aware I’m on anybody’s side,” Drew said.

“We don’t even know what the sides are,” Nergui agreed. “But he will remind you, very discreetly, that the British Government is your paymaster, just in case there should be any-conflict of interest.”

“Is there likely to be?”

Nergui shrugged. “Not from me. But we are involved in politics here. Politicians think differently from the rest of us. They perceive conflicts where we do not.”

Drew nodded, not sure if he was really following this. He recalled Nergui’s earlier words: “I’m a patriot at heart.”

“You seem to know the ambassador well?” he said.

“I come across him from time to time. In the course of duty. He’s a likable enough person.” Nergui left the comment hanging in the air, as if there were more he could say. “Well,” he said, at last, “tomorrow, then-I’ll give you my office and cell numbers, and then you can call me when you’ve finished and I’ll send a car over.”

Drew found himself absurdly surprised that the country had cell phone coverage. But, of course, in a remote country like this a cell infrastructure made more sense than fixed lines.

“I think the best use we can make of tomorrow is for us to give you a short tour of the city, and show you where the four bodies were found. Doripalam can also talk you through the various crime reports and witness statements. They’re not in English, of course, but we can give you the gist easily enough.” Nergui paused. “There is nothing we can do, really, but press on and hope something turns up. And maybe we can throw a few stones into the pond and see what ripples we cause.”

Drew wasn’t entirely sure what he meant but nodded anyway. He noticed that Doripalam was watching the older man closely.

Nergui rose slowly to his feet. “But, as I say, you’ve had a long day. We will let you get some sleep. Give me call as soon as you’re free in the morning.”

Drew watched Nergui and Doripalam walk slowly across the restaurant, Nergui pausing to speak briefly with the head waiter. Suddenly, sitting alone, Drew thought about Ian Ransom, who had presumably eaten alone in this very room the evening before he was killed. Drew would shortly have to make his way through the silent hotel corridors to a room identical to that where Ransom met his brutal death. The thought was far from comforting.

It was stupid, he knew, and he’d spent the first three or four months trying to resist it. He knew what they thought, and told himself that he didn’t care. After all, why should he have any respect for them? He recognized what they were, most of them, and given half a chance he’d have had them out of the place. But it was impossible; there were no alternatives. That, of course, was precisely why he had been given the job in the first place. Because, everywhere you looked, this place was desperately short of alternatives.

So he should have just ignored them. That was the advice that Nergui had given him, and it was the advice he would have given anyone else in the same position. But it was much easier to say than to do. He knew how much they despised him-almost, he supposed, as much as he despised them. He knew that they were watching, waiting for him to make his first slip. And he was determined not to give them the satisfaction.

So, against his better judgment, he found himself arriving earlier and earlier each morning, getting in before any of the others arrived, making sure he was fully on top of everything. And of course Solongo, who had initially seen his promotion as finally proving him to be a husband potentially worthy of her social aspirations, now began to complain bitterly about the amount of time he was spending in the office. There was, he thought, no way of pleasing everyone, but at the moment he felt he was pleasing no one, least of all himself.