Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“Takes me back,” the ambassador mused. “I was brought up in Wythenshawe, you know. Seems a long way away now.”

I bet, thought Drew, who had grown up in the neighboring but substantially more upmarket suburb of Hale. Wasn’t that just typical? You couldn’t even be confident in your prejudices these days.

“Coffee?”

And it was true that the ambassador did seem to have left Wythenshawe a long way behind, as they sat in apparently antique armchairs in this oak paneled room, a silver tray of fine china set out on the low coffee table between them. Drew wondered vaguely where Mongolia sat on the hierarchy of ambassadorial assignments. He couldn’t imagine it was one that they were all clamoring for at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. On the other hand, it was an interesting enough place, and pretty stable compared with some of the options on offer. It was probably the kind of posting they gave to the bright young things on the rise, or to the loyal servants on the way to retirement. Judging from his white hair and tweed-jacketed manner, it was safe to assume that the ambassador fell into the latter category.

“Thank you.” Not only was the china very fine, the coffee was also predictably excellent.

“Well, Chief Inspector, thank you very much for sparing the time to see me this morning.”

As if I had a choice, Drew thought. “Not at all. I was very keen to seek your opinion in any case, so thank you for the invitation.”

“I’ll be happy to share whatever insights I can with you. I’ve been here for a few years now, and this region has always been one of my areas of interest. Wrote a dissertation on it at Oxford, as a matter of fact. It’s an extraordinary place in many ways. One of the few substantial countries that’s still relatively untouched by the forces of globalization.”

“That must be changing, I imagine?”

“It is but still relatively slowly. It’s very remote here. There are still comparatively few tourists. Not that many nationals have traveled outside the country. Your man Nergui is something of an exception there.”

“He seems to have traveled remarkably widely,” Drew said. He had the sense that the ambassador was keen to impart information, presumably in the hope of receiving some back.

“So I understand,” the ambassador said, in a tone that implied a fairly comprehensive knowledge. “Lived in the States for a couple of years, and in the UK, and he seems to have spent time in Europe, Asia-well, you name it.”

“Seems a little odd for a policeman,” Drew commented. “Even a senior one. No one’s offered to send me on my travels. Except here, of course.”

The ambassador laughed. “Well, yes, I think it is a little odd for a policeman, especially here where they generally seem keen to ensure that the police are as insular as they can make them. But there’s more to Nergui than meets the eye.”

It was clearly a prompt, but Drew decided just to take a slow sip of coffee and let the ambassador approach this on his own. He knew from endless hours of interviewing suspects that there was nothing more effective than prolonged silence for encouraging others to speak.

“He’s an interesting man is Nergui,” the ambassador said finally, “and I’m not sure I’ve got anywhere close to fathoming him. But there are certain things you should be aware of.”

Drew raised an eyebrow and reached out to take a biscuit. There was no point in making this easy for the ambassador, or in giving him any sense that Drew owed him any information in return.

“The first thing you should know is that he doesn’t work for the police. Not formally.”

“He doesn’t? But I thought he was in charge of the investigation here-”

The ambassador nodded. “Oh, he’s certainly in charge of the investigation. He has his remit from the Minister of Justice himself.”

“Then-”

“But Nergui himself now works for the State Security Administration. Another arm, as it were, of the Ministry of Justice and Internal Affairs.”

“And the State Security Administration is what?” Drew asked, already having a good idea of the answer.

“Essentially counterintelligence, as I understand it,” the ambassador said. “As a department, it deals with anything that potentially comprises a threat to the state. Terrorism. Espionage. Sabotage. All that.”

“Like MI5?”

“As you say.”

“So Nergui’s a spy?”

The ambassador shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure that that’s necessarily the terminology they’d use. But, yes, Nergui is a senior officer in the intelligence service.”

“What’s his background?” Drew asked, wondering what he’d got himself into here.

The ambassador frowned. “Well, that’s one of the odd things about our friend Nergui,” he said. “No one seems to know too much about him. Or at least no one’s telling us.” Drew was momentarily amused by the conceit that, since no one had told the ambassador, it must follow that nobody else knew either. “He’s a mysterious fellow. Something of a state hero, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear. He rose through the ranks of the government in the days when it was essentially an oppressive arm of the Communist Party, but seems to have avoided getting too tainted by all that. Mind you, the rise of democracy and the fall of the Soviet Union haven’t prevented the Party from retaining a large majority here over most of the past decade. We now have a reformed Communist Party promising to govern like New Labour.”

Drew resisted the temptation to ask whether this ambassador thought this was a good thing. “So what’s he doing dealing with this case?”

“Well, when the civilian police was formed in the 1990s, he moved from the old militia to become head of the new serious crimes team. Then some months ago he moved back into the Ministry in what appears to be an intelligence role. He seems to have an awful lot of authority across all parts of the Ministry, and across the government in general. He appears to be trusted to get on with things in the interests of the government and the state-assuming that those are congruent, which isn’t always the case. The Minister in particular uses him as a kind of right hand man to deal with problems as they arise.”

“You make it sound slightly sinister,” Drew said. “As if he were a Mafia hitman.”

The ambassador smiled, faintly. “Do I? I’m sorry, that’s not intentional. I don’t think there’s anything particularly sinister about Nergui’s role, though of course we always have to bear in mind that he’s an agent of the state.”

“And therefore not to be trusted?”

“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. But, as the Gospels say, no man can be the servant of two masters. If there were a conflict of interest, it’s clear where Nergui’s duty would lie.”

“Is there likely to be conflict of interest?” Drew asked, finding himself repeating his question from the previous evening. “In this case, I mean?”

“I shouldn’t think so for a minute, Chief Inspector,” the ambassador said. “I’m talking generalities here.”

“Of course. So what kinds of cases does Nergui get involved in? From what you’ve said, it seems a little odd to find him caught up in a murder case, even one on this scale.”

“Well, I think this is where you have to recognize that priorities here are probably different from those you’re used to. As I understand it, Nergui’s remit covers anything that’s a potential threat to the state. In the UK that would mean things like terrorism, subversion and so on. Lesser crimes-if I can call them that-although serious would not be construed as a threat to the state, and so would be handled by the police.”

“The police handle terrorists,” Drew pointed out.