Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“And the government allowed you to do that?”

Nergui looked momentarily embarrassed. “Ah, well, I do not like to-what do you say? — blow my own trumpet, but I had been a rather successful student during my time at university here. In academic terms, an outstanding student, I suppose. I was supposedly destined for great things in our government service, so it did not seem that outrageous an idea when I proposed it. A few years earlier it would have been impossible, of course, so I was very fortunate.”

“So you went to Harvard?”

“I did the MBA, yes. My friend-my girlfriend, I suppose she was by then-was based in Washington. But, from here, I thought that would be close enough. It wasn’t, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” Drew said.

“These things happen. Our marriage was an attempt to keep it alive, but I think we both knew it was going nowhere.” He shrugged. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last. And it was probably all for the best. All of it, I mean. If it hadn’t happened, well, I would have spent my whole life here. Which wouldn’t have been a bad thing in itself, but I’m glad I’ve got a sense of what the world is like out there. It’s a privilege shared by few of my fellow countrymen.”

“I suppose not,” Drew said. Various intertwined thoughts were drifting through his mind. He was trying to make sense of Nergui’s story, which sounded just a little too neat, a little too pat in its narrative arc from love, through pursuit and parting, to self-consolation. Maybe it was just that Nergui had smoothed out the details and airbrushed out the pain and uncertainty that must surely have accompanied this story. Or perhaps the story itself was simply fiction, a cover to explain Nergui’s visits to the States and the UK. Would it really have been possible to make such trips from here, even in the heady days of perestroika?

Which led inevitably to the second question. Just why was Nergui telling him all this? They had just met, scarcely knew one another, had nothing in common other than their interest in five brutal murders. It wasn’t even clear that their interests in the murders coincided. So why would Nergui unburden himself of all this personal material? Was it simply that he really did have no other friends he could share this stuff with? Was it just that he was taking his first opportunity in years to talk about himself with someone who could do nothing with the information?

It didn’t seem likely. Nergui didn’t strike Drew as someone fraught with unspoken sorrows. He had told his story in straightforwardly factual terms, no sense of welling emotion. It was as if he had merely thought that Drew might be interested. Just making conversation.

And then, of course, lurking behind all that was the ambassador’s parting comment. Stick close to Nergui, but watch your back. What the hell had that meant? For a moment, Drew felt very tired and very far from home. He was a simple man-intelligent enough, certainly for his current job, but with no real interest in or aptitude for politics, large or small. He disliked game playing, and it seemed like some games were being played here, even though it was far from clear who was involved. Drew very much wanted to trust Nergui, particularly in facing down the horrors they had encountered that afternoon, and his instincts told him that Nergui was trustworthy. But he knew that, so far from everything familiar, it would be madness simply to trust his instincts.

“So how did you end up in the UK?” Drew said, conscious that the silence had been prolonged.

“I finished the MBA, and then-well, I thought I’d carry on. I spoke with the authorities here, and it was generally agreed that I should get the most out of it while I was in the West. I ended up taking a Doctorate in Business Administration at your London Business School. It was hard work because I knew that I would not be able to stay more than a year.”

“You completed a Doctorate in a year?” Drew said. Maybe the story was fiction after all.

Nergui nodded. “As I say, it was hard. I’d already begun some of the research at Harvard, so I was able to build on that.”

“Even so,” Drew said, “that’s impressive.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’ve always had an aptitude for academic work, research. It comes fairly naturally to me. These are skills I can still use in my work. You also, I imagine?”

Drew laughed. “Not to the same standard, I’m afraid. I have a university degree but nothing special.”

“As I say, it’s just a gift-a small one, but sometimes useful.”

If Nergui was making this up, he was doing so very convincingly. There was no sense of arrogance or boasting about his achievements. If anything, he seemed mildly embarrassed, with something of the air of a golfer who has just hit a hole in one but doesn’t know quite how he did it. And, if it was true, there was no doubting Nergui’s intelligence at least.

“What did you do when you came back here?” Drew asked. “How did you end up in-your current role?” He realized, almost too late, that he didn’t actually officially know what Nergui’s role was.

“Another long story. But basically I came back as-well, what you would call an intelligence officer, I suppose. I was well regarded, as you can imagine, especially with my newly gained experience and qualifications. By this time, we were beginning to approach something closer to what you Westerners would consider normality. People were actually being allowed to visit countries outside the Eastern Bloc. We had tourists coming here for the first time. Foreign investment began to enter the country. We even started to build some sort of relationship with China. So it was an ideal time for someone with my background.”

While he was talking, Nergui cleared the dishes into the kitchen. He returned, a few moments later, carrying steaming plates. “Mutton,” he explained. “I hope you like it.”

Drew did like it, though he would have been hard pressed to describe the tastes. It was a spicy stew, which Drew would have characterized as Middle Eastern without really having much idea what it comprised. “Very good,” he said, truthfully. “You were telling me about your career,” he prompted.

“Well, it’s not that interesting,” Nergui said. “I progressed fairly rapidly up the ranks here, mainly just because I was in the right place at the right time. I was attached to the militia, but mostly working on intelligence projects alongside our Foreign Ministry, in the industrial and commercial field.”

“When did you move over to your current role?” Drew realized that he was still dancing around the nature of this role.

“I joined the police when it was established as a civilian force ten years ago. Most of the new police force was drawn from the old Government militia, as you’d expect, and at senior levels there was a need for those who’d had links with intelligence. We were not exactly overburdened with talent. As external interest in our country increased, we were encountering more and more instances of criminal activity-fraud, corruption, intimidation, industrial espionage, as well as more conventional crimes. Things were becoming more unstable in Russia. China was opening up to more commercial practices. You can imagine the growing pressure on this country.”

Drew could easily imagine it. He still couldn’t quite understand Nergui’s role in all this, though. The links between the militia and foreign investment seemed obscure, and Nergui’s subsequent movement into the police service didn’t sound an obvious progression. Unless, of course, these were all simply different outlets for the intelligence services.

“What kinds of cases does the Serious Crimes Team normally get involved with?”