Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“Goodnight, Mr. Maxon,” Nergui said. Maxon turned at the sound of his name, and for a moment Drew thought he caught a look of surprise before the blank expression returned. “By the way, Mr. Maxon,” Nergui went on, “how are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Maxon paused, and there was a slight, but definite edge of puzzlement in his voice now. He looked across at Collins, but he was turned away, fumbling with the door catches. “I’m feeling fine. Never better.”

Nergui nodded slowly, as if he was giving this news serious consideration. “I’m very glad to hear that, Mr. Maxon. Very glad indeed.”

After Collins and Maxon had left, Nergui and Drew had decided to retire early. They had a brief, friendly chat with some of the other tourists-mostly Americans, but with a scattering of Europeans too-but had recognized that they were unlikely to extract any further useful information from the group. So they walked back through the cold night air to the ger. Drew started to say something about Collins, but Nergui raised a finger to his lips. “We do not know where Collins and Maxon are sleeping,” he whispered, very quietly. “Wait till we get to the ger. ”

It was a long time since Drew had slept under a tent. He had bad memories of a few seaside holidays in North Wales as a child, spending days listening to the endless drumming of rain on the roof, always feeling just too cold to be comfortable. But Drew had to acknowledge that this particular tent with its wooden frame and thickly padded felt walls was a long way removed from the flapping canvas monstrosities he had endured as a child.

The felt, Nergui had told him, was made by hand, the rolled cloth being pulled behind horses across the desert. In the center of the ger was an iron stove, its chimney exiting through a hole in the middle of the peaked roof. The stove had been lit for them earlier in the evening, and the warmth in the tent now seemed perfectly adequate to repel the chill of the desert night. Even so, Nergui had told him that in the depths of the Mongolian winter, gers could only be made habitable by the collective warmth of multiple occupancy.

Inside, the ger was comfortably, if not luxuriously, appointed. The chairs they had used for the interviews were scattered around the floor. There were two narrow but comfortable-looking beds arranged around the walls, laden with blankets.

Once they were safely in the tent, with the door fixed shut behind them, Nergui said. “My apologies for not sharing the information about Collins and Maxon before. I had not intended to keep it from you. I called HQ earlier and asked them to look into the visa information. I picked up the message on my cell just before we went into the restaurant.”

“Don’t worry. It made it much easier for me to keep a straight face. Like Collins, I didn’t know how much you really knew.”

Nergui laughed. “Not much more than I said, unfortunately. I had checked on the occupations they gave on their visa applications. I got Maxon’s name from Batkhuyag earlier.”

“Is there any indication of what exactly they do in the minerals business?”

Nergui shook his head. “Not really. In both cases the form just describes them as ‘executives’ and mentions the name of the employing company. I got HQ to check the company backgrounds, and discovered they’re both part of a conglomerate involved in mineral prospecting and exploitation.” He paused. “Mining, in other words.”

“They both work for the same company?”

“In effect, yes. Different operating companies. It took a bit of digging on the part of one of my people to trace them back to the same parent. It’s a US-based group which seems to operate a whole range of sectors-mainly minerals like gold, copper, even uranium, all of which we have here. They also have various energy interests-oil, nuclear power.”

“And they claim not to have known each other before meeting on this trip?”

“Collins claimed that Maxon was in bed with a headache,” Nergui pointed out. “But he seemed to have made a good recovery.”

“But if they are out here for a reason, why travel as tourists?”

“My guess is that it’s because it’s the easiest way to get around out here without arousing too much interest. We don’t actively discourage independent travelers these days, but we don’t make their lives too easy either. The government are keen to encourage foreign investment and links with external business, but we like to know what’s going on. So if people are traveling here outside of one of the organized tours that we’ve now got pretty well regulated, we tend to keep fairly close tabs on them. If they’re here on legitimate business, then we usually know all about it in any case. If they want to travel for, say, scientific or social reasons, then we’re happy to help so long as we know precisely what they’re up to. We get a lot of visitors who have a specialist interest in things like our archaeology or geology, or even things like our music or folklore, but we usually arrange to work closely with them.”

Drew again wondered just who Nergui was talking about here. Was this the police keeping tabs on people, or maybe some more shadowy government agency? But the implications were clear enough. “So someone who wanted to come out here and wander about on their own would arouse some suspicion?”

“Well, let us say, some interest, at least. Even if their intentions were legitimate, we would want to know what they were.”

“And if their interests were not legitimate?”

“They would not get very far, I think.”

Drew nodded. “So if you were looking to come out here for some illicit purpose, then coming as part of a tourist group might give you some cover.”

“Absolutely. Of course, it would constrain your freedom of movement, but if your main aim was, for example, to make contact with someone or have some discussions, then it might give you enough scope.”

“Which might explain why Delgerbayar came down to this place?”

“If they were meeting him. Or, more likely, if he was aware of a meeting taking place down here. Yes, perhaps.”

Drew lowered himself on to one of the hard chairs. “Well, that closing little outburst of Collins’s certainly suggested he was up to something.”

“I was relieved,” Nergui said. “I had almost given up on the possibility of taking advantage of his inebriation.”

“But none of it makes any sense,” Drew said. “I mean, even if Collins and Maxon are involved in something, it can only be some shady business deal. Why would that result in a series of brutal murders?”

“These things are not unknown. We are talking about some potentially very big deals here. There is a lot of money to be made. Those who were here early have gained some potentially major advantages. Others-some of them far from scrupulous-are now trying to muscle in on some of the opportunities.”

“But multiple murder-”

“I agree. It seems unlikely. We have been aware of some cases of-well, shall we call them ‘disputes’ between different parties. And, I think, some of that has led to violence from time to time, though it is usually well concealed. But, no, nothing like this.”

Drew was unsure what kind of world he was getting involved with here. In his experience, serious businessmen might well be unethical and even criminal, but they were rarely violent. If only because violence was too messy, left too many dangling loose ends. It was the real villains who got involved in violence like the gangs fighting in the drugs feuds in inner city Manchester or Merseyside. But most of these were small fry-little men with ideas far above their station.