Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

But Doripalam was right. It was a possibility they couldn’t ignore. Though finding a dead body in the Gobi desert wasn’t likely to be the easiest of tasks.

“I’m hoping he’s alive,” Nergui said grimly, “because he’s one of the few decent leads we’ve got in this thing. If he’s dead-if he’s another victim-we’re no further forward.” He shrugged. “But I have a horrible feeling you may well be right. Nothing makes any sense here.”

“I think everyone’s getting rattled about this one. There are all kinds of stories flying about.”

“Inevitably,” Nergui said. They had done their best to keep the story under wraps as far as the general public was concerned. These days, it wasn’t easy. The press was always keen to demonstrate its independence, and wouldn’t take kindly to being excluded from a potentially major story. But the reporting of the initial murders had been low key, with no suggestion of any connection, and the Ministry had managed to ensure that none of the details were published. Delgerbayar’s murder had been reported in a similar manner. It had been difficult to play down the Gobi murders, particularly given the need to try to track down Maxon, but they had not been linked to the murders in the capital city.

Nergui was unsure how long this relative quiet would prevail. While there were strict rules on police confidentiality, someone, somewhere, would eventually talk about this case to friends and family. Too many people-in the police, in the Ministry and other government departments-were aware of what was going on. And all of these people would themselves be anxious, perhaps feel the need to share their worries with someone else. Gradually the story would filter out, maybe in even more lurid form than the reality, if that were possible. And then the panic would begin.

Nergui knew that they had to make some progress, some real progress, before then. But for the moment progress continued to elude them.

“We’re still working through all the routine stuff,” Doripalam said. “All the door to doors, looking through all the missing person reports, combing the areas where the bodies were found-you name it. But it doesn’t look promising.”

“No. Mind you, with that stuff, there’s no way of knowing. We just have to keep hoping.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too optimistic to be a policeman?” Doripalam said.

“Oddly enough, no. Though they’ve found many other grounds for disqualifying me for the role.” Nergui smiled, palely. “There’s no other way, though, is there? We can’t give up.”

Once the young man had gone, Nergui continued reading through the papers. He was painstaking, but there really was nothing new, nothing he hadn’t seen before. He had combed through every detail, every nuance of the report. Maybe another eye would see something different, though he doubted it. But there seemed to be nothing more that Nergui could contribute.

He looked at his watch. It was already eight o’clock. He felt as if he had been up all night, which was almost the case. It wasn’t physical tiredness, more a sense of mental, even spiritual, exhaustion, as if he really was at the limits of his endurance.

There was no one here that he could talk to, not even Doripalam. They’d kept their relationship positive, despite everything, but it wasn’t the time to start unloading his personal feelings on the younger man. He had enough to cope with. Was it too early to call Drew? He thought not. Drew had given the impression that he was an early riser, so even after the previous late night, he would almost certainly be up by now. He picked up the phone and called the Chinggis Khaan, asking to be connected to Drew’s room. He heard the ringing tone, but the call was not answered. He looked at his watch again. Probably Drew was at breakfast.

Eventually, the operator came back on the line. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no reply. Can I take a message?”

“Just let him know that Nergui called,” he said. “He’s got the number.”

He put the phone down, feeling unaccountably anxious. There was no reason to feel concerned. Drew would be having breakfast or had gone for a stroll. It was even possible he was still sleeping and had not heard the phone.

But Nergui could not shake off a feeling of concern. It was that silly Wilson woman. Nergui was not, by the standards of his countrymen, a superstitious individual. But her talk of premonitions and psychic powers, however rational the articulation, left him feeling uneasy. There was something about the way she had looked at Drew as the car had driven away.

Looking back, Nergui thought that he should have insisted on Drew coming in the car with them. Not, he told himself, that there was any danger in the city at that time of the night. It was only a few hundred meters to the hotel, after all.

But the thought kept nagging at him. Maybe his fears weren’t wholly irrational. After all, there was a killer-maybe more than one killer-at large in the city. There had already been an apparent attempt on his or Drew’s life. And, of course, one policeman was already dead. In the circumstances, maybe leaving Drew to walk home wasn’t his finest decision.

And there were more rational concerns. Drew had been pretty drunk. It was a cold night, icy underfoot. Maybe Drew had slipped, hit his head. Temperatures last night had fallen many degrees below zero. It was beginning to reach the time of the year when those without homes were all too commonly found dead in the streets in the early mornings.

Nergui rose and paced across the office. This was idiotic. He was behaving like a mother whose son is late coming home from a drinking session.

Despite himself, he picked up the phone and dialed the number of Drew’s cell, which he had scribbled on a pad on the desk. There was a long, empty silence while he waited for the roaming signal to connect. Finally, there was a click and the sound of the overseas ringing tone. The ringing stopped suddenly, and for a moment, as the familiar voice reached his ears, Nergui thought Drew had answered it. But then he realized that, from apparently immeasurable distances, this was simply the sound of Drew’s prerecorded voicemail message. “I’m sorry I’m not available at the moment, but if you’d like to leave a message-”

Nergui left a message, but somehow with no confidence that it would be picked up. His tiredness had fallen away, but it had been replaced by a yawning anxiety, an insuppressible sense that something was dreadfully wrong.

Blackness. Silence. Nothing.

Death must be like this. Perhaps, after all, he was dead. Or perhaps he had been buried alive. His body felt numb, and he couldn’t tell if the numbness was internal or somehow imposed upon him.

But he must be alive. He was thinking. His mind was confused, uncertain, but he was slowly, step by step, piecing together a train of thought. Images. People. Voices. A cold white hard sheet. A burning orange light. Something unexpected. Something frightening.

Panic rose in him, though that surely must be another indication that he was alive. The dead didn’t panic, did they? His breath caught in his chest. That meant he was breathing, at least, though for how long was another question.

He tried to hold his breath and listen. Could he hear anything? No. Nothing. Not even the beating of his own heart. Perhaps this was what death felt like, after all.

He was unsure how long he lay in this semicomatose state. Maybe hours, perhaps only minutes. Gradually, though, he became aware that something was changing. The feeling was slowly returning to his body, the numbness slowly melting away. He could move his eyes, begin to move his fingers. He began, finally, to feel like a human being again. He was not dead. Or, if he was, death was much closer to life than he had ever imagined.