Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“I did my best, sir. It was Doripalam who made the critical links. I can’t in all honesty claim much credit. Or pretend that I wasn’t lucky in the end.”

“Well, these things are never straightforward, Nergui.”

“No, sir, not with so many interests involved. It’s not easy for a simple policeman.”

The Minister stared at him. “I don’t think I would ever class you as simple, Nergui. That may be your problem.” He paused, then smiled broadly. “But I’m deeply grateful for what you’ve achieved here. McLeish is safe. We’ve removed a dangerous psychopath from the streets.”

“Two dangerous psychopaths, I suspect,” Nergui said.

The Minister shrugged. “Well, Maxon was a common criminal. The US had nothing on him officially but it looks as if they knew more than they were saying about his background. We’re liaising with the FBI on that but they don’t seem too surprised that he might have killed here. That kind of infighting isn’t uncommon. I don’t think he or his associate will be missed.”

Nergui shrugged. “As you say, sir.”

“You know, Nergui,” the Minister said, “you’re a good man. We’ll be pleased to get you back in here where you belong.”

“I’m sure you will, sir.” Nergui smiled thinly. “And I’ll be pleased to get out of Doripalam’s hair, I suppose. He deserves some kind of recognition for this-he did a superb job.” He paused. “But I’m thinking about my future. You might not think so, but I really am a simple man. I begin to think that I am much more comfortable with the kinds of crime I understand.”

“I think the ambassador was a little put out,” Nergui said. “Saw this as his territory.”

McLeish smiled. He stretched out his aching legs as far as he could in the rear seat of the car. “I really couldn’t face it,” he said. “Another hour at the airport with that sanctimonious bastard congratulating me on my part in bringing a serial killer to justice.” He laughed bitterly. “Lying motionless on a bench for two days.”

“You did more than that at the end,” Nergui pointed out. “Probably would have just got myself shot if Wilson hadn’t intervened.”

“We don’t know that Wilson did intervene,” Nergui said. “Perhaps he was just holding the gun for a friend.”

“Of course,” McLeish said. “Jesus, what a world.”

“Anyway,” Nergui went on, “I don’t know that Maxon would have shot you. I don’t think he knew what to do. He was desperate, or he wouldn’t have tried such a half-baked plan, but you were the only bargaining chip he’d got.”

“And he was right to be desperate. Someone was right there behind him.” McLeish paused. “I can’t follow it, though. Do we assume that Wilson was working with the Russians?”

Nergui shrugged. “Who knows? I think we can assume it was the forces of stability and global capitalism. They don’t care where the money comes from or goes to, so long as they get their share and nobody rocks the boat. Maxon had become a liability. Probably even to his own people. Or am I too cynical?”

“From what I’ve seen here, you’re nothing like cynical enough. I just hope you can keep it up.”

They fell into silence as the official car pounded through the empty night. As they approached the airport, they passed through one of the mining districts. Nergui stared out of the car window as they passed, watching the chaotic floodlit acres of heavy machinery, makeshift buildings, pipelines and trucks. McLeish turned back and looked at Nergui. “You know, when I first saw that,” he said. “I thought it looked like a gateway to hell.”

Nergui followed McLeish’s gaze into the darkness. “I think perhaps you understand our country better than you realize,” he said. “But I hope that you are wrong.”