The Adversary (17 page)

But part of him recognized that, somewhere at the heart of this, there was also a defense mechanism,
something that preserved his solitude, that kept him, not just a step ahead, but a step removed. He couldn't determine where professional caution stopped and emotional cowardice began, but he was smart enough to recognize that it was probably unwise to invite others to join him in the minefield.

But then, only a day or two later, she had phoned him. “I've done it all by the book now,” she said. “I've reported the threats. They didn't seem very interested.”

“I don't imagine you're the first judge to receive threats,” Nergui pointed out. “And there's probably nothing in it. But at least you've put it all on record.”

“Covered my back, you mean.”

“Of course. It's an essential skill if you're to stay in public life.”

“You speak as an expert?”

“None more so. But I've also done what I can at my end, though it's not much. We had no luck in tracing the calls, but I never thought we would, unless it was a real amateur. We've got your phone monitored and your apartment under surveillance.”

“A person could feel flattered by all this attention.”

“You're getting priority treatment,” Nergui agreed. “But that's mainly because you're a member of the judiciary.”

“Mainly?” There was a teasing note in her voice.

“Mainly,” he repeated, his voice giving nothing away. “We can't keep it up forever. Even for a member of the judiciary.” He paused, and she had time to wonder whether the irony was playful or mocking. “But if there is any substance to the threat, we should find out soon enough.”

“Try not to lay the reassurance on too thickly, won't you, Nergui?”

He laughed, finally. “I've told you. I don't do reassurance. I do realism.”

“I suppose that'll have to do, then,” she said. There was another, longer pause, as if both of them had run out of words. Then she said: “I wondered if you fancied meeting for dinner. For old time's sake. Or I suppose we could convene it as a formal symposium between the Ministry and the judiciary, if that makes it easier.”

“Only in that I could charge the cost to the Ministry, perhaps.” He was laughing more easily now. “But, yes, that would be good. For old time's sake. And for the future, too.” As he spoke the final words, there had been an ambiguity in his tone that she could not interpret.

They had agreed to meet in fashionable Millie's—probably because it was recognized by both as anonymous neutral ground. Everyone came here, even Nergui from time to time. It would give them time to chat, to reacquaint themselves with each other. And, if none of it worked, for whatever reason, it would give them time to bail out before they were committed to spending the evening together.

But so far it was going okay. The talk, for the moment, couldn't have gotten much smaller, which always made Nergui feel uncomfortable, but at least they were talking.

“It's busy,” she said, looking round the crowded café. “Even at this time of the day.”

“I'm told it's very fashionable,” Nergui said. “I don't
know about that. But they do a decent espresso. About the only place in the city that does.”

“You have decadent Western tastes, these days,” she said.

“I've always had decadent Western tastes,” Nergui said. “It's because I spent too much time in the decadent West.”

“Well, we're all slowly being corrupted.” She sipped her foaming coffee. “I imagine I'll learn to live with it.”

“I imagine you will,” he said. “So—where shall we eat?” The question was out of his mouth almost before he could stop himself, as if his subconscious mind had decided to commit him to the evening before his conscious self could think about preventing it.

She shrugged. “I'm in your hands,” she said. “Where's suitably decadent and Western?”

“The Western stuff is mainly pizzas,” he said. “There's the Café de France. They do half-decent French stuff.”

“Fine by me,” she said. “Half decent French stuff is probably more decadent than the best cuisine from anywhere else.”

She sat back, watching him closely while he used his cell phone to make the reservation. It was difficult to tell whether Nergui had actually made an effort in getting ready for the evening. He was wearing his usual dark suit, offset by his trademark pastel shirt and tie, tonight in a pale mauve. He had dressed like this—though perhaps a shade more self-consciously—even when she had known him the first time. She had wondered then, as she continued to wonder now, quite what this was all about. He was, to say the least, very recognizable. The smart suit and distinctive trappings
contrasted starkly with his dark, glowering, warrior-like features. He was hardly a public figure, though he had appeared in the media from time to time, but even in this café she could sense people glancing at him, wondering who he was, whether he was some celebrity they didn't quite recognize.

“All sorted,” he said, ending the call. “Seven thirty.” He looked at his watch. “We've time for a drink if you've had enough toy coffee.”

They had, fortunately, managed to find overnight rooms at the Bulgan Hotel. The hotel itself was nothing special—typical of the larger hotels outside the capital—but the rooms were at least clean and had hot water. As Doripalam knew from bitter experience, this could not always be taken for granted.

And the Bulgan was situated in the park, with decent views of the scattering of timber houses before the dark encroachment of the forests. Sitting sipping beers in the sparse bar, he and Luvsan looked out over the parkland, the low evening sun scattering stark patterns between the trees. It was, Doripalam was forced to admit, almost pleasant.

“Okay,” Doripalam said, “you've kept me in suspense long enough. What did you manage to find out?”

Luvsan paused, taking another slow drag on his cigarette. “I think it's worth investigating, anyway. It sounds like it's probably them.”

“What sounds like it's probably who?” Doripalam said patiently. He knew that Luvsan liked to string this sort of thing out. Tonight, at least, they were in no particular hurry.

“Our band. The ones we're looking for. It sounds like it could well be them.”

“What does?”

“Well—” Luvsan sat himself back in his chair, looking as if he was about to make a lengthy narrative of this. “There was some sort of disturbance, a couple of nights ago in one of the small villages five or six miles north of here.”

“What sort of disturbance?”

“Something and nothing, apparently. A new bunch of herdsman had arrived, set up camp, put their animals—just a very scanty collection, apparently—out to pasture. But they chose an area that was already being used by the locals, so a bit of a dispute broke out. Then, later in the evening—after a few vodkas, reading between the lines—some of the locals set upon one of the incomers. There was a bit of a fracas, but it didn't last long. The newcomers just backed off, said they'd pack up and be out by morning. Didn't want any trouble, that kind of thing.”

“The Superintendent didn't mention any of this.”

Luvsan gave Doripalam a look that managed to convey, with remarkable eloquence, his profoundly low expectations of any senior officer, Doripalam himself almost certainly included. “Well, he wouldn't have known, I imagine. By the time the police got there, it was all over. No one wanted to make any kind of fuss in the circumstances. So I don't imagine any kind of report was filed. I only picked it up because I was chatting with a bunch of the officers about any sightings of strangers in the area. As it happened, one of them had been talking to an
outstationed officer on the phone that morning, and had picked up this story.”

“But the group had moved on.” Doripalam pointed out. “So we still don't know where they are.”

Luvsan shook his head. “No, that's just it. I think I do know where they've gone. The police got there too late to deal with the disturbance, but one of the local officers was intrigued by the behavior of the newcomers. Thought they seemed just a bit too concerned to make themselves scarce. So he decided to keep an eye on them. Let them continue on a bit—they were mainly on horseback though a couple of them had motorbikes and were apparently scouting ahead. Anyway, the officer noted the direction they went in, and then made a point of checking up an hour or so later in his truck. They'd only gone a few miles and then found a sheltered spot, on the edges of the forest, to settle in.”

“But that was—what, the night before last? They could have moved on further since then.”

Luvsan shook his head. “Apparently not. The officer's been keeping a covert eye on them—he still thinks they might be up to no good and wants to keep them in sight. Anyway, he's checked them out again today and they're still there. It's a decent spot, he reckons—sheltered, sufficiently far from any villages not to be noticed, not treading on anyone else's toes.”

“But do they know they're being watched? If they're trying to be inconspicuous, then the presence of some clumsy local officer might be just enough to send them scuttling for the shadows again.”

Luvsan smiled. “I took the liberty of calling the outstationed officer direct while I was in the station,
just to check up on the story. Seemed a sharp enough young guy. Wasted in the sticks like this. Anyway, he was adamant that he'd been subtle—if they were up to something, the last thing he wanted was to scare them off before he had any grounds to take formal action. So I told him we were interested—that we didn't want them to know they were being observed until we got there and to let us know straight away if there was any sign of them moving.”

Doripalam nodded. “All very professional. As I'd have expected. But there's still a risk they might decide to do an overnight departure. We should get over there this evening.”

Luvsan sighed gently. “I thought you'd say that,” he said. “The truck's all ready. I was just hoping we might get something to eat first.”

Nergui had eaten better in Paris, but the food in the Café de France was good enough, at least by local standards. Sarangarel certainly seemed impressed.

“I didn't know you could get food like this here,” she said, slicing neatly into the steak Roquefort.

“I'm not sure how they do it,” Nergui said. “I don't know where the food comes from. I've never dared to inquire.”

She smiled, unsure—as she recalled had always been the case with Nergui—whether he was being serious. “I don't normally get to eat in places like this.”

“Even as a wealthy judge?” Nergui said. He cut carefully into his own rare fillet steak, watching the thin blood spill on to the crisp green of the salad.

She shook her head. “Wealthy? But, no, it's not so
much that. It's just that I don't often have cause to eat out. Or time, for that matter.”

“So how do you spend your time? Outside work?” This was the closest that Nergui had so far come to inquiring about her personal circumstances.

“I don't seem to have much time outside work,” she said. “I think I take it all too seriously.”

“I'm not sure you can take that kind of work too seriously,” Nergui said.

“Though from what I remember you wouldn't necessarily be the preferred source of advice on achieving balance in your life.”

He smiled. “That's true. I've left far too many dead bodies in my wake.”

“Literally and figuratively, no doubt,” she said.

He nodded, noting that she had failed to give any kind of meaningful response to his question about how she spent her time. “No doubt,” he said. “But I'm not sure where it gets you in the end.”

She took a sip of the wine which, by some miracle, was not only genuinely French but even quite a decent Burgundy. “And where's it gotten you?” she said. “In the end?”

“I hope it's not the end,” Nergui said. He was watching her closely now, admiring the ease with which she'd evaded his questions and turned the focus of the conversation back on himself. “I'm not sure I want to spend the rest of my working life in the Ministry. And in any case the shelf life is probably fairly short. If the current Minister goes out of favor—which he will, because that's politics—I don't delude myself that his successor will necessarily be clamoring for my services.”

“I never knew that false modesty was one of your vices.”

“It isn't. But realism definitely is. Though you're right—there would be a demand for my services somewhere.”

“And what are your services, these days?” she said. “I mean, what is it you're doing in the Ministry?”

Nergui's defenses immediately rose. He disliked any direct question about his job. Not necessarily because he had anything to hide, though there were aspects of his role that were certainly not for general consumption. But simply because he was always suspicious of the motives of anyone who showed some interest. And, he was beginning to recognize, suspicion was the last thing he wanted to feel tonight.

“Enjoying myself,” he said, finally, and with a slight shock realized that the statement was true. These days, he really was beginning to enjoy his position and everything that went with it—the challenges and responsibilities as well as the perquisites of power. “I didn't at first. I hated it. I mean, I'm a frontline person at heart. I like getting my hands dirty. So the last thing I wanted was to become a backroom pen-pusher.”

“So why did you take the job?”

“I don't think I had much of a choice. If a minister—well, certainly if this minister—wants you to do his dirty work, then it's not easy to say no.”

“And is that what you do?” she said, watching him as she brushed back her dark hair. “His dirty work?”