The Adversary (23 page)

“Who're we taking in?” he said.

Doripalam eyed him. “A ‘sir' would be nice,” he said. “This group. They're not under arrest. They've volunteered to come in to help us with our inquiries. And, in this case, that's not a euphemism. They want to help us, and I want them to be treated accordingly. Look after them. Give them a hot meal. Find them somewhere to sleep. I'll get one of my men up to talk to them in the morning. And I don't expect him to find that they've got anything to complain about in the way they've been treated. Is that clear?”

“Very clear. Sir.” The officer looked down at him lazily. Doripalam recognized the all too familiar sight of the junior local officer determined not to be intimidated by the big boys from the city. But it didn't make him feel any less tempted to kick the gangling idiot's feet from under him.

“Good. One more thing. There's a possibility that these men might be in physical danger. I want them
kept under close observation at all times. And, again, I'll be deeply unhappy if anything should happen to them while they're in your keeping. And you wouldn't want that, would you?”

“No. Sir.” The officer turned and gestured to the four men to make their way to the back of the truck, studiously paying no more attention to Doripalam, who watched him with barely concealed amusement. His primary concern had been that, despite Yadamsuren's intention not to take the matter further, his colleagues might decide to take a little informal revenge once they got the four men back to the station. His confidence wasn't increased by having met this character, but he hoped that his warnings would be sufficiently authoritative to prevent any reprisals.

The two officers helped the men into the back of the truck. Yadamsuren was to join them in the front with the intention of taking him to the hospital in Bulgan so he could be given a full examination.

Yadamsuren paused, as he was about to climb into the front of the truck, turning back toward Doripalam. “I am glad that your journey wasn't wasted,” he said. “That these were the men you were seeking.”

“So am I,” Doripalam said, sincerely. “And I'm very grateful for your help. You did well in identifying these people. I'm sorry the night was more eventful than we expected.”

Yadamsuren shrugged. “It could have been much worse.”

It could indeed, Doripalam thought. He watched Yadamsuren climb slowly into the truck, clearly
troubled by his injury. And it raised the question. What were the four men so afraid of that they were prepared to shoot indiscriminately simply because a truck turned up unexpectedly in the night? Was there something more they knew or suspected? Something they hadn't so far chosen to share with him?

He would have to make sure that whoever he sent up here was appropriately skilled in questioning, someone who could take whatever steps might be necessary to find out if there was something more, something that had not yet been said.

But now Doripalam had other matters to concern him. In all the excitement of the shooting and its aftermath, he had almost forgotten the call that he had received shortly beforehand. A disturbance at Tunjin's apartment building. Tunjin's apartment ransacked. Tunjin apparently missing. What the hell was all that about?

He turned and made his way back across the grass to the truck. Luvsan was standing by its side, working his way slowly through another packet of cigarettes.

“Back to the hotel?” Luvsan said.

Doripalam shook his head. “No. I'd thought we could stay up here to deal with whatever we found here—interview our four friends. But I need to get back.”

“Tunjin?”

“Tunjin. It may be something and nothing. He's a strange character at the best of times. But given his current—status, I'm a little worried. I think we need to get back. Are we okay to drive in this thing?” Doripalam gestured to the shattered windscreen.
Luvsan had punched out the shards of glass so the interior of the truck was now open to the air.

“No choice,” Luvsan said. “Even if we were staying up here, I doubt we'd be able to get it repaired locally. It'll be cold, but if we wrap up warm we should be okay.”

Doripalam nodded and thumbed a number into his cell. He waited a moment for the call to be answered, then asked to be put through to the officer who had called earlier. “Sorry for the delay in getting back. We had a bit of an incident up here, but it's okay now. Any more news on Tunjin?” He listened for a moment then said: “Well, keep us informed. We're heading back, but it'll be a few hours before we reach the city. If anything happens in the meantime, call us straight away.”

He ended the call and turned back to Luvsan. “Nothing. No sign of Tunjin. They're searching the apartment. It's a mess—though they suspect that it was probably a mess anyway. Tunjin's domestic life seems to have been everything that you might have expected. But it also looks as if it's been searched pretty thoroughly already.”

Luvsan pulled open the passenger door of the truck. “What would Tunjin have that would be worth searching for?”

Doripalam shrugged. “Who knows? But nothing would surprise me about Tunjin.”

They climbed back into the truck. Luvsan turned it round, and slowly pulled back up onto the road and then turned left back toward the south. “Was there any sign of a struggle?” he said.

“What?” Luvsan was having to keep the truck's speed fairly low, but even so the continuous blast of cold air filled the truck with noise.

“At Tunjin's apartment. Any sign of a struggle?” Luvsan shouted.

“Difficult to tell, apparently,” Doripalam shouted back. “Whole place was turned over. No way of knowing if there'd been a struggle in the middle of it.”

“So we don't know whether Tunjin's just gone to ground for some reason, or whether something's happened to him?”

Doripalam shook his head. “But as you were no doubt about to point out so politely earlier, someone like Tunjin doesn't go missing easily. He's a big person to lose.”

The basement always made Nergui feel uneasy, though it was as secure as all other parts of the apartment block. This place mainly housed government officials, and, although Nergui had taken additional steps to address security in his own apartment, the whole place was designed to offer substantial protection to a potentially vulnerable group. The concerns had been greater during the early days of democracy, when there seemed to be a permanent fear that some form of revolution, or perhaps counter-revolution, was brewing just around the bend. Now, things had calmed and most of those who lived here paid little heed to the security trappings that this place offered. But Nergui was grateful, now as much as ever, that the block offered at least some protection.

Even so, the basement felt more vulnerable. It was mainly just that the lights were dim and the place was riddled with shadowy corners, as well as the potential hiding places offered by the rows of residents' cars. It wouldn't be an easy place to penetrate, but if anyone did get in, there would be plenty of places for them to hide.

And tonight who knew what might be waiting? Nergui crossed the concrete floor cautiously, his hand resting on the steel of his pistol, his eyes watchful for
any sign of movement. He knew he was being paranoid. But he also knew that, on a number of occasions, it was paranoia that had kept him alive.

His own Mitsubishi 4x4 was parked a little way along the row. He reached it without incident, unlocked it and climbed in, throwing the canvas bag into the rear seat. He started the engine, reversed out and turned back toward the entrance. Still no sign of anything.

As he approached the entrance, he lowered the window to wave the electronic tag near the monitor. There was a moment's pause and then the heavy metal gates that enclosed the entrance slowly drew back. He noted, in passing, that the slow movement of the gates might well allow an intruder on foot time to slip through once a car had departed. He had not thought about this before, and the revelation of this minor weakness in the block's security increased his unease.

And, he realized, his unease was feeding upon itself. The very fact that he was feeling so uncomfortable was unusual—the last time he had experienced this kind of sensation was when they had faced the series of brutal killings the previous winter. Then, as now, he had had the sense that his unconscious mind was telling him something that his conscious brain had not yet learned to interpret. That there was something more going on than he'd so far identified.

Nergui was smart enough and experienced enough to be able to assess realistically the risks involved in his journey tonight. As long as he was careful, they were likely to be minimal. But still something was nagging at him. There was still a sense that he was—not out of
his depth, exactly. The waters would have to be very deep indeed before Nergui's limits were reached. But certainly that he was much closer to those limits than his rational mind might suggest.

And Nergui had learned to trust his instincts. Not as something supernatural or magical, but simply as the expression of all his years of experience. However slight the apparent risk, he would take no chances tonight.

He pulled out from the apartment block and turned into the main street. He hesitated just for a moment and then took a right, heading in the opposite direction from his intended destination, traveling west along Peace Avenue, out of the city. He continued for two or three miles, the long strip of the railway prominent on his right, the Onion Mountain visible on the left. At this hour, there was no other traffic and no sign that he was being followed.

As the road straightened out, he did a sharp U-turn and headed back, passing clustered
ger
encampments and then industrial areas until he once again entered the central area of the city. He passed no other vehicles. Driving at this time of night was a mixed blessing in terms of security. On the one hand, it would be difficult for any pursuer to remain concealed. On the other, Nergui's own car was highly conspicuous.

He drove back along Peace Avenue, and then turned right down toward Nairamdal Park. There were a few more people around here—drinkers tumbling out of the Khanbrau and East West Bars, a scattering of late-night pedestrians. Above to his left, he could see the clustering temples that formed the Monastery
Museum of Choijin Lama. And then he was past that and the vast dark space of the parkland opened up beyond the road.

To his right, opposite the park, there was the squat tower of the Bayangol Hotel.

He turned into the hotel and parked his car inconspicuously alongside a row of others. Grabbing the bag from the rear seat and ensuring that the handgun was safely in his pocket, he jumped out of the car and crossed the road to the entrance to the park.

He looked around. There was no one in sight, and even the hotel lobby looked closed and deserted. The park gates were locked for the night but it was easy enough to climb over into the darkness beyond. He wondered quite how Tunjin would manage to negotiate the fence, but knew from experience that Tunjin would have identified his own entrance route.

He stepped away from the fence and walked a few meters into the shadow, listening hard for any sound of movement. The rain had long ceased, but he could hear the dripping of water from the trees as a faint breeze rippled through the foliage. Otherwise, there was nothing.

He began to walk slowly across the park, heading from memory in the direction of the lake. He had brought a flashlight, but wanted to avoid using it unless absolutely necessary.

There was no sign yet of Tunjin. In the near blackness, he could just make out the shapes of the aged Ferris wheel and other rides in the amusement area across the park.

He found the lake without difficulty, its dirty water
giving a faintly luminous glow. The surrounding trees clattered quietly in the soft wind. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. Almost exactly eleven thirty. Perfect. The only question now was whether Tunjin would make the rendezvous.

The question was answered almost immediately. A larger patch of blackness suddenly emerged from the shadows further along the lake. Nergui walked forward and said, only just audibly, “It's me.” He didn't give his name but knew that Tunjin—assuming that it was Tunjin—would recognize the voice. His hand slipped into his pocket, firmly gripping the pistol handle. He glanced briefly around him, keeping his back toward the lake so there was no danger of being surprised from behind.

Within seconds, he had no doubt that it was Tunjin. The ungainly movement of his large body was unmistakable. Nergui relaxed slightly, suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath. But he continued to grasp the gun, conscious that, if they had been followed, it was at this moment of exposure that they were probably most vulnerable.

“You made it,” Tunjin said, drawing up closer.

“It wasn't that difficult for me,” Nergui said. “The more important thing is that you made it safely. You're sure no one spotted you.”

“As sure as I can be,” Tunjin said. He glanced down at his heaving body. “You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I'm actually quite good at giving people the slip.”

Nergui smiled, pleased at least that some signs of the old Tunjin were still in evidence. And the greatest
miracle was that, as far as he could tell, there was no hint of alcohol on Tunjin's breath.

“What about you?” Tunjin said. “You're sure you weren't followed?”

“In any other circumstance,” Nergui said, “I'd have you disciplined for impertinence.”

“You can't,” Tunjin pointed out. “I'm already suspended.”

“So you are,” Nergui said. “And your own bloody fault too.”

“You're not the type to say ‘I told you so,'” Tunjin said. “If you were, you'd be insufferable.”

Nergui laughed, softly. “Glad to see that this mess hasn't entirely dampened your spirits.”