The Adversary (24 page)

“I haven't had time for my spirits to be dampened, other than by that bloody rain. Though I wasn't feeling too pleased with myself, holed up in the back of a semi-demolished shop.”

“How are you?” Nergui said. “I mean, really.”

Tunjin shrugged. “As well as can be expected. I've been suspended from the only job I've ever known, a year off retirement. I've been exposed as the thorn in the side of the most dangerous criminal psychopath in the city. And I'm on the run, with no obvious prospect of salvation. In the circumstances, not so bad.”

“At least it's gotten you off the drink.”

“And where the bloody hell am I supposed to find booze? It's not for lack of wanting it, I can tell you.”

“So what are we going to do?” Nergui said. “How are we going to get you out of this mess?”

“I was rather hoping that you might be able to tell me that.”

“I don't think it's going to be easy,” Nergui said. “The problem is knowing who to trust.”

“That's been the problem throughout this whole bloody affair,” Tunjin said. “Everywhere you turn, he's got people. I mean, I know I was bloody stupid and it was half-baked, but I'd never expected that it would leak like that. No one knew.”

“Someone knew,” Nergui said. “Assuming that you're not informing on yourself.”

“At least that would have been simpler,” Tunjin said. “Cut out the middleman and all that. No. Everywhere you turn there's someone. I'm not even sure about you, sometimes.”

“To be honest,” Nergui said, “I wasn't at all sure about you till you pulled this little stunt. And even now I'm wondering if it isn't some kind of double bluff.”

“If you knew what I'd been through today, you wouldn't have any doubts. And I guess I know that, if you're not on the side of the angels, then the whole bloody police force might as well pack up and go home.”

“It may come to that,” Nergui said. “I'm getting nowhere in rooting out what really is going on there.”

“What about Doripalam?” Tunjin said. “You think he's straight?”

Nergui hesitated. In any other circumstances he would be reluctant to express any views about a senior officer, particularly to the likes of Tunjin. But these were far from ordinary circumstances. “I'm pretty sure so,” he said. “But that's the difficulty. All my instincts tell me he's straight. But even with him I can't be
absolutely certain. And in any case there are too many others I don't trust. I've started to get together some pretty damning evidence on one or two characters, but in most cases there's just no way to be sure. We just don't know how far this goes.”

“Further than you can imagine,” Tunjin said.

“I thought about trying to organize you police protection,” Nergui said. “But there's no way.” He thought about what had happened to Sarangarel's husband, a decade before. The tentacles were in place already, even at that time. There was no way of knowing how far they might stretch by now.

“I'll happily decline,” Tunjin said. “As things stand.”

“It might be feasible to organize some sort of safe house through the Ministry,” Nergui said. “But even there, even in the intelligence services—”

“You don't know for sure.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“I don't know for sure,” Nergui agreed. “It would be your risk.”

Tunjin turned. “I'm tired,” he said, in a tone that suggested that his weariness was more than merely physical. “Let's find somewhere to sit down.” He began to trudge slowly across the silent park, Nergui following behind him, his senses alert for any other sign of movement. Ahead of them there were the floodlit façades of the Buddhist temples and then, beyond that, all the scattered lights of the city. By contrast, in the darkness, the park seemed inhospitable, a lifeless wasteland, its shadows containing who knew what kinds of threat.

They reached the play area. The rides were all
firmly closed and locked, but there were benches where they could sit. The skeletal shape of the Ferris wheel towered above them, black bones against the cloudy night sky.

Tunjin slumped heavily on to one of the benches, the wood and metal creaking beneath his weight. Nergui sat carefully beside him.

“It's not a risk I want to take,” Tunjin said, continuing their previous conversation.

“In your place, I'd feel the same,” Nergui said. “It's one thing to be out here, keeping an eye out for yourself, however great the risk. It's another to hand yourself over to someone else's safe keeping, if you don't have confidence in them.”

“And you're saying you wouldn't have confidence in the intelligence services?”

“I don't know. No. Not entirely.”

“So, no, I don't think so.”

“But what's the alternative?” Nergui said. “You can't stay on the run forever.” He paused. “It's outrageous. After all these years. All my supposed authority. And I can't even provide adequate protection for a police officer in trouble.”

“I'm still a police officer, then?” Tunjin said. “I wasn't sure.”

“Of course you're still a police officer,” Nergui said. “And as far as I'm concerned you'll stay a police officer till you retire.”

“Assuming I live that long.”

“Assuming you live that long. And, at the moment, I don't know how we ensure that. You can't keep running.”

“I'm not exactly built for it,” Tunjin agreed, looking down at his vast bulk.

“So what do we do?” Nergui said. “I can try to find you somewhere to hide out. Somewhere only we know about. I'd take you back to my apartment, but I can't believe that it's not at least under some kind of surveillance. That's why I was afraid of being followed tonight.”

“I'm best where I am at the moment,” Tunjin said. “It's not comfortable. But no one but me knows that I'm there. It'll buy me two or three days at least. But I can't stay there forever.”

“I brought you some food and water,” Nergui said, remembering the canvas bag he had slung over his shoulder. “Nothing much. I just grabbed what I had, but it'll keep you going for a while. If we arrange another meeting, I can get you some more.”

“I could do with losing a pound or two, anyway,” Tunjin laughed.

“But it doesn't solve the problem,” Nergui said. “All we're doing is buying time. I'm out of ideas.”

“As I see it,” Tunjin said, “there's only one way forward.”

Nergui looked across at the man sitting next to him. In the gloom, he could not make out his expression. “And that is?”

“I've got to finish what I started,” Tunjin said. “Only this time I've got to make sure I do it properly.”

There was a faint breeze rustling through the trees. For a moment, Nergui fancied that he could discern some other sound, maybe someone moving. He held his breath for a second, listening, but could make out nothing more.

“What do you mean?” he said, at last.

“What I say,” Tunjin leaned back on the bench which creaked alarmingly under them. “I need to finish what I started, but make less of a mess of it this time.”

Nergui shook his head. “I don't know what you've got in mind,” he said. “But you're hardly in the best position to start collating more evidence. And you presumably didn't find it all that easy last time, which is why you're in this mess.”

Tunjin shrugged. “Maybe I was too complacent last time. I thought I'd covered all the angles, but I clearly hadn't. I didn't realize how far this thing went.”

“I don't think any of us really did,” Nergui said. “I was taken aback by what you tried to do, but I was even more startled that—with all your natural talents—you didn't manage to get away with it.” He paused, as if wondering quite how many metaphorical cards to put on the table. “It scared the hell out me, actually. I mean, I always knew he had people on the inside. But then I also knew how smart you'd have been in trying to pull all that stuff off. And if you had gotten caught—well, I can't bear to think about it.”

“That's the trouble,” Tunjin said. “I tell you, nobody knew what I was up to. One or two would have had inklings, and I had some professional help with the forgeries, but there was no individual I confided in. And all the evidence was held confidentially, even within the team, because of its sensitivity. If they got to the bottom of that, well—anybody could be involved.”

“Even Doripalam?” Nergui said.

Tunjin shrugged. “You can judge that better than me,” he said. “But he was one of the few people with a
real overview of all the evidence. If anyone was going to spot flaws or inconsistencies—well, he wasn't the only one, but there weren't many.”

“I still don't think so,” Nergui said. “I still think he's straight.”

Tunjin made no response. After a pause, he said: “So maybe I'm in a better position to do something now than I was before. At least now there's nobody going to expose me. So maybe I can finish it off.”

Nergui turned and stared at the gray silhouette of the large man beside him. “Finish it off?” he said. “What have you got in mind, exactly?”

“I don't know. But as long as he's there, he's going to want my blood.”

“It's insane,” Nergui said. “You know who we're talking about. We've never gotten close to him.”

“No,” Tunjin said, slowly. “But before we've all—even me, for the most part—have had to do it by the book. I don't have that constraint anymore.”

“You're still a police officer,” Nergui said.

“So you tell me. It doesn't feel like it. It didn't feel like it this afternoon.” He paused. “Look, Nergui, all I know is I can't just sit here waiting for him to come to me. So I've got to go after him. If I decide to adopt methods that are—well, the kinds of things that might be unacceptable to you, I wouldn't dream of troubling your conscience by sharing them.”

“I could arrest you now if I thought you were going to commit an illegal act,” Nergui said.

“Yes, but you don't. And neither do I. But I do know that I haven't got much to lose. In fact, given what might happen to me if they catch up with me, I'm
better off with the prospect of something quick and clean.”

“It sounds like a fantasy to me,” Nergui said.

“I'm in need of fantasies right now,” Tunjin said. “I don't have much else.”

Nergui looked around them. He was beginning to feel exposed, sitting motionless in this dark parkland. It was not a rational anxiety—if anyone was watching them, then they would just wait until Nergui was gone before tackling Tunjin. But there was something about the vast silence of this place that made him uneasy.

“We need to find a way out of this,” he said finally.

“From where I'm sitting, I don't see too many options,” Tunjin said. “You carry on with your investigations, but how much progress do you really expect to make?”

“I don't know,” Nergui said. “Some. There are some I know are bent, some I know are on his payroll. I'll get them eventually. But whether I'll get them all—”

“There'll be no way of knowing, unless we take him down.”

Nergui knew that he was right. There had been a time, even when he had started his inquiry, when he had thought that now finally he was in a position to deal with this properly. He had thought that Tunjin's actions and their fallout might have given him the opportunity and the ammunition he had been seeking for all those years. But he should have realized that Tunjin would not have messed up so easily. He should have realized quite how deeply ingrained the problem would be. He could catch a few bent officers—maybe even most of them—but unless he was confident he
had identified them all, the problem would never be resolved.

Tunjin climbed slowly to his feet, hoisting the canvas bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for the food,” he said. “I'll keep in touch. I don't want to use the cell any more than I can avoid because I don't know how traceable it might be. And I want to save the battery for as long as possible. But if I want to make contact, I'll just send you a text—just ‘Meet' and that'll mean—let's stick with the same time—that'll mean 11:30p.m. here.”

“I'll bring some better food next time,” Nergui said. “If I've got a bit of notice.”

“Glad to hear it. This selection's not very impressive.”

“Tunjin,” Nergui said, “I don't know what you've got in mind, but whatever it is, good luck.”

Tunjin shrugged. “I don't know either,” he said, “but thanks anyway.”

He turned and began to trudge slowly back in the direction of the lake. Nergui sat, unmoving, watching Tunjin's bulk disappear into the enveloping blackness, ready to draw his gun if there was any sign of trouble. But the sound of Tunjin's soft footsteps faded, lost in the faint rustle of the breeze, and there was no indication of any disturbance.

Nergui sat for a few moments, listening hard, wondering whether Tunjin had made his way out of the park safely. For a moment, he considered trying to follow him but he knew that this would be madness. There was little he could do to protect Tunjin, who could look after his own interests as well as anyone.

Finally, Nergui rose and made his way slowly back
across the park, past the square block of the State Youth Theater. He lifted himself back over the fence and out into the street. It was nearly half past midnight. The road was deserted, and even the Bayangol Hotel looked as if it was closed for the night. There were dim lights in the foyer, and the occasional bedroom light, but otherwise little sign of life.

Nergui's car was as he had left it. He unlocked it and climbed inside, mulling over his conversation with Tunjin. What about Doripalam? Could he be trusted? Nergui was as confident as he could be that Doripalam, of all people, was straight. But someone had betrayed Tunjin. Someone had realized what was going on, and had fingered Tunjin as the individual responsible. And there was no question that, as one of the most sensitive cases they had handled for years, the details of the Muunokhoi would have been available only to a selected few—certainly to none of those whom Nergui had so far identified as potentially corrupt.