The Adversary (28 page)

There was something about the way she spoke the final words that caught Nergui's attention. “And what about since then?” he said. “When you received these papers?”

There was a long pause. She stared out across the lake, watching the movement of the trees in the wind. “I was—I don't know, thrown by the outcome of the trial. It had come so close and then—nothing. Back where we started and no way forward. And then, just a couple of weeks later, I received that package in the mail. It was as if all my unspoken prayers had been answered. I recognized that it wasn't hard evidence, but I began to think that it might provide some leverage—”

“What did you do?” Nergui asked quietly.

“I don't know what I was trying to do,” she said. “I told you, I'm not rational about this. I'd received this material, but didn't know what to do with it. So I wrote, anonymously, to Muunokhoi—just addressed to him as Chief Executive of one of his companies—and told him I had some material linking him to Gansukh's death—”

There was a long silence. Nergui watched a flock of birds launch itself, with impressive synchronization, from one of the trees at the far end of the park. “You're sure he couldn't have traced the letter back to you?” he said.

“I don't see how. I mean, it was just a word-processed
letter. I sent it from somewhere across town.”

“Why did you send it?” Nergui asked. “I mean, what did you think you might achieve?”

“I don't know. I suppose I was just trying to provoke some sort of reaction. Make something happen. I didn't know how to make use of the information I had. I thought about taking it to the police, but I didn't think you'd take it seriously. I mean, there's no real substance to it.”

“You're probably right,” Nergui said. “Though if you'd brought it to me, I'd have taken it seriously.”

“I thought about that afterward. It was one reason why I turned up on what I thought was your doorstep. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The reason I sent the letter to Muunokhoi? Well, I didn't know how else to use the material. I suppose I thought it might shock him, jolt him out of his complacency. At least make him aware that there was someone out there who
knew
.”

“I don't think Muunokhoi's likely to be too jolted by a single anonymous letter,” Nergui said.

“No, well, neither did I. That was why I followed it up.”

He looked at her. “Followed it up?”

“I know. But I sent—well, three letters in all. Including some photocopies of what I felt were likely to be the most suspicious of the materials I had, but hinting that this was just the tip of the iceberg. That it was only a matter of time before everything was exposed—”

Nergui whistled softly. “And you were still confident that he couldn't track the letters back to you.”

“I don't know. I didn't think so, but I've only just begun to realize quite how much influence he has. And it's possible he'd made the link between me and Gansukh. I mean, between Judge Radnaa and Gansukh.” She paused. “And I suppose that might really have rattled him. He might have realized that, for all his power, he could actually be vulnerable.” She paused, as if reluctant to follow through the logic of her own words. “It was shortly after that that I received the first of those threats I told you about. It might have just been coincidence. I can't prove that there was any link with Muunokhoi—”

“But it was a coincidence,” Nergui said. “Another one. Always another coincidence.” He paused. “That would be Muunokhoi. One step ahead.” He looked around, realizing that even in the bright spring morning he was feeling nervous, wondering if someone might be watching them. “And if it's true, that's a serious matter. You need protection. Real protection. Not just a uniformed officer standing outside your apartment.”

She nodded. “That's why I came to see you originally. I mean, all that stuff about looking for the police station. That was all nonsense. I was looking for you. Didn't realize you'd moved on. You were one of the few people I thought I could trust.”

That, he thought, was perhaps even more true than she realized. “So why didn't you tell me?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. I was embarrassed. I'd behaved stupidly. Maybe even compromised my position.” She hesitated. “And I suppose, knowing you, I thought you'd work it out for yourself. As you seem to have done.”

“I'm not sure about that,” he said. “But we've gotten there in the end, between us. And maybe you're right about him being rattled.” He thought about Tunjin, living who knew where, on the run from the same Muunokhoi. And he thought about Muunokhoi, engaging in apparently pointless vendettas with those who had tried and failed to bring him to justice, perhaps risking more than he knew.

“We need to take care of you,” he said, finally. “We need to keep you safe. Where are the papers?”

“I think they're safe,” she said. “I took them to my lawyer first, made sure everything was recorded, and then I lodged them in my bank, in a safe deposit box. Even if Muunokhoi somehow knows where they are, he won't be able to get at them without my co-operation.”

Nergui looked at her. “Don't underestimate Muunokhoi's influence. I don't welcome the idea of him trying to secure your co-operation. Look, let's get you back to police headquarters. I'll speak to my contacts in the Ministry, try to find you a safe house where you can stay.” He didn't add that he could not trust the police to provide her with an uncompromised guard.

He began to lead her back from the lake, over toward the park entrance opposite the Hotel Bayangol where his car was parked. He felt genuinely nervous, aware of the possibility that they were being observed. Inwardly, he cursed her for not being open about this before, as he realized for the first time quite how vulnerable she had been for the preceding days.

They reached the gates in silence and hurried out into the street. Nergui's car was parked in the hotel parking
lot, over the road. The street itself was deserted. He looked around then gently bundled her in front of him across to the hotel entrance, his hands already closing on the keys in his pocket.

The car came from nowhere. It had been parked parallel to Nergui's own, facing forward, just a few yards closer to the parking lot entrance. Its engine started suddenly, and the car was thrown forward as if the handbrake had just been released. Its front wing hit Nergui a glancing blow and he was thrown across the parking lot, landing roughly on the concrete. At the same moment, the rear door of the car opened, the car slowed momentarily, and two hands grabbed Sarangarel, who was standing transfixed by the unexpected drama. Without a sound, she was dragged into the back of the car, the rear door slammed shut, and with a loud screech of tires, the car spun round and back out into the street.

Nergui lay on the ground, semi-conscious, an agonizing pain in his left leg, his brain scarcely working but his aching head telling him, over and over again, that it was too late, that it was all over, that he had failed.

Doripalam was at home when the message came through, but he would rather have been almost anywhere else. It was unusual for him to take a day's leave in the week, and he had known right from the start that it was a mistake. But it was hardly as if he had a choice.

“I mean,” Solongo had said, “they can surely manage without you for one day. It's not as if you don't put in the hours.”

He had wondered, momentarily, about pointing out the inconsistency in her position. It was Solongo, after all, who was always suggesting that his job was under threat, that everyone around him was waiting only for the opportunity to see him fail. It was Solongo who, without ever quite uttering a word on the subject, had persuaded him that he needed to be in the office every waking hour—and possibly some sleeping ones too—in order to demonstrate his indispensability.

But that, of course, was when she wanted him out of the house so that she could get on with living her own life. Today, she needed him in the house for the same reason.

Doripalam had known it would be excruciating from the moment she had first raised the idea. As it
turned out, it was even worse than he had envisaged. And now, here he was, at four o'clock in the afternoon, sipping weak coffee while listening to what was quite possibly the most boring lecture he had ever been compelled to endure. Even the worst rigors of university and police training had not prepared him for this. And, more to the point, Solongo had certainly not prepared him for it.

In advance, she had made it sound almost interesting. As part of her continuing quest for social advancement—or, perhaps more accurately, her quest to combat the almost inevitable social decline she associated with Doripalam's chosen profession—Solongo had accepted an invitation to become a trustee of one of the city's major museums. It was an honor, as Doripalam was happy to acknowledge, and it carried certain responsibilities. One of which, apparently, was to play occasional host to the trustees' bimonthly committee meetings which rotated between the members' homes.

Doripalam had been willing to go along with the idea for Solongo's sake, and had been quite happy to throw his home open to any number of his wife's cultural associates. But he had failed to take account of her expectation that he should be present for the occasion.

As soon as they had begun to arrive that afternoon, Doripalam had recognized the type. They were precisely those who, twenty years before, would have been senior Party apparatchiks, and who had somehow made a seamless transition into the new order. Doripalam had nothing in common with these
people. Except of course that, in his elevated role, he was now on the verge of becoming one of them.

He found himself, on his second glass of vodka, standing talking to Solongo and a tall, middle-aged man who was apparently some bigwig in one of the former state energy companies.

“Solongo tells me you're a policeman,” the man said, with a clear implication that Doripalam should really be out patrolling the streets.

“Sort of,” Doripalam said.

“Doripalam is Head of the Serious Crimes Team,” Solongo said. Doripalam was quite sure that she would have provided this information already, possibly several times, but for once he felt no qualms about her reaffirming his status.

The man nodded slowly, sipping his vodka. “Were you the bunch behind the Muunokhoi debacle?”

Doripalam bit back his immediate response. “We were involved in the arrest, yes. Those kind of charges fall under our jurisdiction.”

“He was only doing his job,” Solongo said. Doripalam glanced at her, slightly annoyed at her unnecessary defensiveness. On the other hand, in the circumstances, there was probably some need to be defensive.

“It's a scandal,” the man said. “The whole thing was politically motivated.”

Doripalam raised an eyebrow, and took a deep swallow of his vodka. “You think so?”

“Of course. It's the same as the way Putin's been behaving in Russia. You can't control the likes of Muunokhoi, so you persecute them.”

“I've persecuted nobody,” Doripalam said, trying to subdue his irritation.

“I don't mean you personally,” the man said, in a tone which indicated that Doripalam himself was below any kind of serious consideration. “You're just an agent. But there are forces in the government that would want to bring Muunokhoi down, I'm sure.”

Doripalam shrugged. Perhaps the man was right, but it wasn't his own impression. From what he'd seen—and from what he'd heard from Nergui—the government largely just kowtowed to money and power, regardless of its source. Yes, the Justice Minister had tried to gain some political capital out of Muunokhoi's arrest, but that was only because the Minister had assumed that Muunokhoi's power was on the wane. Doripalam could easily imagine the Minister's subsequent flailing to regain the ground he had lost.

“If that was the case,” Doripalam said, “they weren't very successful.”

“Just as well,” the man said. “It's people like Muunokhoi who are the future of this country. He's smart, he's a step ahead.” He smiled, jabbing a finger toward Doripalam. “And, as we all know, he's got people like you in his pocket.” The man rubbed his thumb and finger together in an unambiguous gesture.

Just for a moment, Doripalam gave serious consideration to the potential consequences of a senior police officer punching one of the great and the good on the nose. Even accepting those consequences, the idea was a tempting one.

He opened his mouth to respond—if only to point out the inconsistency of the man's arguments—but
Solongo was clearly one step ahead of him and was already steering the man off toward another group. She glared back at Doripalam, daring him to speak. Doripalam nodded and then smiled at her, suddenly recognizing that she hated all this nonsense almost as much as he did.

It was a moment of unexpected warmth between them, not quite dissipated as she moved to engage in another tiresome conversation. It had struck him for the first time quite how hard she was working on his behalf. For a moment, he was tempted to break into her conversation, to make some acknowledgment of how much he appreciated, if not the effect, at least the good intentions behind what she was doing.

But as he moved forward he felt his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out, thumbed the keyboard and glanced at the message, feeling a chill down his spine as he did so.

When he did break into Solongo's conversation, his words were very different from those he had planned only moments before.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I've got to go. It's Nergui. He's been in an accident.” He turned away quickly before she could respond.

Minutes later, he was making his hurried way out of the apartment and down the stairs. It would probably be a while, he thought, before he and Solongo would be able to recapture that brief moment of mutual warmth and support. For that matter, it would probably be a while before she was prepared to speak to him again.