Panic rose in him, though that surely must be another indication that he was alive. The dead didn’t panic, did they? His breath caught in his chest. That meant he was breathing, at least, though for how long was another question.
He tried to hold his breath and listen. Could he hear anything? No. Nothing. Not even the beating of his own heart. Perhaps this was what death felt like, after all.
He was unsure how long he lay in this semicomatose state. Maybe hours, perhaps only minutes. Gradually, though, he became aware that something was changing. The feeling was slowly returning to his body, the numbness slowly melting away. He could move his eyes, begin to move his fingers. He began, finally, to feel like a human being again. He was not dead. Or, if he was, death was much closer to life than he had ever imagined.
But the gradual return to sentience was neither pleasant nor reassuring. As the feeling gradually began to flow back into his limbs, he became increasingly aware of the pain. A dull throbbing ache that filled his arms and legs and head, the kind of painful lethargy that accompanies a serious bout of influenza. And more localized aches-bruises or contusions on his back, on his head. And, on top of all this was a feeling of lassitude. Even in other circumstances, he would have struggled to rise from where he was lying.
As more and more feeling flooded back into his body, he became aware that his supine state was not voluntary. There was some kind of binding, holding his arms, and something similar around his ankles. When he tried, painfully, to lift his head, he became aware of a cord around his neck, tight enough to throttle him if he tried to move more than a centimeter or two.
He realized-like a third party observing his own predicament-that he ought to be frightened. He had no idea where he was or what was happening here, his brain was not processing this at all. But one thing he could work out, what was happening here was clearly not good.
Slowly, slowly, consciousness came dribbling back. Why was he here? What was going on? Where was he? The questions came in no rational order, but at least he was beginning to formulate questions.
Suddenly, as if he had woken from a deep sleep, clarity hit him. Whereas before there had just been a fog of sensation, now he could remember everything up to a point. He remembered the dinner at the embassy. He remembered the Wilsons, and the bizarre turn taken by their conversation. He remembered the strange behavior of Helena Wilson. He remembered the car driving away into the frosty night. And then-
Then what? Himself drunkenly stumbling away. Something, someone crashing into him. And then nothing. And then this.
With full consciousness came a full sense of horror. He had no idea where he was or why he was here. But he was lying in the dark, with no sign of light or life, his limbs strapped down. And someone, for some reason, had brought him here.
CHAPTER 14
“I’m sorry, sir. You can leave a message for him, but that’s all we can do. I’m sure you appreciate-”
Nergui sighed and leaned forward over the reception desk. “No,” he said. “I do appreciate that you’re doing your job, but so am I. If you don’t have the authority to do it, then can I speak to whoever’s in charge here?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I mean, I understand you’re in an official capacity, but I’ve been told strictly-”
It would never have been like this in the old days, Nergui thought. There was a time when one flash of your official card would have been enough to terrify the wits out of any functionary who got in your way. In those days, they knew what the Ministry was capable of. It was still generally unwise to cross the Ministry, but there was greater willingness to take the risk these days, particularly if Western currency was involved.
Nergui straightened up, smiling. Then he turned sharply on his heel. For a moment, the receptionist looked relieved, assuming that she had dealt successfully with a troublesome visitor. The look of relief turned to a look of panic as Nergui calmly pushed open the door that led behind the reception desk “Now, if you’ll just give me a cardkey to open Room 204, I won’t need to cause the kind of fuss that might disturb your guests.”
“You can’t-” she said. “I’ll call the police-”
Nergui shrugged, still smiling. “I’ve told you. I am the police. Please do tell the manager if you wish to. He can join me in Room 204. Now please give me a key.”
She stared at him for a moment, then reluctantly took a card from the drawer beside her and ran it through the computer system. “That will open it now,” she said.
“And if you or the manager should decide to call the police, you should mention that it’s Nergui who has taken the key.” He briefly flashed his pass again. “There, you see. If you tell them that, they will not be surprised and will not waste their time coming over here.”
He let himself out from behind the desk and made his way across to the elevators. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the receptionist hesitate and then pick up the phone. He hoped that she was only calling the manager.
He knew he was being foolish. There was nothing for him to worry about, and he could have waited and done this properly. But the sense of anxiety had continued to nag away at him. It was eleven a.m. now. He had called Drew’s room repeatedly, but there had been no response. Drew’s cell phone appeared still to be switched off or out of range. There had been no word from him at all. Nergui had even tried to call the British ambassador, in case Drew had for some reason returned to the embassy the previous evening after the car had left. The ambassador, fortunately or unfortunately, had been tied up in a meeting and had not yet returned Nergui’s call.
Finally, when he could see nothing else to do, he had come across to the Chinggis Khaan. The receptionist had called up to Drew’s room, but there was, as before, no response.
It was perfectly feasible that Drew was deeply asleep or had decided to get some air. Maybe he was out exploring the city, doing some of the tourist activities while he had the opportunity. Maybe Nergui had simply missed him and he was already on his way to the police offices.
Or maybe, Nergui thought, he had not been back here at all.
The elevator opened on the second floor and Nergui made his way along the corridor to Drew’s room. He slid the card through the electronic lock, and pushed open the door.
The room was empty. The bed was undisturbed, though if the chambermaids had already visited the room, it was still possible that Drew might have been here this morning. The room itself was very tidy, with only a few personal possessions-a hairbrush, a paperback thriller, a still unpacked suitcase on the stand-to indicate that it was occupied.
Nergui pulled open the wardrobe doors. There were a couple of suits and several shirts hanging up. Nothing else. A pair of polished black shoes on the floor. Policeman’s shoes, Nergui thought.
“Excuse me, sir, I must ask you-”
Nergui turned. A short, overweight man was standing in the doorway. He was balding and his hair was badly combed across in an attempt to conceal the fact. He was wearing an expensive-looking Western-style suit. Presumably the manager.
Nergui nodded politely. “Can I help you?” he said.
The manager looked nonplussed at Nergui’s question and it took him a second to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry, sir, but this really is-”
“Has this room been made up yet?” Nergui said. “Have the chambermaids been in here?”
The manager opened his mouth, clearly about to repeat his objections to Nergui’s presence, then he stopped. “I can check for you,” he said, finally. “Can I see your ID first, though, sir?”
Nergui nodded. “Of course.” He smiled and pulled out his ID again. “Here,” he said.
“That’s fine, sir. No problem. You understand we have to be careful.”
“Naturally.”
He followed the manager back out into the corridor. A group of chambermaids were standing by the elevators, chatting. The manager approached them and spoke briefly, then turned back to Nergui. “They say that room’s already been cleaned.”
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Nergui smiled at the group of women who were watching him with some curiosity. “Police,” he said. “Room 204. Which of you cleaned that room?”
One of the women, young and pretty with dark hair, raised her arm shyly. Nergui looked at her. “Had the bed been disturbed?” he said. “Had anyone slept in it?”
She shook her head nervously. “No,” she said. “The bed hadn’t been slept in. I thought it was a bit strange, as the room was occupied… but you don’t know-” She giggled slightly and turned away.
“Thank you,” Nergui said.
The chambermaids giggled again, glancing back at him, then moved off together. Nergui turned to the manager. “Do you know who was on duty last night? On the reception, I mean. After midnight.”
The manager nodded. “We lock the main doors at midnight, so people have to use the intercom to get in. I’ll need to check who the night porter was last night.”
“Thanks. And can you make sure that no one goes into 204. I mean, no one. No chambermaids. No one.”
The manager nodded, looking anxious. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but what do you think has happened? I mean, after the last incident, we’re all a bit on edge.”
“Trust me,” Nergui said, “I’m as much on edge as any of you. As for what’s happened, well, I haven’t a clue at the moment. I’m hoping nothing’s happened. But I’m fearing-well, I don’t even know what I’m fearing, except that it’s nothing good.”
Back down in the hotel lobby, Nergui commandeered the manager’s office as a makeshift base. The manager himself seemed only too pleased to hand over leadership to someone else.
While the manager was checking on the identity of the night porter, Nergui made another call to the embassy. The ambassador was still busy, as Nergui had expected, so he left a message for him to call back urgently. If anything had happened to Drew, it would be highly damaging if the ambassador was not advised of the situation immediately. He had also left a message for his own Minister, briefly setting out the current situation. In the circumstances, he recognized that this was probably the least welcome news the Minister could have received. Losing one Westerner might be an accident. Losing two-and one of them a senior policeman at that-might well be construed as criminal negligence. Nergui’s was not the only career that was likely to be on the line here.
Oddly, Nergui felt remarkably calm. As soon as he had realized that Drew had not returned to his room the previous evening, his personal anxiety had melted away, replaced by an almost glacial attention to the minutiae of his duties. This was one of his strengths-the capacity to detach himself from personal emotions and lock himself rigorously into the requirements of his job. It was, he suspected, not a particularly attractive personal quality, but it was one of the factors that contributed to his professional effectiveness. In this case, though, he was conscious that his own emotions were buried not far below the surface.
The manager returned a few moments later with the night porter. He was a tall man, dressed in blue overalls. As the night porter sat down at the manager’s desk, Nergui could smell alcohol on the man’s breath. It was not clear whether he had slept since completing his shift early that morning.
Nergui nodded to him. “I do not need to detain you long,” he said. “Just a few simple questions.”
The night porter looked anxious. Nergui guessed that, in that line of work, there was always temptation to break the rules, or even the law in minor ways-drinking, petty theft. Probably the porter assumed that he had been caught out in some transgression and was about to be sacked, if not arrested. In other instances, Nergui might have been tempted to play that to his advantage, but that did not seem appropriate at the moment.
“You were on duty last night?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Came on at eleven thirty, worked through to seven.”
Nergui paused, as though taking in this information. “Were there any disturbances last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”
The man shook his head. “Nothing. It was a quiet night.” He looked nervously across at the manager. Nergui suspected that the porter had probably spent much of the night asleep.
“I dropped off an English couple after midnight. Did any other guests return after that?”
“Not last night. We don’t tend to get many. If tourists go out to eat, they tend to be back before then. There’s not a lot of late night entertainment. The bar here’s open till one, so if people want to drink they usually stay here.”
“So there was no one else?”
“No one.”
Nergui leaned forward across the table, staring intently at the porter. “You’re absolutely sure of that?” he said. “This is very important. I’m not trying to catch you out. I just need to be sure.”
The man nodded, more nervous now, but apparently telling the truth. “I’m sure,” he said. “Nobody can get in without using the intercom. Even if I was-” For a moment, Nergui thought he was going to say “asleep” but he went on: “Even if I was away from the desk for some reason, they’d have to wait till I got back.”
“And it’s not possible that someone else might have let anyone in in your absence.”
“Not last night. There was no one around. I was the only one on duty. The bar closed early-before midnight-because no one was in. So, no, I’m sure no one else came in after midnight.”
“Okay, that’s fine. That’s all. Thank you for your help.”
The porter looked surprised and relieved, as if he’d been reprieved from some major crime. He smiled and nodded, and looked across at the manager. “No problem,” he said. “I’m here on site if you need anything else.” He rose and hurried out of the room before anything more could be said.
“Assiduous chap,” Nergui commented.
“He’d have been asleep most of the night,” the manager said. “Probably half drunk. Or more. But I’m sure he’s right. Even if he was dead to the world, it would just mean that no doors stayed locked. We’ve got video cameras over the entrance so we can check the tapes to be sure, but I think you can safely assume that nobody else came in here after midnight last night.”
Nergui rose. “We may need to talk to other staff at some point. But if he was the only one on duty, I don’t imagine anyone else can tell us much.”
The manager shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought so. I mean, we’ll give any help we can. What’s this all about?”
Nergui hesitated for a moment. The manager would have no difficulty looking up Drew’s name or recognizing that he was a Westerner. He might even have some knowledge of who Drew was. “Look,” he said, “this is all highly confidential. Nothing must leak out. I’m serious, if anything about this appears in the press, I’ll be back here before you can open your mouth again. And you’re likely to become closely acquainted with the inside of our magnificent prison facilities. So don’t say a word to anyone. Not even gossip.”
The manager was wide eyed. “I wouldn’t-”
“Of course. But I can’t take any risk on this one.”
“You think this guest-this Mr. McLeish-has gone missing?”
Nergui was not surprised that the manager had already checked Drew’s name. “We don’t know,” he said. “All we know is he didn’t come back here last night.”
“And is this connected to the previous-incident?”
Nergui was tiring of providing explanations, but he recognized the importance of treating the man with some courtesy. “Probably not. As I say, it may all turn out to be nothing. But, especially given the previous incident, we can’t afford to be too careful.”
The manager nodded, with some enthusiasm. “Of course, of course. I understand. As I say, if there is anything more I can do to help-”
“We will be in touch. I am very grateful for your kind assistance today. I am sorry that I was so peremptory in dealing with your receptionist, but you will appreciate I was in a hurry. Please pass on my apologies.”
Nergui thought that by now he had laid the polite
ness on quite thickly enough. “But remember,” he said, turning as he opened the door, “say nothing. To anybody.”
Outside, the day was bright but cold. Nergui hurried across Sukh Bataar Square, pulling his coat tightly around him. As he walked he checked his cell phone which he had switched off while interviewing the porter. There were two messages-one from the ambassador’s secretary to say that he was now free and could Nergui call back, and, inevitably, one from the Minister. The latter was not a conversation he was looking forward to. He procrastinated briefly by calling the ambassador as he walked.
Eventually, he was put through. “What is it, Nergui? The message sounded urgent.”
“It may be. You haven’t seen Chief Inspector McLeish since we left last night?”
“No. I waved you off, saw him start to walk down the street. That’s all. Why? Has something happened?”
“It looks as if he never returned to the hotel.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Nergui heard the vague swish of static, the sound of the ambassador’s breathing. “How do you know?” he said at last.
“I’ve been trying to contact him all morning. Left messages. For some reason, I got worried and went over to the hotel. His bed wasn’t slept in. The night porter on duty has no recollection of letting him in after midnight.”
“It was-what, about twelve fifteen when you left here? But where can he have gone? It’s only five minutes back to the hotel.”
“I know,” Nergui said, feeling an unavoidable sense of personal responsibility. “That’s why we let him walk. I mean, there’s no doubt some straightforward explanation-”
“I don’t know what it could be,” the ambassador said bluntly, echoing Nergui’s own thoughts. “I mean, he doesn’t know anyone here, so if he didn’t come back to the embassy, there’s nowhere else he’s going to go. He was a little drunk-I mean, is it possible that he ended up going to the wrong hotel or something stupid like that?”
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