The Adversary

by Michael Walters

  Even so, he found himself disappointed that the text message should have cut the meeting shorter than he intended.

  The large black official car pulled to a stop outside her apartment block. Nergui was pleased to note that a police officer was positioned discreetly in the shadows, ensuring protection in case the threats should turn out to have any substance.

  Rain had swept in from the north, falling in heavy windswept sheets down the dimly lit street. This was, he noted, one of the more upmarket parts of town, not far from his own apartment.

  She peered out through the car window. “I’m going to have to make a run for it,” she said. “I didn’t expect this kind of weather tonight.”

  “It’s cold, too,” Nergui said. “Look, I’m really sorry I’ve had to bring you straight back. I was hoping we could have had another drink.”

  “Probably not the weather for it, anyway,” she said. “But, yes, I’m sorry too. I’ve enjoyed the evening. It’s a rare pleasure for me—eating out, someone else paying, and not even on official business. And I imagine that urgent phone messages are an occupational hazard for someone in your position.” She paused, smiling. “Mind you, if it had come earlier in the evening, I would have assumed you were looking for an excuse to bail out.”

  He laughed. “On the contrary,” he said, “I was trying to find an excuse not to bail out. But it really is urgent.”

  “Oh, well. I suppose that means I’m off to bed, while you’re back off to work.”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  They made their goodbyes, even a polite European-style kiss on the cheeks, and then she was gone, out into the rain, holding her coat over her head. Nergui watched her run into the lobby of the apartment block, shaking off the rain and standing waiting for the elevator.

  The driver turned, blank faced. “Back to headquarters now, sir?”

  Nergui hesitated. “No,” he said. “Take me home. I’ve got some calls to make but I can make them from there.”

  Nergui’s own apartment was only another ten or fifteen minutes away. He dismissed the driver, and then walked slowly across the pavement to the doors of the apartment block, perversely enjoying the slow drip of the rain through his hair and down his face. He was, he realized, delaying the moment when he would have to return home and start to deal with all of this. Even though he didn’t know yet what all this might actually turn out to be.

  He shook the rain from his hair then hurried into the lobby of the apartment block, and made his way rapidly up the stairs one floor to his apartment.

  The apartment was, as always, warm and comfortable, a haven that Nergui had created for himself away from the bustle of his daily business. He’d pulled strings to get some of the furniture, shipping heavy mahogany items in from Russia and the West. Unmarried, no dependents, with a high ranking government job, he could afford to spend money on this kind of thing. But there were times when it seemed a poor substitute for human company.

  He poured himself a small glass of vodka and then sat down on one of the plush crimson armchairs. He pulled his cell out of his pocket, thumbed the keys and looked again at the text message that had been sent earlier. The number had not been concealed, which might have been a mistake. Nergui had no idea how easy or difficult it might be to monitor cell phone calls.

  He hesitated for a moment longer, then dialed in the call back sequence. There was a long moment’s silence then the ringing tone. The ringing tone ran on, and at first Nergui thought that no one was going to answer. But, finally, just when he was on the point of giving up, the call was picked up.

  “Yes?” The voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper.

  “Tunjin?”

  A pause. “It’s you,” Tunjin said, finally.

  “Are you all right?” Nergui said. Tunjin’s voice was faint, static ridden.

  “For the moment, yes. But they’re on to me—”

  Nergui nodded, slowly. “It was inevitable,” he said. “You should never have gotten caught up in this. Especially not the way you did.” He cursed himself inwardly. There was no point in berating Tunjin about this now. Tunjin’s intentions were good, but he’d done a stupid thing. He just hadn’t realized what he was up against.

  “Where are you—? No, don’t tell me,” Nergui said. “I don’t know how secure this line is. Are you somewhere safe?”

  “I think so,” Tunjin said. “But I don’t know how long I can stay here.”

  Nergui sat back in his chair, trying to decide on the best way forward. His own inquiries were going too slowly, making too little progress. He didn’t have enough information to protect Tunjin. He still didn’t know who was on the inside. But if they were after him, Tunjin was unlikely to have much breathing space.

  “Can you get to the usual place?” Nergui said. “Just say yes or no.”

  There was another audible hesitation. “Yes.”

  “Can you be there in an hour? Again, just say yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well meet there,” Nergui said. He looked at his watch. Ten thirty. “Eleven thirty. Don’t say anything else. Just hang up.”

  As instructed, the line went dead and Nergui sat for a moment, listening to the silence. Maybe he was just being paranoid. He would certainly be wary of the phones in headquarters, and maybe even of those in his own office in the Ministry, even though those were regularly swept for listening devices. But he really didn’t know what was possible with a cell phone. He understood that digital phones were more secure, but didn’t know what that really meant. And the one thing he had learned from this whole sorry affair was not to underestimate the opposition. They had gotten on to Tunjin’s schemes quickly enough, and then even more quickly had gotten on to Tunjin. They undoubtedly knew what Nergui was up to, even though his inquiry was supposedly confidential. Indeed, Nergui’s logic had been that, since the chances of keeping his involvement quiet were effectively zero in any case, he might as well try to use his presence to try to smoke them out. But quite possibly they were too clever for that.

  Nergui swallowed the last of his vodka. The next question was whether he could get to their designated rendezvous safely. The last thing he wanted was to draw Tunjin into an ambush. They had used the same spot as a meeting place for years—the legacy of a surveillance case they had been involved in years before. It had become almost a private joke between them, no need to spell it out. And Tunjin was even more streetwise than Nergui, so he would surely have spotted any pursuer. But there was always the risk that somewhere, somehow, they had been spotted.

  Nergui poured a second vodka and strolled over to the window. He pulled back the heavy tapestry curtain and peered out into the night. The rain was still falling and the street below looked deserted. Nergui stared out into the pale slick of the streetlight spread across the rain-drenched street, trying to discern any sign of movement.

  The meeting place was relatively close by—only a few minutes away by car, half an hour or so to walk. Probably best to drive, he thought. The car would be more conspicuous but would allow them the prospect of an immediate getaway if anything went wrong. In this situation, Nergui wanted to avoid vulnerability at all cost. He wanted to be in control. Or, at least, as in control as it was possible to be.

  He walked into the bedroom and pulled out a drawer from the heavy dark wood dressing table by his bed. Then he crouched and reached into the drawer space. Concealed at the back was a built-in gun safe, which he had had installed following the kidnapping of the English policeman the year before. Prior to that, Nergui had never kept firearms in his apartment, believing that it was appropriate only to keep firearms in his official capacity where they could be safely stored. But the kidnapping had unnerved him and he had suddenly recognized the vulnerability of his own position. He had increased the security on his apartment, and had decided for the first time to store one of his licensed handguns at home.

  He clicked open the safe and pulled out the pistol, feeling its cold weight in his
palm. He knew he was unlikely to deploy it. Although he was fully trained in its use, all his instincts were against using a weapon in any context other than a formal police exercise. And this, he thought, was anything but.

  He slipped the gun into his pocket, closed the safe and carefully replaced the drawer. Then he looked around him, as if he were being watched. The security on this place was as tight as it could be, but it was difficult to shake off the paranoia. There was no knowing who could be trusted here. He couldn’t even have risked having his apartment swept for bugging devices, because he wasn’t sure he could trust those who would be doing the sweeping. He was prepared to take that risk in his office environment because he could manage the potential consequences. But he needed this place to be genuinely safe, a haven.

  He shook his head. All this was getting to him. Maybe that was what had happened to Tunjin in the end. Maybe the paranoia had gotten to him, and that was what had forced him into that ridiculous plan. If so, who knew what state he might be in by now?

  He looked at his watch. Just after eleven. Probably still slightly early to be setting out, but he was finding the waiting too much. He paced up and down again, and then made his way to the front door of the apartment. He paused for a moment and leaned forward to peer out through the tiny spyglass. The distorted image of the corridor showed it to be empty.

  He hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked back into the kitchen. He picked up a loaf of bread, some pieces of fruit that were sitting in the bowl on the table, a couple of bottles of water. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had easily available. Back in the hallway, he retrieved a canvas rucksack from under the coat-rack and threw the items inside. Then he unlocked the door, pulled it open and stepped out into the empty corridor. Time to face the rain and the night, he thought, and whatever else might be waiting.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Doripalam said, peering into the truck.

  Yadamsuren nodded weakly. He looked pale and very shaken, curled up in the back seat of the truck.

  “Serves you right for mixing with us city folk,” Luvsan said. “We always bring trouble.”

  Yadamsuren smiled weakly. “Thanks for patching me up,” he said. “It hurts like hell but at least it’s not bleeding.”

  “I didn’t do much,” Luvsan said. “It was the old chap over there knew what he was about. Ten times more than my basic first aid.” He gestured to where Ravhjik had now re-joined his cousins. It was still raining, but the four men were sitting outside the gers, the rain pouring on to them, as if they were performing some kind of penance.

  “Do you want to press charges?” Doripalam said. He was also still standing out in the rain, his head peering in through the truck window, though he was well wrapped in a police-issue waterproof coat. “I’m very happy if you want to. I played softball with them in there to get them to talk, but I made it clear that it’s your call. We’re not normally too keen on allowing people to get away from shooting police officers.” He had already outlined to Luvsan and Yadamsuren the content of his discussion with Tseren.

  “From what you say, they were scared to death,” Yadamsuren said. “I’m not hurt—well, not seriously anyway. Don’t think we’d achieve very much by putting them through the legal mill.”

  “Increase your arrest tally,” Luvsan said. “That always looks good.”

  “I don’t think so,” Yadamsuren said.

  Doripalam nodded, mildly impressed by the young man’s fortitude. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. But it’s your decision.”

  Yadamsuren nodded. “I can live with the pain,” he smiled.

  “We’ll take them in, anyway,” Doripalam said. “I think they’ll be happy to volunteer. We need them as witnesses—I don’t want them getting away again. And we can offer them some protection.” He looked at Yadamsuren. “How long do you think it will take your people to get here?”

  “Twenty minutes. No more.”

  Doripalam looked at his watch. “They should be here any minute then. I’ll go down and prepare our friends. They might want to bring a change of clothes with them.”

  He walked back across the sodden grassland to where the four men were sitting crouched. There was an almost palpable sense of misery and shame hanging over the group, as if the reality of their relative’s violent death had only now hit them. Tseren looked up as Doripalam approached.

  “Truck should be here in a few minutes,” Doripalam said. “Get yourselves a change of clothes if you can. You’ll freeze to death otherwise. You’ll be relieved to know that my colleague has very generously decided not to press charges. But we would like you to come into the local station with us.”

  “How long will you need to hold us?” Tseren said.

  Doripalam shrugged. “I don’t really want to hold you at all,” he said. “I could arrest you and require you to assist with our inquiries, but I’d much rather you came voluntarily. We may need you as witnesses—you certainly have new information about Mrs. Tuya’s death and possibly also about Gavaa’s disappearance. More importantly, though, we want to ensure that you’re safe.”

  “Do you think you can do that?”

  “If you’re not safe with us, you’re not safe anywhere,” Doripalam said, recognizing that this didn’t entirely answer their question. “We don’t know if someone really is after you, but if they are you’re safer with us than you are out here.”

  Tseren nodded and glanced at the others. “That sounds reasonable,” he says. “I am very happy to come with you.” The others nodded slightly in agreement, still crouched in the pouring rain.

  “Thank you.” Doripalam could see the lights of an approaching truck, some way distant across the plain. “They’ll pick you up and take you to the local station,” he said. “I’ve got other business now, but I’ll send someone up in the morning to talk to you properly.”

  The truck pulled up a few minutes later. There were two local officers, bemused at this summons late in the night. Doripalam had explained the situation briefly to the senior officer, but it was not clear how much of this explanation had reached the officers now standing before him. The older of the two—a tall, skinny individual with an apparently permanent expression of disdain—emerged from the truck and stood in front of Doripalam.

  “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.”