The Adversary (42 page)

“Well, that is the question, isn't it?” Nergui said. “As I see it, a combination of things all happened at once. The most important one, I'm sure, is that young Gavaa here found himself on the brink of adulthood. His mother realized that, before long, the allowance was going to cease. So she made one last request. Or was it a demand? She asked you to take him into the family business.”

Gavaa sat forward, looking as if he had suddenly returned to life. “She didn't do that. It was nothing to do with her. I made the contact. She always thought she had to do everything. But it was me. I wasn't going to be stuck out there forever, herding sheep. I wanted to be—”

“Like your father?”

The young man nodded, his face reddening. “I
suppose so. He'd talked to people—to my uncles and others—years ago about how he was working with Muunokhoi—this was when Muunokhoi was just beginning to become a public figure—about how he had Muunokhoi just where he wanted because he had evidence that would bring him down. Nobody believed him. They thought it was just the drink talking. And, years later, when Muunokhoi became really famous, my uncles used to tell the stories, laughing at what my father had claimed, making a fool of him—”

“But you thought he had been telling the truth?”

“I knew he'd been telling the truth. He was a clever man and a brave one.” He stopped and looked at Muunokhoi. “Worth ten of this—”

“So you approached Muunokhoi?”

“Yes. I made contact. It wasn't easy. But when he realized who I was he agreed to see me. I didn't threaten him or anything—”

Muunokhoi laughed harshly. The words sounded absurd coming from the mouth of the trembling teenager, but Nergui seemed to be taking him seriously.

“Of course you didn't,” Nergui said. “You just talked about your father and how he'd worked with Muunokhoi. And you asked whether Muunokhoi would be prepared to give you a job.”

“That's what happened,” Gavaa said, miserably. “I just thought that—well, that he must have respected my father. That he'd want to help.”

“You didn't know that he'd been paying an allowance to your mother all your life? That he might be your father?”

“He's not my father,” the boy said indignantly. “But, no, I didn't know any of that. I was just using my initiative. Following up my father's networks. And it worked. He took me on. Said he wanted me to be his—”

“Protégé?” Nergui prompted.

“Something like that. He wanted to honor my father's memory—”

Nergui turned to Muunokhoi. “It was just another lever for you. Another insurance policy. Make sure he was with you, implicated in everything you did. Even if his mother did have any dirt on you, she couldn't use it.”

Muunokhoi opened his mouth to say something but the boy interrupted before he could speak.

“That's exactly it,” he said. “Exactly what he did. I thought he was going to involve me in the business but he didn't. He put me with his heavies, his—security team—” He stopped, almost sobbing now, then continued, barely in control. “We killed someone. The second day I was there.” His eyes were wide, staring at the ground, but it wasn't clear what he was actually seeing. “They called it discipline,” he said. “Someone who'd—I don't know—but they were going to punish him. I had to go, they said, so I'd understand how things were done. I thought—I thought they were just going to burn the car. I thought it must be his car—the person they were punishing.” He paused, hardly able to continue. “But he was inside, locked in the trunk. They told me later, but I already knew. And they said it should be a lesson to me if I ever did anything—”

Muunokhoi shook his head and climbed slowly to
his feet. “Enough of these stories,” he said. “Why do you think I am interested? Why do you think I brought you here?”

Nergui shrugged. “I presume for the same reason you brought Mrs. Radnaa here. Or wherever you've taken her.”

Muunokhoi laughed. In other circumstances, Doripalam thought, it would have been fascinating to watch this clash of egos. Muunokhoi was standing, looking as if it was he who was out of his familiar element, trying to regain some ground.

“You're right, of course, Nergui,” Muunokhoi said. “I wanted you here initially because of Mrs. Radnaa. I thought she might have given you—whatever she had.” For a moment, he looked confused as if suddenly even he was unsure where all this was heading. “But that is unimportant now. If you and your colleague—” He glanced down at Doripalam. “If you and your colleague are out of the picture, then I no longer need to have any concerns about what incriminating material might be out there.”

“What makes you think that?” Doripalam said, speaking for the first time. “Nergui and I are just two small parts of the machine. If there is something out there to incriminate you, it will see the light eventually.”

“Do you really believe that?” Muunokhoi said. “You're even more naïve than you look. Do you really understand the nature of the team you supposedly lead? I think Nergui knows better.”

“You don't own everyone,” Nergui said. “Not every officer is in your pocket.”

“Of course not. I would not be so presumptuous. But I own, as you put it, most of those who matter. Yourselves excluded, of course.” He glanced across at Luvsan, who avoided his gaze. “Luvsan is one of my most loyal and pro-active servants, but he is by no means the only one. I think that now I can be reasonably confident that, even if some material does emerge, it will be handled with—discretion.”

“So what are you planning to do with us?” Doripalam said. “Even you wouldn't dare to kill two senior government officials.”

Muunokhoi smiled. “You really don't understand this, do you? You really don't understand me. I can do anything. I'm the power in this country now. Me and people like me.”

There was a moment's silence. Then Nergui said, his face as expressionless as ever: “I haven't finished telling the story yet. Perhaps I should.”

“There's no need, Nergui,” Muunokhoi said. “I think we all know how the story is going to end.”

“Go on, then. You may as well get on with it,” she said.

Tunjin stared down at the woman, wondering what she was talking about. “I don't—”

“Are you the best they could find?” she said. “Still, I don't imagine they expected much resistance. Maybe I should try to prove them wrong.”

She looked vaguely familiar, he thought. A very elegant middle-aged woman, now slightly disheveled. Perhaps she was one of Muunokhoi's girlfriends, maybe a celebrity of some kind. But, if so, what was she doing in the cellar? Perhaps she'd just been down
here for some reason and had assumed him to be—what? A burglar? It was as if she had been expecting him.

Tunjin held up his hands, realizing too late that he was holding a gun in one of them. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes opened in surprise. “You aren't? Then why are you here? I told Muunokhoi, I don't have anything. I can't harm him. He's made a mistake.” She paused, thinking that it was worth one last effort. “He can let me go. I mean, I'm not pleased about any of this. But I'm not going to make an issue of it. Not if he just lets me go.”

Tunjin blinked at her, trying to work this out. “Muunokhoi is holding you against your will?”

“Well, of course he is.” She looked around the empty cellar. “Did you think I was enticed by the comfortable environment?”

“No, but—” He was finally beginning to work out the misunderstanding here. “I don't work for Muunokhoi.” He smiled, finally, with the recognition that he and this woman might be potential allies. “I'm a stranger here myself,” he said. “That is, I'm an intruder. I broke into the house.”

“A brave intruder, then,” she said, trying to understand this. “I don't imagine many people choose to break in here.”

“It's a long story,” he said. “But I'm not a thief. I'm a policeman.” He paused. “Or at least I was.”

She nodded, trying to behave as if this was the most natural conversation to have while locked in an empty cellar. Or rather, she thought suddenly, reflecting on
Tunjin's presence, now apparently not locked in a cellar. “Well, that's obviously destiny,” she said, “because I'm a judge.”

“A judge?” He stared at her for a moment, as his brain made connections. So that was why she'd looked familiar. She'd been pointed out to him—before everything fell apart—as the judge in Muunokhoi's aborted trial. “Is that why you're here?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. It's another long story. And one I'm not sure I understand myself.” She looked behind him at the stone stairs rising up to the cellar entrance, conscious that at any moment they might receive another, less welcome visitor. “Look, I don't know why you're here,” she said. “But can you get us out of here? The cellar, I mean.”

Tunjin produced the heavy key from his pocket. “From the cellar, yes. But I don't know that we'll be able to get out of the house. It's very secure. Cameras. Guards. You name it. They'd stop us before we'd gone five meters.”

“What about you?” she said. “How were you planning to get out?”

He shrugged. “I wasn't, really. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean? What were you going to do?”

“I was going to kill Muunokhoi,” he said, simply. “I thought it would be a public service. If I don't, he'll kill me anyway. So I might as well try to get a two-way deal. But—” He paused, as if a new thought had struck him. “I don't know what will happen to the rest of them.”

“The rest of them?”

“You're not the only captive here. Muunokhoi has more upstairs.” He stopped. “He's gone mad. He really must be insane.”

“What captives? Who?”

He shook his head. “Police officers. Senior officers. Ministry officials. He's insane.”

She was staring at him aghast. “Ministry officials? Who do you mean?”

“It's unbelievable,” he said. “You know Nergui? Used to be our chief. And Doripalam. He's our chief now. They're both there.”

“Nergui?” she said, with a look more despairing than he might have expected. “That must be because of me. That's my fault. He warned me. Muunokhoi warned me. But I never imagined he could do it so quickly.”

“I think none of us know what Muunokhoi is capable of,” he said. “Some of us thought we knew. But we've always fallen short. He's always been one step ahead.” He looked at the elegant Mrs. Radnaa, wondering how it could be that Nergui's imprisonment here could be her fault.

“We have to do it,” she said. “You're right. Nergui wouldn't want us to hesitate. If we don't do it, they're dead anyway. We're all dead anyway.”

He nodded. There was no question really. The only issue was whether, talking like this, they had now left it too long, missed their opportunity.

And that question was answered almost immediately by the sound of the cellar door opening above them.

*

“I think it is time,” Muunokhoi said, “for you to be reunited with Mrs. Radnaa. It will be very touching.”

Nergui said nothing, and his face gave nothing away. His pale blue eyes were blazing but there was no way of reading his emotions. Doripalam, a step or two behind, tried to emulate the older man's apparent lack of emotion, but feared that he was far from successful. Perhaps Nergui had some plan up his sleeve, but it was difficult to conceive what it might be. There could be no way out of this. He glanced back at Luvsan who was standing holding his gun, apparently casual, but careful not to catch Doripalam's gaze. I hope he feels it's worth whatever he's getting for this, Doripalam thought.

They were standing outside the door of the cellar. Muunokhoi reached forward and then stopped, looking quizzically around at his henchmen. “Who's got the key? I left it here.”

There was a moment's silence. Muunokhoi turned the handle, clearly not expecting the door to open. He stepped back in surprise as it swung back easily. “Who's been in here?” he said. He looked at each of them in turn. “One of you idiots forgot to lock it.”

Again, there was no response. Doripalam looked around at the group. It wasn't difficult to gauge what they were thinking. It was Muunokhoi who had come out of that door last. It was Muunokhoi who had failed to lock it behind him. It was Muunokhoi—they were thinking but dared not say—who was losing it.

“She can't have gotten out, anyway,” Muunokhoi said, as if to reassure himself. “Just be more careful next time, whoever it was.”

He pulled open the door and then stared down the stairway. At the bottom, just visible, Mrs. Radnaa was standing. He could see little more than a silhouette. She stood, apparently calmly, as though awaiting an expected visitor.

Muunokhoi stepped aside and gestured Nergui, Doripalam and Gavaa to step forward on to the top landing. Doripalam hesitated on the threshold, recognizing that there was likely to be no way back from this point, wondering how it might be possible to resist.

There was, it turned out, no opportunity. Seeing Doripalam's hesitation, Muunokhoi gestured to Luvsan who stepped forward and, raising his gun, slammed it hard against his former chief's head. Doripalam collapsed forward, staggering onto the top of the steps and then fell halfway down the stone flight, hitting his head against the wall. He lay, sprawled and motionless, halfway down the flight of stairs, his body twisted. There was no way of telling whether he was still alive.

There was a moment's pause, as if everyone had stopped breathing in sympathy. Then, moving with extraordinary speed, Nergui grabbed Luvsan's gun arm and twisted it painfully. Somehow managing to remove the gun in the process, he turned and threw Luvsan past Doripalam's prone body down the stairs. Luvsan hit the concrete floor with a sickening thump and lay still. This time, there seemed little doubt about his mortality.