The Outcast (41 page)

At the same instant, the minister let out a sudden grunt of anger. She followed his gaze and looked through the windshield. The road stretched out ahead, converging lines disappearing into the haze of the summer sunshine. The dark shape of the Naadam Stadium rose to their left.

At first, everything was lost in the shimmering heat. Then she saw what the minister had already seen. A flickering line of blue lights across the road. A roadblock.

The minister leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Looks as if the road's closed for some reason. Something to do with the festival, maybe. Turn around and we'll find another way through.” His voice sounded remarkably calm, as if this was just another minor irritation in his busy day.

The driver shook his head. “I don't think so, sir. I think we'll just carry on, if it's all the same to you.”

The minister's mouth opened but, for a second, no sound emerged. “What the hell do you think … ?” But then something
about the driver's tone struck him. “You're not one of the usual drivers, are you?” he said.

“Not really, sir. But don't worry, I'm fully trained.” The driver placed his foot more heavily on the accelerator and the car picked up speed towards the roadblock. “I'd advise you to throw the gun into the front of the car, sir. Gently, if you please. We don't want it going off accidently.”

The minister was staring at him, his face white. “Who the hell are you to—”

“I can understand your irritation, sir,” the driver went on. “I'd appreciate it if you don't make it any more difficult than it needs to be.”

The minister was twisting his head, trying to spot another escape route. They were now only a few hundred metres from the line of police cars. There was a cluster of officers, some armed, crouched behind their vehicles.

“I'll be damned if I'll let you tell me what to do,” Bakei said. He had pulled the pistol free of his jacket pocket. For a moment, he waved it in the air, as if unsure how to deploy it. Then he thrust it firmly into the driver's neck. “Turn back,” he said, calmly.

“No point,” the driver said, his voice equally steady. He had slowed slightly, but there had been no other obvious effect on his driving. “Look back. There's another block already in place.” He paused and added, sadly: “I really hoped that you'd respond more sensibly, sir.”

“Okay, pull off here. Towards the stadium.” Although the main roads into the stadium area had already been blocked by police cars ahead of them, there were a couple of dirt tracks leading into the open ground alongside the arena. It was difficult to see where they might lead, other than towards the parking lot and the arena itself. But it was clear that there were no other options.

“If you insist, sir,” the driver said. Solongo was becoming absurdly irritated by his insistent use of the word “sir.” She couldn't work out if it was ironic or simply habit, but it seemed inappropriate in the circumstances.

The driver twisted the wheel hard to the left, and they pulled off the main road, bumped uncomfortably across the broad gully, and then hit the dirt track towards the stadium. The car bounced in the air, throwing the minister and Solongo back into their seats. Ahead of them, she could see that the men around the police cars had noted the change of direction. The car that had been covering the main entrance to the stadium turned and began to head along the entry road, clearly intending to intercept them.

The driver glanced back over his shoulder, smiling broadly. “Where now, sir?” he said.

Nergui's body was twisted so that he could peer out at the cityscape spread out before them. From here, the capital looked small, its scattering of old and new buildings dwarfed by the sheer scale of the surrounding steppe. The sun was low behind them, and the taller buildings threw the heart of the city into rich shadow. Ahead of them, he could make out the green expanse of Nairamdal Park, the dull vermillion of the lake, the land stretching out to the Naadam Stadium.

Doripalam was listening to a radio message that the pilot had relayed through the headphones. “They think they've spotted him. The roadblock's in place. And they've confirmed the message you picked up from Sarangarel. There was an explosion in the stadium, but there don't seem to be any serious casualties.”

“We can be thankful for small mercies, then. I just hope there are no more devices in there. As for the minister, well, I don't know how he'll react,” Nergui said. “He's not one of life's losers. He won't come quietly as long as he thinks there's some chance of getting out of this.”

“Don't you think he'll try to bluff his way out?”

“He knows it's too late for that. I imagine he's had an exit route planned for a long time.” Nergui paused. “There's a private jet based at the airport. Belongs to one of the entrepreneurs for whom the minister's done a few favours over the years. I've had a man out there keeping an eye on it. The pilot took a call about thirty
minutes ago and has been organising permission to take off. Destination Beijing. All the formalities cleared.”

“By the minister?”

“By the minister. I can't even block it. No one can, unless we escalate it up to the prime minister or president. But I don't think that will be necessary.”

“What about your man in the car?” Doripalam said. “Does he know what he's doing?”

“Lambaa?” Nergui shrugged. “There's no one better. Present company possibly excepted.” He looked across at Doripalam. “You know how it is,” he said. “You more than anyone. There are no guarantees. But Lambaa will do what he can. And he can do more than most.”

“And this is assuming Solongo is still with him.”

“I think we can reasonably assume that, from what Tunjin told us. She's the only bargaining chip he has.”

“That's very reassuring, Nergui.”

“Not my strong point, reassurance, as you know. But it does mean that there's every reason for Bakei to keep her alive for as long as possible.”

“You're right about reassurance not being your strong point,” Doripalam said. “But I see what you mean.” He hoped that he sounded calmer than he was feeling. He had always admired Nergui's professional detachment, but now he began to suspect that the older man's lack of emotion verged on the inhuman. Doripalam could feel panic welling up inside him, as he struggled to maintain the composure that he knew his job demanded.

The call from Tunjin had reached them just a few minutes earlier, confirming all they had feared and more. Tunjin himself was safe. He had half-expected some trouble with the dark-suited men, but the two who were still standing were interested only in saving their own skins. The man on the floor had been left behind, still semiconscious. He needed medical help, and they seemed quite happy to leave that to Tunjin. Tunjin had called police HQ, discovered that Doripalam was in transit with Nergui, and then
called Nergui's cell phone with the news about the minister and Solongo. In the end, he didn't know whether he had helped protect Solongo or had simply driven her into deeper trouble. But now he had to depend on Doripalam and Nergui to get her out of it.

A similar thought was running through Doripalam's mind as the helicopter hovered high above the Naadam Stadium. He could see the line of police cars far below, the flickering of blue lights along the roadblock. A scattering of trucks and cars in the stadium parking lot. And then, to the north of the stadium, a single car heading at speed over the rough terrain, trailing clouds of dust. Another car was speeding from the main road to intercept it.

Doripalam felt an icy clutch of fear in his stomach. “I hope your man Lambaa knows what he's doing.” Doripalam said. “We need to be down there.”

“On the other side of the stadium, I think. We don't want to spook the minister into doing something stupid.”

Doripalam's own instinct was to get close to the speeding car, but he recognised that Nergui was right. “Or something even more stupid.”

There was a movement from the front seat. Odbayar had been slumped against the side of the cockpit, still sleeping, for the whole journey. Now, finally, he was stirring. His eyes opened and he stared around, frantically, trying to work out where he was. “What's happening?” he said. “Sam?” Then he paused, and a look of bafflement ran across his face. “He must have drugged me—I don't know …” The puzzled expression was replaced by one of panic.

Nergui leaned forward and rested a hand on him. “Don't worry. You're safe. We're police officers. We're bringing you back to the city, that's all.” He glanced across at Doripalam, clearly wondering how much more to say.

Odbayar seemed to be at least momentarily calmed by Nergui's words. He leaned forward and peered out of the window. “That's the Naadam Stadium,” he said. “What's going on down there?”

Nergui looked across at Doripalam, perhaps in the hope that the younger man would take up the story. But Doripalam's gaze was fixed on the ground below, his mind wrestling with how they could intercept Bakei.

Nergui leaned forward again, speaking softly into his headset. “It's a long story,” he said. “But I think I should tell you it before we touch down. You need to know.”

Sarangeral had been watching the roadblock, wondering what was happening. Clearly something serious, she thought, looking at the lines of armed police crouched behind the cars, until finally the gathering crowd was moved back behind some hurriedly erected barriers.

It was then that she had received the return call from Nergui. He explained briefly his and Doripalam's position, his voice metallic through the helicopter's radio.

“You're coming here?” she said.

“You can probably see us by now,” Nergui had pointed out. She could hear the throbbing of the engine down the line but could not, as yet, discern its real-life counterpart. But then she saw a small black dot appear in the northern sky, a sudden glitter as the rotors caught the rays of the lowering sun.

“But keep well back,” Nergui had said. “If the minister's heading in that direction, he'll be pretty desperate.”

It sounded absurd, she thought. The avuncular elderly man she had seen so often on the television screen, now fleeing with Solongo as a hostage.

“What about Odbayar?” she had asked, glancing across at Gundalai who was gazing at her anxiously.

“He's fine,” Nergui said.

She nodded to Gundalai, smiling, and watched an answering joyous smile spread across his face.

“Try and keep him that way, won't you?” she said, as Nergui cut the connection.

*

“So where do you suggest we go?” Lambaa said, struggling with the steering wheel as the car bounced on the uneven ground. Solongo noticed that he had finally given up on the “sir.”

The minister peered out of the rear window, then turned back to look at Lambaa. “Just keep going,” he said. “Get to the stadium, and we'll take it from there.”

“With respect,” Lambaa said, “there must be an easier solution. With someone of your status, it must be possible to concoct some sort of deal. Nobody's going to want this to come out.”

“That's what you think, is it?” the minister said. “It might have been true once but not today. There are too many people who want to destroy me.” It was amazing, Solongo thought, that even in these circumstances, the politician's rhetoric and self-regard still came to the fore. “They don't want a quiet deal, knifing me in the back and shipping me silently into exile. They'll want to bring me down with as much noise as possible. They don't just want to destroy me. They want to destroy the government. Our democracy.”

Solongo struggled to reconcile the minister's impassioned espousal of democracy with the gun that was pressed firmly into Lambaa's neck.

They were close to the stadium now. The police car that had been moving to intercept them had paused, fifty yards ahead, the driver waiting to see what would happen next.

“So what are we proposing to do?” Lambaa asked calmly.

“Get close to the stadium. Over there. Then stop.”

“If you say so.” He pulled the wheel to the left, slowing as they reached the shadow of the arena. “This do?”

“Perfect,” Bakei said. He leaned back in the rear seat, the gun still inches away from Lambaa's neck.

Lambaa turned off the engine, and glanced back over his shoulder. “So what now?”

“Now we stay here,” the minister said. He laughed, unexpectedly. “It's only just occurred to me that it's the safest place. I know these cars. Bullet-proof. Blast-proof. Pretty much impenetrable from the outside so long as you keep it locked. Designed to protect
the likes of me. Ironic, isn't it?” He smiled. “So I can just sit here and negotiate with those people out there until they let me through. This is going to be easier than I thought.” He pressed the gun harder into Lambaa's neck. “You'd better give your colleagues a call to break the good news.”

The helicopter hovered briefly over the stadium, and then began to descend, aiming for a clear space in the parking lot on the opposite side from where the minister's car had come to a halt.

Nergui had completed his summary of the events that had brought them all to this point. Odbayar was blank-faced, looking like an overwhelmed teenager rather than the demagogue who had paced the stage at the previous night's rally. It was difficult to tell what affected him more—his betrayal by his supposed political ally, Sam Yung, or the revelations of his own father's more substantial treachery. He had the air of a young man who had had all his illusions stripped away at once.

“So what's going to happen?” he said, finally. “To my father, I mean.”

“I think that depends on him,” Nergui said. “There would have been a time when someone like him would have been allowed a quiet exit.”

“Handed a revolver, you mean?” Odbayar said, bitterly.