The Shadow Walker (11 page)

“You don't cook at home?”

Drew shook his head. “Not really. I mean, basic stuff but nothing like this. My wife's the chef.”

Nergui nodded. “You have children?”

“Two,” Drew said. “Boys. Eight and ten.”

“That must be exhausting.”

“It can be. Especially for my wife, when I'm working long hours, which seems to be most of the time. So she tells me, at least.”

Nergui smiled. “Does she work also?”

“She's a teacher. Primary school. Young children.”

“Hard work, then. I imagine you don't have an easy time, if you are both working in these kinds of jobs?”

Drew thought about it. The question might have felt intrusive coming from someone else, but Nergui just seemed genuinely interested.

“It can be,” Drew said. “We both end up working long hours at times. Sue has preparation to do. And I think the work is very tiring for her. But we seem to get through all right, most of the time.”

“That is good,” Nergui said, sincerely. “I enjoy living alone, but there are times when I envy people like you.”

“Well, likewise,” Drew laughed. “Sometimes a bit of solitude would be welcome.”

“I'm sure,” Nergui nodded. “I've never really known anything else.”

“You've never—?” Drew stopped, embarrassed, unsure how he had been intending to finish the sentence. Been married? Been in a relationship? Anything sounded crass.

But Nergui seemed untroubled. “I was married once,” he said. “Briefly. A long time ago.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. As I say, a long time ago. It was the reason I first went to the West.”

“Really?”

“A long story. I met a young woman—a journalist from the US. This was what, fifteen years ago? I was working for the government here. My task was to show her around, look after her.”

Something about the way Nergui spoke the last words made
Drew look up. Again, it occurred to him to wonder about Nergui's background. What had been his role in the government, in the days when this country was still a satellite of the Soviet Union? And how precisely had Nergui been charged to “look after” the journalist? For that matter, had he similarly been charged to “look after” Drew? It seemed unlikely—Nergui was clearly the officer in charge of the murder case—but it also appeared that Nergui's current relationship with the police force was not necessarily straightforward.

“Anyway, you can no doubt guess how things turned out. We had a relationship. When she finished her assignment here, she left for the US and I decided to try to follow her. I didn't think it would be possible. Foreign travel was highly restricted in those days, and traveling to the US was almost unheard of. If I had been refused permission, I don't know how things would have turned out, whether I would have tried to leave somehow illegally. Probably not. I'm a very law-abiding individual, as befits my current role.”

“But you were allowed to go?” Drew said, with some incredulity.

“I was very fortunate,” Nergui said. “Things were just beginning to change here and in the USSR. This was the days of Gorbachev. There was a lot of optimism in the air, but also a lot of anxiety. We were already encountering pressures from commercial forces looking to exploit the resources we have in this country.”

Drew wasn't entirely sure where this was leading. “You mean minerals?”

“We are a potentially wealthy country. There were already people visiting our country who we suspected were engaged in—well, industrial espionage, I suppose. The interest was in discovering what resources we had, and how capable we were of exploiting them ourselves.”

“You're talking about commercial companies—multinationals?”

“Some of them. There was also support from various Governments, of course—the US, China—preparing to get their
fingers in the pie. The USSR as well, I think, saw the writing on the wall for its own future, and so was looking at commercial alliances as a means of protecting its own position here.”

“So how did this affect your being able to leave the country?”

Nergui laughed. “Very simply, as it turned out. I had been involved in some work here in the field of—well, I imagine you would call it industrial development. It was primitive stuff, looking back, but we were concerned that, when he finally opened our borders properly, we should not be exploited by our more powerful and experienced competitors. When I decided I wanted to leave, I proposed the idea that I should go to study business studies at Harvard. I would be able to learn what our Western rivals did and bring the knowledge back.”

“And the government allowed you to do that?”

Nergui looked momentarily embarrassed. “Ah, well, I do not like to—what do you say?—blow my own trumpet, but I had been a rather successful student during my time at university here. In academic terms, an outstanding student, I suppose. I was supposedly destined for great things in our government service, so it did not seem that outrageous an idea when I proposed it. A few years earlier it would have been impossible, of course, so I was very fortunate.”

“So you went to Harvard?”

“I did the MBA, yes. My friend—my girlfriend, I suppose she was by then—was based in Washington. But, from here, I thought that would be close enough. It wasn't, of course.”

“I'm sorry,” Drew said.

“These things happen. Our marriage was an attempt to keep it alive, but I think we both knew it was going nowhere.” He shrugged. “It's not the first time it's happened. It won't be the last. And it was probably all for the best. All of it, I mean. If it hadn't happened, well, I would have spent my whole life here. Which wouldn't have been a bad thing in itself, but I'm glad I've got a sense of what the world is like out there. It's a privilege shared by few of my fellow countrymen.”

“I suppose not,” Drew said. Various intertwined thoughts were drifting through his mind. He was trying to make sense of Nergui's story, which sounded just a little too neat, a little too pat in its narrative arc from love, through pursuit and parting, to self-consolation. Maybe it was just that Nergui had smoothed out the details and airbrushed out the pain and uncertainty that must surely have accompanied this story. Or perhaps the story itself was simply fiction, a cover to explain Nergui's visits to the States and the UK. Would it really have been possible to make such trips from here, even in the heady days of perestroika?

Which led inevitably to the second question. Just why was Nergui telling him all this? They had just met, scarcely knew one another, had nothing in common other than their interest in five brutal murders. It wasn't even clear that their interests in the murders coincided. So why would Nergui unburden himself of all this personal material? Was it simply that he really did have no other friends he could share this stuff with? Was it just that he was taking his first opportunity in years to talk about himself with someone who could do nothing with the information?

It didn't seem likely. Nergui didn't strike Drew as someone fraught with unspoken sorrows. He had told his story in straightforwardly factual terms, no sense of welling emotion. It was as if he had merely thought that Drew might be interested. Just making conversation.

And then, of course, lurking behind all that was the ambassador's parting comment. Stick close to Nergui, but watch your back. What the hell had that meant? For a moment, Drew felt very tired and very far from home. He was a simple man—intelligent enough, certainly for his current job, but with no real interest in or aptitude for politics, large or small. He disliked game playing, and it seemed like some games were being played here, even though it was far from clear who was involved. Drew very much wanted to trust Nergui, particularly in facing down the horrors they had encountered that afternoon, and his instincts told him that Nergui was trustworthy. But he knew that,
so far from everything familiar, it would be madness simply to trust his instincts.

“So how did you end up in the UK?” Drew said, conscious that the silence had been prolonged.

“I finished the MBA, and then—well, I thought I'd carry on. I spoke with the authorities here, and it was generally agreed that I should get the most out of it while I was in the West. I ended up taking a Doctorate in Business Administration at your London Business School. It was hard work because I knew that I would not be able to stay more than a year.”

“You completed a Doctorate in a year?” Drew said. Maybe the story was fiction after all.

Nergui nodded. “As I say, it was hard. I'd already begun some of the research at Harvard, so I was able to build on that.”

“Even so,” Drew said, “that's impressive.”

“Well, I don't know. I've always had an aptitude for academic work, research. It comes fairly naturally to me. These are skills I can still use in my work. You also, I imagine?”

Drew laughed. “Not to the same standard, I'm afraid. I have a university degree but nothing special.”

“As I say, it's just a gift—a small one, but sometimes useful.”

If Nergui was making this up, he was doing so very convincingly. There was no sense of arrogance or boasting about his achievements. If anything, he seemed mildly embarrassed, with something of the air of a golfer who has just hit a hole in one but doesn't know quite how he did it. And, if it was true, there was no doubting Nergui's intelligence at least.

“What did you do when you came back here?” Drew asked. “How did you end up in—your current role?” He realized, almost too late, that he didn't actually officially know what Nergui's role was.

“Another long story. But basically I came back as—well, what you would call an intelligence officer, I suppose. I was well regarded, as you can imagine, especially with my newly gained experience and qualifications. By this time, we were beginning to approach something closer to what you Westerners would
consider normality. People were actually being allowed to visit countries outside the Eastern Bloc. We had tourists coming here for the first time. Foreign investment began to enter the country. We even started to build some sort of relationship with China. So it was an ideal time for someone with my background.”

While he was talking, Nergui cleared the dishes into the kitchen. He returned, a few moments later, carrying steaming plates. “Mutton,” he explained. “I hope you like it.”

Drew did like it, though he would have been hard pressed to describe the tastes. It was a spicy stew, which Drew would have characterized as Middle Eastern without really having much idea what it comprised. “Very good,” he said, truthfully. “You were telling me about your career,” he prompted.

“Well, it's not that interesting,” Nergui said. “I progressed fairly rapidly up the ranks here, mainly just because I was in the right place at the right time. I was attached to the militia, but mostly working on intelligence projects alongside our Foreign Ministry, in the industrial and commercial field.”

“When did you move over to your current role?” Drew realized that he was still dancing around the nature of this role.

“I joined the police when it was established as a civilian force ten years ago. Most of the new police force was drawn from the old Government militia, as you'd expect, and at senior levels there was a need for those who'd had links with intelligence. We were not exactly overburdened with talent. As external interest in our country increased, we were encountering more and more instances of criminal activity—fraud, corruption, intimidation, industrial espionage, as well as more conventional crimes. Things were becoming more unstable in Russia. China was opening up to more commercial practices. You can imagine the growing pressure on this country.”

Drew could easily imagine it. He still couldn't quite understand Nergui's role in all this, though. The links between the militia and foreign investment seemed obscure, and Nergui's subsequent movement into the police service didn't sound an
obvious progression. Unless, of course, these were all simply different outlets for the intelligence services.

“What kinds of cases does the Serious Crimes Team normally get involved with?”

“All kinds. Major robberies, homicide, corruption. Anything that doesn't fall into the norms of day to day policing.”

“But you've moved back to the Ministry now?” Drew prompted.

Nergui nodded. “Six months ago, yes. Not particularly of my own choosing. There were those who thought my talents were—underutilized as a policeman. The police force does not have a particularly good reputation in this country—justifiably in many cases I think. We have invested insufficiently in its development and it does not attract the highest caliber of employees. These days, there are more opportunities for our graduates in the private sector. But there has also been growing concern about national security, so I was—how do you say it?—poached by the Ministry. It was one of those offers I could not refuse.”

“And what was your role in the Ministry?”

Nergui shrugged. “In general, dealing with cases that are perceived to pose a threat, in some way, to national security or stability. Not terrorism—we have a separate unit to deal with that, though it has not to date been a major problem for us, even with the breakup of the USSR. But things like major commercial fraud, corruption—anything that might pose a threat to, say, our economy, social stability or whatever.”

None of this made much sense to Drew. It sounded very different from any concept of policing that he was used to. “And murder?” he asked.

“Not usually,” he said. “But then we don't usually encounter murders quite like these.”

“You really see these murders as a threat to national security? Is that why you've returned?”

“I have returned only because the Minister asked me to. It is embarrassing. Doripalam is a very capable officer, despite his
youth. There's nothing I can teach him, I think. But the Minister is anxious. He is protecting his back. As for security—well, who knows? If we are simply dealing with a psychopath, then of course the answer is no. If there is something more rational behind the killings—like a vendetta or whether at least some of the victims were targeted—then, well, yes, it's possible. And there is also our concern for the stability of our country. Compared with many other parts of the old Eastern bloc, we have survived the changes remarkably well. We have been through very difficult times, but our society has stayed remarkably stable. This is quite a safe country. But the kind of fear that could be stirred up by these killings—well, so far we have managed to keep the full details from being published and we have not indicated any linkage between the killings. But we can't keep this up for long. The press have been used to doing what the government tells them, but that is changing. I do not know, for example, how long we can prevent them from reporting that a police officer has been killed.”