The Shadow Walker (28 page)

But then his beating heart calmed, and the pain in his eyes and
his head lessened. He still could not see, but he registered that this brilliance was nothing more than light, ordinary light. Black dots and shapes danced in the crimson brilliance, gradually settling back into order.

At last, after what might have been hours, he found himself able to move his eyes. His eyelids remained shut, and he realized that fear had rendered them immobile. Partly it was fear of the brilliance of the light. Mostly, though, it was fear of what sights might greet him when he was able to see again.

He forced himself to try to relax, to breathe more steadily, suppress his sense of panic. And finally he was able, very slowly, to open his eyes.

The sight that met them was unexpectedly banal. Above him, the source of the searing light, were four bright fluorescent strip lights set on wooden beams. Turning his head as far as he could, he could see concrete walls, metal shelving. Cardboard boxes with incomprehensible labels. Some items of anonymous industrial equipment, shaded with dust. A storeroom of some kind.

He was lying on a wooden bench, maybe a work bench. He twisted his head a little more, stretching his muscles to their limits to try to see his arms. His wrists were tied with plastic twine, coiled repeatedly around, fastened underneath the bench itself. His ankles and neck were presumably tied in the same way. He turned his head as far as he could. A water bottle—the kind used by cyclists and runners—had been taped to the bench beside his mouth enabling him to reach the nozzle. He twisted his head and, with considerable discomfort, managed to suck down some of the water.

The room was silent. He stopped moving and tried to listen. At first, he could detect no sound of any movement, other than the seemingly deafening beating of his own heart and the rasp of his own panicked breathing.

He forced himself to hold his breath for a moment, listening hard. And finally he thought he heard it, like an irregular echo of his own heartbeat. It was the soft but insistent sound of another's
breath. He tried to lift his head but it was impossible. All he could see were the beams, the lights, the concrete walls.

But somewhere outside the constrained field of his vision, someone was watching him.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, it had started to snow, thick flakes whirling in the glare of the streetlights. There had been some flurries earlier in the week, but this was the first serious snow of the winter. Perhaps it was as well they had traveled back when they did. Being stranded on the steppes in this weather would not be pleasant.

It was nearly one a.m., and the streets were deserted. For the first time, Nergui found the emptiness unnerving. Against the brilliance of the settling snow, the gloom of the unlit side streets seemed threatening. Nergui felt uncomfortable until they pulled into the enclosed parking lot at the rear of the police headquarters. Even then, he looked uneasily behind him as they bundled out of the truck and hurried through the snow to the entrance.

Inside, it was warm and reassuringly prosaic. There were one or two officers on duty, but most were lounging in the rest room, sipping coffee. Nergui led them through and up the stairs to his office. It was only once he was in there, settled behind his desk, with Doripalam and Cholon sitting opposite, that he finally felt fully secure.

What was happening to him? He had been doing this job, or something like it, for most of his adult life. He had a reputation for fearlessness. He was in the police building, surrounded by high level security and staff who would jump at his every whim. And yet here he was, behaving like a skulking rookie, terrified of his own shadow.

For much of the journey there had been no network signal on his cell phone. The networks were good in the cities and towns, but much more sporadic out in the countryside. As they had reentered the city limits, his cell had bleeped obligingly to let him know that there were messages for him. He gestured to the others to go and get coffees for the three of them, then sat down to listen to the messages.

The first, inevitably, was from the Minister. “Nergui, I don't know where you are,” he said, an edge of threat in his voice. “I'm trusting that you know what you're doing. But things are starting to get seriously out of hand here. I'm stalling the British government as best I can, but I can't put them off for long. We need some answers, and we need them quick. Call me when you get in. Whatever time that is.”

Nergui looked at his watch. One fifteen. He knew from experience that the lateness of the hour would be no excuse for failing to contact the Minister. He wasn't sure, though, that he had anything to report.

The second message, equally predictably, was from the British ambassador. “Nergui,” he said in English, “I've been trying to get hold of that bloody Minister of yours. Seems to be permanently in meetings.” Clearly, Nergui thought, the Minister was following the ambassador's own example. “I know the Foreign Office is in direct contact with him now, but I'd like an update. Nobody's telling me anything—” Even in these circumstances, it was difficult not to be amused by the plaintive tone. “Give me a call in the morning, Nergui. I really want to know what's going on.”

That was one, at least, that could be safely left. Nergui waited, and listened to the third message. It was a voice he recognized. Batzorig. “Sir. You're probably out of cell range at the moment—don't know exactly where you are. Can you give me a call as soon as you pick this up? I'm not sure, but it might be urgent. We've had a message left for us that I think you ought to—”

Nergui thumbed off the phone and jumped to his feet. In seconds, he was out of the door and jumping, three steps at a
time, down the stairs to the rest room. He burst into the room, banging back the door. The three officers sitting drinking coffee looked up in surprise. Doripalam and Cholon were at the far end of the room.

“Where's Batzorig?” Nergui said.

“I think he's upstairs, in his office. He said to tell you—”

“So why didn't you?”

The officers looked confused. “Well, he didn't say exactly—”

“Forget it.”

Nergui turned on his heel and stormed out of the room and then back up the stairs. Batzorig's office was at the rear of the building, down the corridor from Nergui's own. It was a large room he shared with three other officers, though he was the only one currently on duty.

He looked up from his desk as Nergui pushed open the door, and jumped to his feet. “Sir,” he said. “Did you get my message?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Nergui sat himself heavily down opposite Batzorig. “What is it?”

“Well, it may be nothing, sir. But we received a message this evening. Just came through on the out of hours line, and I happened to pick it up.”

“What sort of message?”

“Well, I was able to record most of it, sir.” There was a facility for recording all incoming calls, no doubt a legacy from the days when surveillance was more commonplace, but still useful nonetheless. “As soon as I realized it might be important. I changed the tape so there was no danger of it being recorded over.”

“Very good,” Nergui nodded. Why was it that all these young officers felt the need to try to impress him? Had he been the same in his younger days? He feared that he probably had.

Batzorig held up the tape and slipped it into a cassette player he had set up on the desk. He had obviously been preparing carefully for Nergui's return.

For the first few seconds after he pressed the play button, there was nothing but the faint hiss of the turning tape. Then suddenly
a voice, low and sibilant, cut in. “—Have something that might interest you. It may be possible to arrange its safe return. But this will require cooperation. I will call again at nine a.m. tomorrow.” There was the sound of Batzorig trying to extract some more information from the caller, but it was clear that the caller had already hung up.

“What time did this come in?” Nergui said.

Batzorig consulted his notes carefully. “Just after ten,” he said. “Seven minutes past, to be exact.”

Nergui nodded. He wondered whether the caller had known he was out, had seen him leave with Doripalam. Had, perhaps, also seen him return.

He looked up at Batzorig. “Go and fetch the man I brought in. He'll be with Doripalam, either in my office or down in the rest room.”

Batzorig hurried to do Nergui's bidding. Nergui sat, staring in silence at the tape machine. Then he leaned forward and pressed the play button again. He heard the same words: “—Have something that might interest you. It may be possible to arrange its safe return. But this will require cooperation. I will call again at nine a.m. tomorrow.”

It could be a hoax, of course. It was likely to be a hoax, in fact. Drew's disappearance had now been reported in the media, so they could expect their fair share of lunatic calls over the coming days. But something told Nergui that it was, at least, worth taking seriously. It didn't sound like a crank call—too short, too deliberate, too little desire to make an impression. There was something about the tone that unnerved him, a sense of emptiness, of uncaring.

The door opened and Batzorig returned, followed by Doripalam and Cholon. Nergui gestured Cholon to sit. The others hesitated, unsure whether they were part of this, but then came in and closed the door behind them.

“Listen to this,” Nergui said. “Do you recognize the voice?” He had no desire to lead Cholon, but his question could mean only one thing.

He played the tape again, listening intently himself to the repeated words.

“—Have something that might interest you. It may be possible to arrange its safe return. But this will require cooperation. I will call again at nine a.m. tomorrow.”

Cholon looked at the tape machine. “You mean is it Badzar?”

Nergui nodded, watching Cholon closely. He was still unsure how far Cholon could be trusted to give an honest response about his brother.

“Can you play it again?”

Nergui pressed the play button once more. He could recite the words verbatim by now, but they were still telling him nothing.

Cholon shook his head. “I don't know. It could be. It could well be. But I can't be sure.”

Nergui played the tape yet again. The voice was obviously being disguised in some way—the deep timbre, the odd sibilance. But it did not sound as if it was being artificially distorted, other than by the phone itself.

“There's not much to go on,” Nergui conceded.

Cholon stared at the tape player, as if the answer would emerge from the machine itself. “It's no good,” he said. “I can't be sure. It doesn't sound like him, but there's something about it. Maybe I just don't want to believe it's him.”

“Well, all we can do is wait until the morning. See if they call again.” Nergui looked up at Doripalam and Batzorig. “We shouldn't make too much of this. It could well be a hoax.”

He looked back at Cholon. “If your brother is in the city, we need to find him. Do you have any idea where he might go if he came back here?”

“There are a few people he might go to, at least to try to get somewhere to stay. Old friends from university days.”

“Are they contactable by phone?”

“Most of them, yes, though I've only got the numbers of a few. They're generally working for the government, these days.” He smiled wryly. “I'm not sure whether that's selling out or not.”

Nergui looked at his watch. “It's late, but we can't waste time. Can you start calling around? We'll probably get a better response if you do it, rather than making it an official police call.”

“I'm not sure you'll get a particularly good response to any call at this time of night.”

“We can't afford to wait till morning. We'll work with you. Maybe if you tell them that your brother's gone missing, that you're afraid he might be ill—”

“He has. I am,” Cholon said. “Otherwise I wouldn't be here.”

Doripalam led Cholon into another office where they could begin the process of telephoning. Nergui didn't have high hopes of any result, but it was the only place to start. Batzorig excused himself with an offer to fetch the coffee that was presumably still waiting for Nergui downstairs.

Nergui looked at his watch. Nearly two. He couldn't put off ringing the Minister any longer. He had a suspicion that the Minister genuinely didn't sleep. No matter what time Nergui called, there was never any sense that he had been woken or disturbed by the call.

Nergui dialed the number, wondering what further ways he could find of articulating that, no, there was still nothing of any substance to report. The Minister's phone rang at the other end of the line, but there was no answer. In Nergui's experience, this was almost unprecedented. The Minister usually turned his phone off in the presence of the President, but there were few other exceptions to his rule of constant availability. After a few seconds, the voicemail cut in and he heard the Minister requesting him to leave his message after the tone. Nergui simply gave his name, noted the time, and invited the Minister to call back when he was free. He ended the call, feeling an absurd mixture of relief that he hadn't had to ensure yet another content-free discussion with the Minister, and concern about what the Minister might actually be doing.

Before Nergui could allow himself the luxury of worrying further, Doripalam stuck his head around the door. “We've got something,” he said.

“Really?” Nergui had not been expecting any serious results from the calls, let alone so quickly.

Doripalam nodded. “Cholon started with the most likely candidates. The real old friends. Struck lucky almost straightaway.”

“What's the story?”

“Couple who were at university with Cholon and Badzar. Same year as Badzar. He's a civil servant, she works for the tourist agency. They've got a small apartment near the center. Badzar just turned up, a few days ago, apparently, out of the blue, said he needed somewhere to stay until he was able to rent somewhere. They hadn't seen him for years, but put him up. Stayed a couple of nights, then disappeared.”