His bed was rumpled but unoccupied. The sheets had been pulled back, as though Nergui had climbed out in a hurry.

  Drew paused. Why was he getting so worked up about this? In all likelihood, Nergui had just gone off to the camp lavatories to relieve himself of some of the evening’s beer.

  But, somehow, Drew felt that wasn’t the case. Something felt wrong. He looked around the sparsely furnished ger trying to identify anything out of place, something that might justify his sense of unease. But other than Nergui’s overcoat being missing there was nothing.

  Drew turned and pushed open the door. The cold night air hit him in the face, startling after the warmth of the tent. He stepped back in, grabbed his own coat and thrust his feet into his shoes. Then he pulled back the door and walked out into the night.

  The camp was silent. For the first time, Drew thought to look at his watch. Just after three a.m.

  The perimeter of the camp was studded with small spotlights to light the walkways, but otherwise everything was in darkness. There was no moon, and the sky above was dazzling with stars, an even more brilliant display in the full night. The thick smear of the Milky Way stretched out above.

  Drew walked forward cautiously, listening for any sound. There was nothing. All of the gers, and the larger administration and reception buildings, were dark and silent.

  He walked a few more steps, then turned the corner into the main walkway that led up to the administration building. At the far end, in one of the gers nearest to the reception building, there was a light. The door of the ger was open, and the light from the interior stretched out across the walkway.

  Drew walked up the path, his feet making no noise on the soft sand. He drew level with the entrance to the ger and moved forward to peer inside.

  Nergui was standing, just inside the door, his back to Drew, motionless.

  “Nergui?”

  Nergui turned, with no obvious surprise. “Drew,” he said.

  Drew walked forward, and looked past Nergui into the interior of the tent. He was, he realized, not surprised at what he saw. The bed nearest to the door was colored deep red by spilled blood. A body lay face down on top, its large frame half sprawled across the floor.

  Across the room, another figure was lying next to one of the other beds, the body twisted, the head at an odd angle. There was no blood this time, but it was clear that this figure was also dead.

  “I felt it coming,” Nergui said, quietly. “But I was too slow. I didn’t take it seriously enough.”

  Drew stepped forward to look around the ger. “Who—?” He looked more closely at the bloodstained figure. “Collins,” he said.

  Nergui nodded.

  “And the other? Maxon?”

  Nergui shook his head slowly. “Batkhuyag.”

  “Batkhuyag? But why?”

  Nergui shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps they both said too much. But it is very strange.”

  “You think it was Maxon?”

  “That is the obvious explanation. But it is very strange.”

  Drew wasn’t sure what Nergui meant. “How did you find them?”

  Nergui looked at Drew as though he had just asked an unexpected question. “You know,” he said, “I am not sure. I woke up—I don’t know why. I am a light sleeper, always, and I woke with a sense that something was wrong. That I should have acted before. That I was too late.”

  Drew thought back to his own awakening, his own sense of unease. “So what happened?”

  “I put on my shoes and coat and came out. Just as you have done. I saw the light in here. The door was already wide open. And I came and found the bodies.”

  Nergui was as blank faced as ever, but Drew had the sense that he was genuinely stunned by this.

  “You didn’t see anyone else?”

  “No. I think I heard the sound of an engine as I walked up here. Maybe a motorbike. But it was a long way away, and I thought little of it.”

  “You think it was Maxon?”

  “It may have been. But he could still be in the camp.”

  The thought chilled Drew. If Maxon was the murderer here, then it was likely that he had also been responsible for the previous killings. The thought that he might still be somewhere in the camp behind them was not pleasant. Drew turned and peered into the darkness, looking for any movement.

  “We should call for backup,” Drew said.

  Nergui pulled out his cell. “I already have,” he said. “But they’ll be a while. All we can do is wait here, I think. We need to watch the scene, and we need to ensure that, if Maxon is here, he doesn’t make a break for it.”

  Privately Drew thought that he might not be too worried if Maxon did make a break for it. He certainly wasn’t sure he felt like trying to stop him.

  “You said it was strange,” he said. “What did you mean?”

  Nergui looked around. “Why should he do this?”

  “As you say, maybe he thought they’d said too much.”

  “But why do this? Why here? Why now? At the worst, these two might have raised a few suspicions. We were leaving tomorrow, they would soon be gone. We had no evidence to detain them. Maxon wanted to remain low key, that was obvious. So why commit a brutal murder under our noses? Why turn himself into the only obvious murder suspect?”

  Nergui was right. It made little sense. “Maybe they had a fight of some sort. Maybe Maxon really is a psychopath. And perhaps it didn’t take much to set him off.”

  “It is possible. But there is something else happening here. I feel it.”

  Drew felt it, too. He could feel the cold air of the desert penetrating this space, entering his bones. He could feel the cold glare of the empty galaxies above his head. He could feel the blankness of Nergui’s gaze, who stared at these bodies as if he himself had been the perpetrator of their deaths.

  This last thought was unexpected and struck Drew almost with the force of a blow. It was ridiculous, of course. The real killer was out there somewhere behind them, perhaps close at hand, perhaps far away. But watching Nergui’s face, Drew was struck once again by how alien this world was, how little he understood. And he realized that out here, anything might be possible.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I’m very disappointed, Nergui.”

  “Of course. So am I. I take full responsibility.”

  Anxiety was etched into the Minister’s face as he paced slowly up and down the room. He was a heavily built man, his dark hair thinning. He was wearing an expensive-looking Western suit, but he wore it uncomfortably, as though he would rather be wearing traditional clothes. “Naturally,” he said. He smiled, though there was no obvious humor in his expression.

  “I will of course tender my resignation, if you feel that to be appropriate. I should point out that Doripalam carries no responsibility for this.”

  The Minister laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nergui. I don’t know that there’s anything else you could have done. And even if there was something you could have done better, I’m sure that no one else could. Let’s face it, at least you were in the right place at the right time.”

  “Not quite at the right time, unfortunately,” Nergui pointed out. “And it was only luck that I was there at all.”

  “Nevertheless, the truth is, if you can’t put an end to this, I’m sure nobody else can.”

  Nergui nodded in acknowledgment. He knew the Minister too well not to engage in false modesty. “You may be right,” he said. “If so, the question is whether I can.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I honestly do not know.”

  “But you have some ideas?”

  Nergui shrugged. “I do not know whether I would even dignify them as such. There are some patterns. Some leads we can follow. That is all.”

  “That isn’t much.”

  “It is all we have.”

  “What about Maxon?”

  “Another mystery. He is a Westerner, on the run in our country, potentially accused of a series of brutal murders. But he has vanished from the face of the earth.”

  “That’s not possible. Not here.”

  “It is not. But it has happened.”

  “The US Government has shown no signs of involving itself?” The Minister presumably knew the answer to this already but he waited for Nergui’s response.

  “No. I suspect they may be slightly embarrassed.” Nergui allowed himself a small smile. “It appears that Mr. Collins was a dubious character. The FBI had a large file on him, potentially linking him to a whole series of possibly fraudulent deals. Action had been taken against him by the US regulatory bodies in connection with various doubtful business dealings, but he had managed so far to avoid criminal prosecution. He also appears to have connections with organized crime interests. If we had known any of this, he would not have been allowed into the country. I don’t think the US will be rushing to uncover any further dirty linen.”

  “Well, that’s one relief,” the Minister said. He slumped himself back down behind his large, virtually empty desk. “And you’re sure we’ve kept the whole thing tightly wrapped up in the media?”

  “As best we can. There was no way we were going to keep this completely under wraps, given it happened in the middle of a camp full of tourists. And, frankly, we also wanted to get Maxon’s picture in the media as quickly as possible so he could be picked up. So we’ve implied that this was some sort of bust up between American business associates, with poor old Batkhuyag getting caught up in the middle.”

  “With no link to the murders here?”

  “No. Those haven’t even been mentioned. Some people may make the connection, but with so little information I wouldn’t expect it.”

  The Minister nodded. “Well, that’s something. And what about your Englishman?”

  “I’m not sure. His presence here is something of a token gesture. He wasn’t planning to stay more than a few days. But I’m keen for him to stay a little longer, if his bosses can be persuaded.”

  “Why?” The Minister frowned. “Do we really want some foreign policeman peering over our shoulders, prepared to embarrass us?”

  “I don’t think that’s a risk. He’s a dedicated policeman, not—with all due respect, sir—a politician.”

  The Minister laughed. “But he’s in contact with the British ambassador?”

  “The ambassador is in contact with him. Which is no surprise. But I don’t think that’s a cause for concern. The truth is, we can make good use of McLeish’s experience and expertise in this case. We don’t have too much of that among our own people.”

  “That’s true enough. Okay. I’ll trust your judgment on this one, Nergui, for the moment at least.” The Minister paused, leaning forward over the table. “But, Nergui,” he said, after a pause, “remember—no more disappointments. We can’t afford it. Not again.”

  “So what do you think is going on?”

  “As I say, I really don’t have a clue,” Drew said. Nergui keeps talking about patterns, but there’s no pattern to it at all.’

  “So far as you can see.”

  “So far as I can see,” Drew agreed, mildly irritated by the ambassador’s implied superiority. Still, he imagined that the ambassador rarely implied anything else.

  “But what about the mining connection? That seems to suggest some kind of link.”

  “Well, yes, but I’ve no idea what. There’s not really much to it, when you try to piece it all together. Okay, Ransom was a geologist. Delgerbayar, the murdered police officer, was involved in some supposedly trivial gold prospecting case. Collins and Maxon were both working in the minerals industry. That’s about it.”

  “Plus this strange convocation of visitors to the Gobi.”

  “Yes, and that.” But at best, Drew thought, it was as if they had a few pieces from a much larger jigsaw puzzle. A couple of edges, a bit of sky, part of a face. But nothing that might make a picture.

  “And this chap Maxon has really gone missing?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That seems difficult to believe.”

  “That’s how Nergui feels. He thinks it’s virtually impossible.”

  They were sitting in the ambassador’s personal lounge, a comfortable room with low armchairs, thick piled carpet and glossy mahogany tables. It was late morning and autumn sunshine was incongruously bright outside the window. The ambassador sipped his coffee. “And do you believe him?”

  Drew hesitated perhaps a fraction too long. “I think so,” he said. “I mean, I’ve no idea what to make of any of this, but I’ve seen no reason not to trust Nergui so far.” This was true. On the other hand, he also didn’t know whether there was any positive reason why he should trust Nergui.

  The ambassador did not look convinced. “Well,” he said, finally, “is it safe to assume that Maxon is behind all of this?”

  Drew shook his head. “No. Not necessarily. I mean, of course it’s possible. He’s been in the country longer than Collins—for nearly three weeks. And, interestingly, although he’s now here as a tourist, it’s not his first visit. He’s been here, supposedly on business, a couple of times before—made visits to various of the mines in the north of the country. We’re in contact with the FBI, but they’re not telling us much. There’s nothing to connect him to the murders here, so far as we can see.”

  “But if he isn’t, then it looks as if we have two psychopaths on the loose simultaneously. Quite a first for this place.”

  “Assuming,” Drew said, “that Maxon was responsible for Collins’s and Batkhuyag’s murders.”

  “You think there’s any chance he wasn’t?”

  “I really don’t know,” Drew said. “I mean, if these two murders had happened in isolation, of course he’d be the obvious candidate in the frame. But it’s still hard to see quite why he’d have killed those two at that point. And it’s hard to tie any of that in with the earlier killings.”

  “Maybe they’re not linked.”

  Drew shrugged. “Maybe not. In which case, as you say, we have two rampant psychopaths and one hell of a coincidence.”

  The ambassador nodded, making a show of stirring his coffee again and selecting one of the luxurious biscuits from the plate in front of them. “So what do you think they know?”

  “Who?”

  “Nergui’s people. The Ministry. Intelligence. They must have more knowledge than they’re letting on.”

  “I don’t get that impression. But then I wouldn’t, I suppose.” He paused. “To be quite frank, I’m feeling out of my depth in all this.”

  “Out of your depth?” The ambassador raised his eyebrows. “An experienced policeman? You’re dealing with a bunch of amateurs here. Other than Nergui, that is.”

  “It’s not that,” Drew said. “Though this case is like nothing I’ve ever had to deal with as a policeman. It’s the politics. It’s the sense that there’s something else going on, coded signals I’m not picking up.”

  “Ah, the politics…” The ambassador sat back in his chair, smiling. “Well, I’m with you there. Even though it’s my job.”

  Drew didn’t bother to add that he saw the ambassador as part of the problem. He thought it was probably better to move on. “But to go back to your question, no, I don’t get the impression they know more than they’re letting on. Certainly not at the operational level, anyway. It’s difficult to tell what Nergui might know, as I’m sure you’ve experienced. But I think he’s as disturbed by this as anyone. More than most, in fact. And I think that’s because he doesn’t usually come up against things he doesn’t understand.”

  “Well, that would make sense. I think Nergui’s used to being in control of things. And I imagine he must be under a lot of pressure, though we’d never know.”

  “Pressure?”

  “From his Minister. If all this has just been the work of some lone psychopath, that would have been bad enough in terms of its impact. If, as it appears, it’s something more complicated than that, then the Minister will be getting very anxious.”

  Drew finally got around to taking a sip of his coffee, which was already growing cold. “Why?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of noble talk about, you know, protecting the fabric of society and all that—and I’m sure Nergui genuinely believes some of that—but for the Minister this is just our old friend politics once again.” The ambassador paused, as if he were wondering how openly to speak. Drew had already decided that the ambassador’s apparent willingness to take Drew into his confidence was simply more game playing. He would share only what he needed to, Drew had concluded, in the hope of getting something back. “It’s the problem with democracy, I suppose,” the ambassador went on. “Since this country introduced democracy at the beginning of the 1990s, there have been many changes but the Communist Party has largely retained power.”

  “So what’s the problem? Aren’t the Communists firmly entrenched now?”

  “To some extent, but there’s a lot of public unrest. There are plenty who think the country’s going to hell in a handcart. Who knows what’s around the corner? A psychopath on the loose for too long wouldn’t be particularly helpful to the career of the Minister of Security. But if it’s something more than that—particularly if there are commercial interests involved in some way—well, that could really be a knockout blow.”

  “So the Minister will want this sorted?”

  “One way or another, yes. And quickly.”

  “What do you mean—one way or another?”

  The ambassador shrugged. “I’m sure you must encounter these kinds of problems from time to time. Politicians want solutions. They don’t really care whether the solution really solves the problem, so long as they can be seen to have done something.”

  “That kind of thing doesn’t usually get down to my level, I’m glad to say.”

  The ambassador smiled, coldly. “Then, young man, you should count yourself very lucky. Enjoy it while you can.” He spoke as though Drew’s privileged status might change at any moment.

  It was only after Drew had concluded his meeting with the ambassador that he remembered that he and Nergui were due to have dinner at the embassy that same evening. The relative lightheartedness he had felt at finally getting away from the ambassador melted away. What he had said was true. He was increasingly feeling out of his depth in this world, unsure who to trust or what to think. The prospect of an evening between the ambassador and Nergui was not an enticing one.