Nergui nodded. “And he gave you no clues about where he was going?”

  Oyon frowned. “Nothing very clear. I had the impression that it was somewhere nearby.”

  Nergui leaned forward. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m not sure.” Oyon looked across to his wife for assistance. “It was something about the way he talked on that second night. We’d had a few drinks. It was all a bit more relaxed than it had been, though Badzar still seemed pretty tense. He was saying something about his journey here. He hitched a lift with some truck driver part of the way. Had everything set up here but then—what were his words?—there had been developments. I think that was how he described it. So he couldn’t immediately move in where he’d planned. And he found himself on our doorstep—”

  “That was it,” Odyal said. “It was the way he said it. Almost, well, insulting. The impression he gave was that it wasn’t so much that he’d been keen to see us after ten years, but that he didn’t know where else to go and we were the nearest people he knew. We’d drunk a bit so I didn’t really take it in, but I can remember feeling a bit irritated by the way he spoke.”

  “I think he realized what he’d said,” Oyon said. “He’d drunk more than we had—was on the way to being drunk, really. He apologized a bit, said he’d not meant it to sound like that—that he’d actually come out of his way specially to see us. But I don’t think I really believed him.”

  It was an interesting question, Nergui thought. Had Badzar started apologizing because he was concerned he’d insulted old friends, or was it because he was worried he’d given something away about his proposed whereabouts?

  “Is there anything else you can think of?” Nergui said. “Anything else he might have said? Any other impressions you formed? Even the most fleeting thought or idea might be useful to us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Oyon said. “As I say, he didn’t talk at all about why he was here or what his business was. It was obviously something that was… I don’t know, urgent, important to him. He seemed keyed up the whole time he was here. As if he was keen to be getting on with whatever it was he was having to delay.”

  “Did he seem threatened?” Doripalam said. “I mean, was there any sense that he was being pursued or that someone was looking for him?”

  Oyon looked blankly at Doripalam. “I don’t know. Is that why you’re looking for him?”

  Nergui shook his head. “We’ve no reason to believe he’s in trouble. But we don’t know why he’s come to the city in this way. We don’t know what he might be involved with. We’re just trying to piece the picture together.”

  Oyon and Odyal were looking at each other, both clearly wondering what it was they had become entangled with. “I don’t know,” Oyon said. “I mean, he looked tense, as I’ve said, and unwell. But I didn’t really get the impression that he was afraid. It was more that he was—I don’t know—involved in some task that was proving challenging or demanding, maybe more than he’d expected. I can’t put it any better than that.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Nergui said. “I’m sorry if this has been an ordeal for you. And again I’m sorry for disturbing you at this time. We would not have done it if it hadn’t been important. I’m sure you understand that.”

  “Of course, of course. I hope we’ve been of assistance.” Oyon might have appreciated the importance of their visit, but he was also clearly very keen to get them out of the apartment. It was evident that this was a visit that he wanted to put behind him.

  “I’m sorry we’ve had to put you through this,” Cholon added. “And I’m sorry if Badzar has caused you any difficulties. It would be good to come back again in different circumstances.”

  Oyon was ushering them gently but firmly toward the door. “It’s always good to see you, Cholon. I’m sorry we’ve been out of touch for so long. Please, you’re welcome here anytime.”

  But, Nergui thought, there was little sincerity in his voice.

  CHAPTER 18

  Outside, the snow was falling faster and thicker than ever. It was scarcely possible to see to the far side of the road, and there were already heavy drifts against the walls of the tenement block behind them. Nergui glanced at his watch. Three fifteen. He had left his phone switched on during the visit to the apartment in case the Minister should call back, but so far there had been no calls.

  The three men bundled into the truck, and Doripalam started the engine and turned the car around. The wheels were gripping but only just. If the snow continued, they would need snow chains until the roads were cleared.

  “Back to HQ?” Doripalam said.

  Nergui hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. An idea was beginning to form in his mind, coalescing around Oyon’s final comments about Badzar’s possible whereabouts. Perhaps it was possible that Badzar was really close at hand. Nergui looked back down the snow-filled street, his mind racing.

  “Yes. For the moment.”

  Doripalam pulled back out into the road, and made his way cautiously back to HQ. At each corner, Nergui could feel the wheels sliding, as Doripalam battled to keep control. It was a night to be indoors. But Nergui had an increasing feeling that their activities were only just beginning.

  As they turned slowly back into the HQ parking lot, Nergui’s cell rang. He thumbed the call button.

  “Nergui. It’s me.” The Minister, of course.

  “Minister. You called earlier, I think.”

  “Where are you, Nergui?”

  “Just arriving back at HQ. It’s early days, but we might have a lead.”

  “Excellent.” The Minister sounded unexpectedly distracted, as if somehow his thoughts had already moved on from the murders. “Look, Nergui, I need to see you. Urgently.”

  “Now, Minister? But—” But what? It was only at that moment that Nergui realized that, in some dark corner of his mind, he had already begun planning other activities for the rest of the night, that he was already beginning to pursue a half-formed idea.

  “Now, Nergui. As soon as you can get here. I have some things I need to discuss.”

  This did not sound good, but Nergui was past caring about the Minister’s political positioning, even if this meant that he might end up as the sacrifice on this occasion. He looked at his watch. Three thirty.

  “How soon can you get here, Nergui? I’m in my office.”

  “I’ll come immediately. The snow’s awful. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Make it ten.” As always, the call ended abruptly.

  Nergui turned to Doripalam. “I’ve got to see the Minister. I’ll be an hour, no more. I’ve got an idea I want to follow up. I may be wasting everyone’s time but we can’t afford to delay. We should get snow chains put on the truck if we’re going out again.”

  Doripalam nodded. “And I take it we are going out again?” There was a note of irritation in his voice.

  “Trust me, Doripalam. I’m not keeping any secrets here. I’ve just got a hunch. I’ll explain when I get back, though it’s probably too half-baked to waste anyone else’s time on other than my own. But I would be grateful for your support.”

  Doripalam looked at the older man for a second, then nodded. He twisted in his seat and looked at Cholon. “I should organize you some accommodation.”

  “What you’re planning,” Cholon said to Nergui. “Is this about my brother?”

  “It may be.”

  “In that case, can I be part of it?”

  Nergui looked at Doripalam, who shrugged. Nergui said: “I don’t know what’s involved and I don’t know what kind of risk we might be talking about. And we can never afford passengers. So we’d be insane to let you come.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I think we’re past the point of sanity on this. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore. Chasing phantoms. So, yes, if you want to chase some phantoms with us, you can come. But do exactly what I tell you. I may be going mad, but I’m not completely reckless.”

  Nergui climbed out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. He watched as Doripalam and Cholon trudged slowly into the building. Then he pulled his coat around him and began to walk through the billowing snow toward the Ministry building.

  After the impenetrable darkness, now incessant light.

  Slowly, as he lay there, he had begun to regain a sense of his own body, the belief that movement was possible, that he was still alive.

  He struggled at first, pulling against the bonds that held his wrists and ankles. But there was no give, no shifting of the cords that held him, only the burning pressure of the ropes against his skin. He was held firmly, tied with professional skill to the wooden bench.

  The blind panic that had overwhelmed him in the darkness had passed now, but the terror remained. Somebody had done this to him. Someone was waiting, perhaps somewhere in this very room. Something, eventually, would happen.

  There was something surreal about his predicament. Trapped, held by an unseen and unknown assailant, in a brightly lit industrial building. Moments went by when he really didn’t believe it, when he half-expected to wake from a dream or somehow find that it was all an elaborate hoax. Then the reality hit him again, and fear chilled his heart. And at that point the silence would become the biggest threat of all, building around him like a tangible object, taking his breath from him. And he listened, straining his ears, waiting for whatever would happen next.

  It was a long walk across Sukh Bataar Square, pushing against the buffeting of the strong winds and the frozen blast of the snow. The Square was silent and snow covered, the statues shapeless under the gathering drifts. The snowstorm had settled in thickly now, and even the snowplows and salt trucks appeared to have given up on their work.

  In normal conditions, the Ministry buildings were a five minute walk away, on the far side of the square. Tonight, he had already been walking for ten minutes and still had some way to go. He pulled his shapeless old trilby down over his eyes, and his thick winter coat more tightly around him, and trudged on through the deepening snow.

  As he walked, he wrestled with the thought that had begun to form during his interview with Oyon, problems aside at least until he reached the Ministry, trying to work out the next steps in their search for Badzar.

  Oyon, for whatever reason, had formed the impression that Badzar’s destination was not far from Oyon’s own apartment. Nergui was inclined to trust that judgment. He had noted that Oyon seemed to be genuinely affronted that Badzar had turned up on his doorstep only because he was already in the neighborhood.

  Even it was true, there were still many places where Badzar could be holed up. There were numerous tenements around there, more concrete legacies of the old communist functionalism. Badzar could be staying with another contact, or could have rented an apartment of his own, assuming he had the money to do so. More simply, there were also likely to be a number of unoccupied apartments—those awaiting a change of tenant, even one or two blocks that were due for renovation or demolition under the government’s continuing drive for renewal. Badzar could have broken into one of these.

  But there was another possibility. The tenement block they had visited was on the edge of one of the industrial districts, close to where the concrete landscape of the city center gave way to the sprawl of the ger encampments. In that area, there were some thriving businesses, some still state owned, some the first fruits of burgeoning entrepreneurs. But, as throughout the city, there were many disused industrial units, left over from the period of economic madness when the country had adopted all the worst elements of free-market economics to disastrous effect.

  And one of those disused units, only a half mile or so from Oyon’s apartment, was the factory where they had found Delgerbayar’s body.

  Was it simply a coincidence? After all, there were dozens of disused factories and warehouses across the city. Even if Badzar was holed up in one of them, why should it be that one? Surely he would not risk lingering around an area where the police had been engaged in a large-scale investigation.

  Except, of course, that that could be precisely the point. There had been a tendency throughout this case to disregard the obvious because it was seen as irrelevant. They had thought nothing of Delgerbayar’s intended visit to the illegal prospectors because it had appeared to be a red herring, just another part of the routine pattern of his life. So maybe this was similar. They had assumed that the location where Delgerbayar’s body was found was simply a convenient stage set. It was just one of many large empty buildings, isolated from any domestic dwellings, with a suitably intimidating entrance and an appropriate setting for the body to be found. Nergui had had no doubt that the killer had chosen it with some care to maximize the impact of their find. But they had all assumed by the time the police reached the building, the killer would have been long gone.

  They had searched the building rigorously, and subjected it to forensic testing where there appeared to be the possibility of finding any material or data potentially linked to the killer, but they had found nothing. There was no sign that the building had been occupied, other than by the spectacularly positioned corpse of Delgerbayar.

  But Nergui had been working through the timescales in his mind. The day that they had found Delgerbayar’s body was the same day that Badzar had appeared unexpectedly on Oyon’s doorstep. Was it possible that, having committed the murder, he had set up the body as they had found it, and then moved to lie low with his former acquaintances for a few days?

  He shook his head, leaning forward into the wind and snow, treading cautiously to maintain his footing. It was a ridiculous idea. Why would Badzar simply turn up unannounced? Wouldn’t he have made some arrangements beforehand, arranged some safe place to stay? But that might be the reason. If Badzar was involved in this, he was leaving no prearranged trail, no plans, even assuming that his actions were premeditated at all. Oyon and Odyal would recall his turning up with some surprise, perhaps, but they had commented on his unpredictability. Under pressure from the Ministry, the story of Delgerbayar’s murder had been suppressed and had not been reported in the media, as Badzar could have predicted. There was no reason why Oyon and Odyal should have made any connection between Badzar’s appearance and the murder.

  Still musing on the implications of this, Nergui finally reached the anonymous concrete block that housed the Ministry of Security. The building was almost in darkness at that time of the night, lights showing in only a few windows. The front doors were locked, but Nergui had a key. He unlocked the door, struggling slightly with his gloved hands, and then stepped inside, snapping the lock closed behind him.

  After the icy chill of the night, the warmth of the building struck him immediately. A profligate use of the Ministry’s resources, he thought. He made his way slowly up the stairs toward the Minister’s office on the second floor.

  Most of the offices here, including Nergui’s own, were bleakly functional—bare tiled floors, gray painted walls, metal desks and filing cabinets, chairs built for sturdiness rather than comfort. The Minister’s office, inevitably, was different. Nergui was unsure where the Minister had obtained his furnishings, since they surpassed even those used by the senior apparatchiks in the old days.

  There was a light shining under the Minister’s door. Nergui knocked and waited, knowing from experience that the Minister liked to keep visitors waiting, if only for a few moments.

  There was the expected pause, then he heard the Minister’s voice. “Come.”

  He pushed open the door slowly, and stepped inside. To his surprise, the Minister was not alone. A gray-haired man sat facing him, his back to Nergui.

  He turned in his chair as Nergui entered.

  Nergui raised his eyebrows. “Professor Wilson,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

  Wilson nodded. “I was very sorry to hear about Chief Inspector McLeish,” he said. “There is no more news?”

  Nergui glanced briefly at the Minister. He had no idea why Wilson was here. He had understood that Wilson was not in the country in any kind of official capacity, but was merely accompanying his wife’s research. Perhaps he was here to complain again about the lack of progress the police were making, particularly given Drew’s disappearance. But it seemed unlikely he would be making an official complaint in the small hours of the morning.

  There was no helpful signal in the Minister’s expression. “Nothing we can make public, yet. There are some leads, but it’s too early to say.”

  “Are you assuming that Chief Inspector McLeish is—?” Wilson left the sentence hanging.

  “We’re assuming nothing,” Nergui said. “I remain optimistic for the moment.”

  Wilson nodded, clearly skeptical, but made no rejoinder.

  Nergui looked across at the Minister, wondering if he was going to offer any kind of explanation for Wilson’s presence.

  “You asked me to see you, sir?” Nergui was beginning to find the situation irritating. There was no way of questioning the Minister’s authority, but Nergui couldn’t see why he was wasting time here when he needed to be getting on with the search for Badzar.

  “You still don’t seem to be making much progress, Nergui,” the Minister said in English.

  “We have some leads, sir,” Nergui said. “I appreciate the urgency. In fact, you took me away from a potential investigation to bring me here.” He presumed that the Minister had not just brought him over here to receive a public dressing down.

  “An investigation? What sort of investigation?”

  Nergui glanced at Wilson. He had no intention of saying any more until he was at least clear why Wilson was here. “We’re tracking down someone who we believe may be able to help us with our inquiries.”

  The Minister nodded. “That is why I called you over, Nergui. Professor Wilson may also be able to, as you put it, help you with your inquiries.”

  Without being asked—not always a wise action in the Minister’s presence—Nergui sat down beside Wilson. “Really? In what way?”