The Adversary by Michael Walters

much did Nergui really know about all this? “Yes,” Doripalam said, finally, “killed by a sniper, supposedly. Gavaa would have been little more than a baby at the time, so would hardly have remembered his father. But he grew up with—at least according to his mother—a rather idealized version of what his father had been like. He idolized him. The military allowed them to stay on in army accommodation after the father’s death so Gavaa was brought up in army houses, in sight of the parade ground. Saw his father as part of the great Mongolian martial tradition. Wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
    â€œBut he didn’t?”
    â€œThat was part of the problem. His mother didn’t want him to follow in his father’s footsteps—perhaps understandably, given what happened to the father. So she blocked and discouraged him. Then, when he was old enough, he went off without her consent and tried to join. And ironically enough he failed the medical. Suffered badly from asthma. So they wouldn’t have him anyway. And that of course only made things worse. No doubt his mother couldn’t conceal her relief.”
    â€œComplicated things, children,” Nergui observed. “I’ve generally managed to steer clear of them.”
    â€œI imagine this wasn’t helped by the fact that Gavaa was faced every day with the sight of a world he couldn’t be part of. So, as soon as he could, he took the opportunity to get out there and find himself a job in the city.”
    â€œHow did the mother end up out on the steppes?”
    â€œShe came from a family of herdsmen. After it became clear that Gavaa wasn’t going to return to the family home, she decided to return to her own family. Gavaa had already been in the city for six or seven months then, and it looks as if there wasn’t much contact between them.”
    â€œIs it possible that he was responsible for his mother’s death?”
    Doripalam nodded. “I can see that your razor sharp mind hasn’t been blunted by your time in the Ministry,” he said, smiling faintly. “Yes. We’re also looking at that possibility.”
    â€œIn any case, perhaps the news of his mother’s death will bring him out into the open,” Nergui said.
    â€œPerhaps. It will certainly receive enough coverage. I am sure that Mrs. Tuya’s cousin will see to that.”
    â€œIt’s always good to have friends in high places,” Nergui said. He half rose, as though about to leave, then paused, holding out the box file. “Speaking of which, you haven’t asked me about the inquiry. I assume you’re interested in its progress.”
    Doripalam smiled. “Of course. But I knew that if I didn’t ask, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling me about it anyway.”
    Nergui sat down again, nodding slowly. It was impossible to tell from his smoothly carved features whether or not he was amused. “You are right,” he said. “Young people today are much too smart for their own good.”

CHAPTER 4
    The apartment was a mess, there was no doubt about that. In fact, looking round it, he had to admit that that would be a polite description. The room was—there was no way of avoiding this conclusion—squalid. There were dirty plates and dishes piled in corners, gathering mold and perhaps worse. There was a large pile of unread newspapers, stacked unsteadily on the seat of the worn sofa. There was a bog-like pile of apparently unwashed clothes, outerwear and underwear, squashed haphazardly against the filthy sink. There were arrays of glasses and cups, most half filled with vodka or other spirits, lined up across the table, chairs and floors. Several empty bottles lay under the table.
    And, most of all, right in the middle of this panorama of filth, there was him. Spread-eagled, barely sentient, probably smelling worse than the rest of this mess put together.
    How the