The Outcast by Michael Walters Page B

even know for certain how he died, until the pathologist’s finished.” He paused. “Even so …”
    â€œSir?”
    Doripalam looked up at the young man. “If Solongo’s right—I mean, if there’s anything at all in what she’s suggesting.” He stopped again, as if unsure how to articulate the ideas running through his mind. “If she
is
right,” he said, finally, “it suggests that we might be facing something very nasty indeed.”
    Â 
WINTER 1988
    At first, he was sure he was being followed.
    He shivered, pulling his padded coat more thickly around him, making a point of not looking back. Bloody cold. It was sometimes cold at home, but nothing like this bone-freezing chill. This close to the central square, the streetlights cast an eerie glow across the ice-lined road. Just a few blocks back, the lights ended, throwing the far end of the road into blackness.
    He set off walking again. There were few people about, even though it was not late. Most people, he assumed, had more sense than to expose themselves to these cold temperatures for longer than necessary.
    He felt more comfortable once he emerged from the narrow street that led from the apartment block into the main thoroughfare. Here the lights were brighter and more frequent, a pale pink chain stretching down towards the central square. There were more passers-by now, mainly young people, huddled in their thickly quilted clothing, rushing past in their eagerness to find warmth. Occasionally a vehicle passed, its driver cautiously navigating the potentially lethal road surface.
    In some respects, the fierce cold was a blessing. Although he felt isolated and exposed, there were few around to observe his passing. Even if he was being watched, the brutality of these midwinter temperatures might dissuade any observer from pursuing the task too assiduously.
    Had he been right to come here, right to pursue this? It was a major risk, even though it had been officially sanctioned. The authorities would always grant approval if they thought there was anything to be gained. But he had no illusions about how muchthat would be worth if anything went wrong. Then he would be on his own.
    Finally, he steeled himself to look back. The street was empty. The only footsteps he could hear were his own. It was all under control. He was ready for his next meeting with the contact. Soon they would be able to talk properly.
    It was all under control.

CHAPTER FIVE

SUMMER
    â€œSo you
are
here,” Tunjin said. “I thought I was still dreaming.”
    â€œYou must have very disturbed dreams.” Nergui was sitting with his legs stretched out, looking as relaxed as the straight-backed hospital chair would allow.
    â€œYou couldn’t begin to imagine,” Tunjin agreed. He tried to raise his hefty body, but the effort was too much. He was beginning to hope for some change of view, something other than the cracked whitewash of the ceiling, the partial glimpse of Nergui’s face if he craned his head sufficiently. “How long am I supposed to stay here?” he asked.
    â€œThey said twenty-four hours. I asked for less.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have had any complaints from me.” Tunjin paused. “I’m under arrest, then?”
    Nergui expression revealed nothing. “I wasn’t sure if you’d understood. I was waiting till you woke properly. But, no, not arrest.”
    â€œI’m helping you with your enquiries?”
    Nergui nodded. “Something like that.”
    â€œIn my experience, that’s usually just a euphemism.” Tunjin’s eyes moved towards the door. “You’re not alone, I notice.”
    Nergui smiled. “Observant as ever. I’m just taking precautions, that’s all.”
    Tunjin dropped his head back on the pillow, letting out his breath suddenly. “Should I ask against what?” He twisted his headand stared at Nergui.