An Autumn Hunting

Chapter 55

The one good thing about Bishkek apartments are the front doors. Solid steel, impregnable unless you can squeeze a battle tank up the narrow stairs. They’re fitted to keep burglars and other undesirables out; your apartment might be bare of everything but a bed and a kettle, but no one else can get inside unless you invite them.

Somehow I doubted Aliyev, with all his resources, could get hold of a T-90, so I could sleep for a while, drink tea and smoke while deciding what to do next.

The afternoon drifted towards dusk, grey skies holding back all but a little light that slithered in through the kitchen window. Elbows on the Formica table, I watched my cigarette smoke bloom in the air, surprised by the meaning and intensity my familiar surroundings took on with the approach of death.

I stubbed out my cigarette, shook the empty pack. It was time to make the call. The voice that answered showed no emotion at my request, merely ordered a time to meet. I put my phone down, remembered what Leonid Yurtaev, the Kyrgyz chess grand master had counselled: ‘When you reach the endgame, remember your opponent is looking to kill you. If your defence is poor, or your attack is weak, he will do so.’ I knew I was a mere pawn, but even a pawn can topple a king if the moment is right.

Tynaliev’s house was as imposing as ever, the security just as strict, the guards surly as always. I wondered if they were that way when the president made an unexpected visit, decided they probably were.

My Makarov locked away, I was led to the front of the house, where a guard tapped in the lock code and I was admitted into Tynaliev’s lair. The house was ferociously overheated, and I could feel sweat begin to form at my hairline. I told myself it was the heat, not fear.

After ten minutes of perspiration, the door to Tynaliev’s study opened and the minister appeared. He put out a hand, massive and calloused. I knew Tynaliev had killed people with his bare hands, but I took it just the same. It felt like trapping my hand under a steam hammer.

‘What?’

Tynaliev had never been a man to stand on ceremony, but this was terse, even for him.

‘I’m sorry to intrude, Minister, but there are just a couple of things to clear up with you. Then I’ll leave you in peace, I swear.’

Tynaliev took two steps forward, so we were face to face. I could smell the vodka and pickled cucumbers on his breath. His face was borscht-red and I wondered how long it would be before a stroke or a heart attack made his government post vacant. I couldn’t say the prospect depressed me, but perhaps better the corrupt, hard-liner psycho you know…

‘Get on with it,’ Tynaliev half-snarled, sitting down at his desk. I noticed the conveniently placed pistol, wondered how sharp the letter opener was if it came down to it.

‘I’d like to clarify my return to the police force,’ I said. ‘I’ve gone through a lot of shit, risked being shot by anyone and everyone, including my own side. Now it’s time for my rehabilitation, don’t you think?’

Tynaliev sat back in his chair.

‘If you think I’m going into a dark alley one night wondering whether I’m going to get shot in the front by a criminal or in the back by a cop who thinks I’m dirty, you don’t know me very well, Minister,’ I said.

‘So what do you want?’

‘A statement that says I was acting on your orders to help break a major crime syndicate, and I’ve been restored to my former post of Inspector, Murder Squad. Further details to follow in due course.’

‘Which, of course, they never will,’ Tynaliev said.

‘Which they never will,’ I agreed.

‘I’ll sign the release tonight, have it issued to the press. It should be in tomorrow’s papers, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be front page news.’

‘As long as the right people see it and know who it’s from.’

‘Which leaves us where?’

I looked over at a side table, empty except for a photo of Yekaterina Tynalieva, the way she was in life, smiling, happy, not the disembowelled carcass I’d encountered. I made sure Tynaliev saw me looking as well. We both knew the pain of losing someone you loved, and in that moment I felt a degree of sympathy for him. I’d brought the man responsible for her murder to a summary and brutal justice at Tynaliev’s hands. I was too cautious to mention it, but Tynaliev owed me and he knew it.

‘Quang thinks I set him up with the Thai police,’ I continued, ‘which, of course, means he thinks I was acting under orders from Aliyev. Aliyev thinks I deliberately set Quang up to sabotage the deal, probably because I wasn’t offered a big enough slice of the cake. So they’ll battle it out, maybe wipe each other out.’

Tynaliev gave the kind of smile a shark does at the split second before it hits its prey.

‘Which we’ve agreed would be a good result, Inspector?’ he said, emphasising the last word to reassure me of my regained status.

‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘Although there is one thing that still puzzles me. I can understand why you want to break Aliyev and his organisation. A threat to state security, a major source of corruption and crime, a threat to the harmonious relations we enjoy with our neighbours.’

I paused, decided it wasn’t the time to ask if I could smoke. Instead, I adopted my most innocent and puzzled expression, the look of a small child when told where babies come from.

Tynaliev poured himself a giant vodka, threw it down his throat.

‘Getting rid of two criminal gangs, even if one of them is based abroad, well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it, Inspector?’ Even more emphasis on the last word this time: what’s been bestowed can also be taken away.

I had a pretty shrewd idea someone else would soon be filling the gap, but I wanted to live, at least until Quang or Aliyev, or both, caught up with me. After that, all bets were off.

‘If that’s all,’ Tynaliev said, waving a finger at the door behind me. I thanked him once again. I had my hand on the door handle when he spoke again.

‘I expect your silence on this, Inspector.’ No mistaking the threat. ‘And don’t try to pull the “information lodged with people in case of my death” stunt, like you did after our business in Dubai.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Minister,’ I said. ‘You can never rely on most people to do as you ask them, particularly when you’re past caring.’

Tynaliev nodded.

‘On the other hand, when someone one trusts implicitly hears of one’s death, well, they’re bound to take it very personally,’ I said. ‘I would hate to think of walking around wondering if that headache is from a sniper’s cross-hairs, that sudden stabbing pain in the ribs from a hunting knife. After all, what’s the point of having a bank vault full of money if you’re not alive to enjoy it?’

Tynaliev recognised the threat, shrugged it away.

‘Then we’ll have to keep you alive, won’t we?’ he said. ‘You’ve already quit the vodka, maybe time to bin the smokes as well?’

It was time to show my hand.

‘I’ve never found it easy to give up,’ I said, and he knew I wasn’t talking about nicotine, ‘and I’m not the only one.’

‘The Uzbek woman,’ he said.

I nodded.

‘No parables, no unspoken meanings, Minister. If you kill me, she’ll kill you. She’s the very best at what she does. You probably won’t feel a thing.’

I stood up, headed for the door, watched Tynaliev reach for the vodka bottle. I suppose we all take comfort where we can find it. I only wished I knew where to find mine.