“It doesn’t say…yeah, we killed him. But trust us, this guy was horrid.”
– GERMAN SS OFFICERS SKIT, MITCHELL & WEBB
The only good thing about the conversation about Arje Dekker was that now I had to plan his death-and that worked like saltpeter on my exploding libido. As I helped load everything onto camels, horses and one pickup truck, I worked on how I would dispatch this asshole. There were a lot of problems with this particular hit.
First of all, I was competing. My focus should be on the match, not the job. Second, Veronica was friendly with Dekker. Because of this, the hit would have to be after the interview but before the end of the festival, so he didn’t get away. And I’d have to make sure she didn’t know about it. Third, my usual modus operandi wasn’t going to work here. It would have to look like an accident. For Ronnie’s sake. The last thing I needed was to provide her with another conspiracy to stalk. She would find out about Dekker’s death sometime, because of the Internet and her ability to do research. It was a given that she would look him up.
I toyed with the idea of “accidentally” snapping his neck in competition. It would be tough. As I’d learned already, each micromovement was critical. Dekker would have to fight in a way that would allow me to overpower him. And that was a total gamble. It went without saying that I would have to somehow manipulate the assignments to be matched up with him…a near impossibility here, where nothing was computerized.
If the opportunity presented itself, I could attempt it. But I had to have other options with better odds. Maybe I could maneuver the lunch date to happen at the conclusion of the festival. If I played my cards right, I could find out where he was staying and when he was leaving. Then, after escorting Ronnie back to our friends, I could slip back and kill him.
That seemed more reasonable. But how exactly would I do it to make it look like either an accident or natural causes? If I knew his weaknesses, whether physical or psychological, I could exploit them. Unfortunately, the file had no information where this was concerned.
An idea presented itself. I slipped away from the others and dug the cell phone Missi had given me out of my coat.
“Hey, Cy.” Missi didn’t sound like her usual, kooky self.
“You all right, cuz?”
She sighed. “I’m a contestant on an upcoming Survivor-type reality show. So, in answer to your question, not really.”
“Why would you do that?”
“For work, of course.”
Must be an assignment. But even though it sounded intriguing, I didn’t have time to ask.
“Sorry to get to the point of the call, but can you forward me some medical info on my friend?” Chinese and Russian satellites be damned; this line was still far from secure. Fortunately, the Bombays learn how to say a lot with a little from an early age.
“I’ll see what I can do and text it.” Missi hung up. Back to business.
“Worried about the match?” Zerleg asked. I didn’t even know he was there. Some catlike reflexes I have.
“No,” I answered truthfully.
The teenager sat down on the grass beside me. I took this as a sign that he wanted to talk, so I joined him.
“What is it, kid?” I asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“Nothing,” he answered. Which in teenage boy talk meant, Everything.
“Right.”
“It’s just…” Zerleg started. “It’s just that I don’t know why I am doing this.”
I admired his grasp of English. There was an accent there, but his grammar was flawless.
I crossed my legs. Might as well be comfortable. “I assumed you were doing it because you wanted to.”
“I did. And I do.” He waved me off and rose to his feet. “I just have cold feet. Thanks for listening, though.”
I watched as he walked back to the others, hands thrust deep inside his pants pockets. As much as I wanted to be a good friend to Zerleg, I was grateful he hadn’t confided everything. I didn’t need any more drama on this trip. For the first time since I’d arrived, I was actually looking forward to going home.
The next morning the entire camp began to move out. Sansar-Huu, because it was his truck, drove Yalta, Zerleg, Zolban and me to get us there early for some last-minute training. Veronica, to my surprise, insisted on traveling with Odgerel and the others. It was a gesture that made my heart skip a beat. I remembered when she arrived and was so worried about being lost in this foreign place. Now she was one of them. I liked that.
I sat in the back with the boys, insisting that Yalta have the passenger seat. Cool breezes dried our perspiration from the hot sun as we drove through the countryside to the city. Zolban was in high spirits-probably due to his success in the previous competitions. Zerleg was silent. Moody almost. Since we would be in the truck for a long time, I decided to ask him about the conversation we almost had.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Zerleg said over the wind.
Zolban laughed. “No, it is not!”
Zerleg looked quickly from me to his brother and told him to shut up in Mongolian.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked casually, hoping my tone would seem inviting.
“Go ahead!” Zolban punched his brother in the arm. Zerleg looked away.
“He wants to go to university,” his brother told me.
“That’s good,” I replied.
“Not good,” Zolban said eagerly. Clearly he relished his role of tattletale. “His girlfriend doesn’t like it.”
“Oh. I see.” Zerleg looked up at me sheepishly as I spoke.
He took over for his brother. “She wants to live on the steppes. She thinks my wanting an education is stupid.”
“But you want to go to school, right? Be a poet?”
He nodded.
“Can’t she come with you? Or visit during breaks?” I suggested.
“I don’t want her to. I want to meet other people. See the world.” Zerleg wasn’t meeting my eyes now.
“You don’t love her?” I asked gingerly.
The boy shook his head. “We do not have anything in common. I am not interested in her.” He leaned forward. “What would you do?”
Both boys looked at me eagerly, as if I would dispense words of wisdom on this matter. I used to be confident about women. But ever since Veronica Gale stormed her way into my life I was pretty sure I now knew less than nothing.
“What do your parents think?” That sounded like an intelligent way to stall. Technically, I was still an outsider, and the family would probably frown on any influence I had over the boys.
“Bah!” Zerleg spit. “They want me to stay here too. Like Sasug, they want me to be a sheepherder.”
“Sasug?” I asked, a little confused. “Doesn’t that mean ‘smelly’?” Maybe my Mongolian wasn’t that good.
Zolban nodded. “Yes. But it actually means ‘she smells good.’ At least, that is why they named her that.”
The boys seemed confused by my confusion, so I let the matter drop. I’d never really gotten the hang of Mongolian names and their various shades of meaning. All I could do was continue my profound respect for their culture and leave it at that.
“Have you told your family how much this means to you?”
Zerleg nodded. “Grandfather and Uncle Chudruk are on my side. But they have little influence.”
I had not met the boys’ parents or Sasug. They had not accompanied them on this journey. Zolbin said they would be at the naadam, though, so I wanted to be careful what advice I gave. Besides, who would listen to advice from a single carney/assassin whose most meaningful relationship had been with a guinea pig?
“I think your grandfather is a wise man and can help you,” I answered.
“What would you do?” Zerleg pressed. “If I were your son, what would you say?”
I thought about this a moment. “I would tell you to follow your heart,” I said, hoping they would get it.
They didn’t.
“What do you mean?” Zolbin asked. Apparently, he had a stake in this too.
“You should pursue what you love, and not what you don’t. By marrying a woman you do not love and working at something you do not enjoy, you are hurting everyone. If you love education and poetry, you should pursue them both.”
Zerleg’s face brightened and he threw himself into my arms. And although I was glad he was happy, I wondered if this was going to bite me in the ass later. One more thing to add to our trip-a couple of angry parents and one pissed-off girlfriend. Not good.