pull down ladder fixed beneath it.
He forced his way through the clutter, pushing aside a rusting twin tub washing machine and a couple of broken chairs, until he was standing directly underneath the skylight. As he passed, he reached down to pick up an old screwdriver that had been left on top of the washing machine. Pausing to regain some of his breath, he reached up and pulled on the ladder. It was stiff and a little rusty, but, as he tugged, it eventually juddered down.
Tunjin looked at it carefully, and then looked down at his own bulk. The ladder should be capable of holding his weight, he thought, though he was glad that he wouldnât have to rely on it for too long. He took a deep breath and then slowly began to climb upthe rungs. The metal frame of the ladder creaked ominously, but seemed to be holding.
He reached the skylight, pulled on the handle and began to force it upward. For a moment, he thought that it would fail to open, but eventually, with a little shaking and pushing, it gave. Tunjin climbed the remainder of the ladder and, gasping for breath, he pulled himself up and on to the roof of the apartment block.
He lay for some minutes, feeling nauseous, his breath coming in painful gasps. He really wasnât cut out for this kind of thing. Not anymore, at any rate.
The bright sunlight and fresh air hit him almost as strongly as his breathlessness and the after-effects of his hangover. He rolled over on to his back and lay, still gasping, his eyes closed, the brilliance of the sun crimson through his closed eyelids. Thankfully, the sun was still relatively low and the air still chilly, the breeze riffling gently through his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
Finally, he recovered his breath and rolled over to shut the skylight firmly behind him. He looked around to see if there was anything on the apartment roof he could use to jam the skylight, in the hope of buying himself a little more time, but there was nothing.
He sat up and looked around. The rooftop was little more than an empty stretch of gray asphalt. A line of identical apartment blocks stretched off down the street, with a similar row opposite.
He had been up here on a couple of previous occasions, with the aim of getting an idea of the layout. The rooftop gave an attractive view of the city. In the distance, he could see the large buildings thatdominated the centerâthe Post Office, the Parliament house, the Palace of Culture. He could see the pink and black monolith of the Chinghis Khaan Hotel, the wide green spaces of Nairamdal Park, and the Naadam Stadium. In the distance, he could make out the haze and black tangle of buildings that denoted the industrial areas, and the long silver sheen of the railway line. And beyond all that, the wide open green of the steppes and the distant mountains.
He had grown up in this city, known it all his life andâin all honestyâhad never thought much of it. But now, just at this moment, it looked genuinely beautiful. But that might, he supposed, have something to do with the fact that he really might not be enjoying the sight of it for very much longer.
He pulled himself slowly to his feet and walked unsteadily across to the edge of the roof above the main street. He lowered himself and peered cautiously down. The shaven-headed man was still there, but was now talking on a cell phone. There was no obvious sense of urgency in his manner, so Tunjin assumed that his own departure had not yet been noticed.
He pulled back and began to make his way slowly across the rooftop. His aim ought to be to put as much space between himself and Muunokhoi as possible. Or, perhaps more accurately, to give himself the opportunity to try to get a step or two ahead of Muunokhoi. He could perhaps simply flee the cityâhead off to another town, maybe down into the Gobi. Surely it must be possible to find somewhere where Muunokhoi couldnât track him down.
And it wasnât as if he had much of a future ahead
He forced his way through the clutter, pushing aside a rusting twin tub washing machine and a couple of broken chairs, until he was standing directly underneath the skylight. As he passed, he reached down to pick up an old screwdriver that had been left on top of the washing machine. Pausing to regain some of his breath, he reached up and pulled on the ladder. It was stiff and a little rusty, but, as he tugged, it eventually juddered down.
Tunjin looked at it carefully, and then looked down at his own bulk. The ladder should be capable of holding his weight, he thought, though he was glad that he wouldnât have to rely on it for too long. He took a deep breath and then slowly began to climb upthe rungs. The metal frame of the ladder creaked ominously, but seemed to be holding.
He reached the skylight, pulled on the handle and began to force it upward. For a moment, he thought that it would fail to open, but eventually, with a little shaking and pushing, it gave. Tunjin climbed the remainder of the ladder and, gasping for breath, he pulled himself up and on to the roof of the apartment block.
He lay for some minutes, feeling nauseous, his breath coming in painful gasps. He really wasnât cut out for this kind of thing. Not anymore, at any rate.
The bright sunlight and fresh air hit him almost as strongly as his breathlessness and the after-effects of his hangover. He rolled over on to his back and lay, still gasping, his eyes closed, the brilliance of the sun crimson through his closed eyelids. Thankfully, the sun was still relatively low and the air still chilly, the breeze riffling gently through his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
Finally, he recovered his breath and rolled over to shut the skylight firmly behind him. He looked around to see if there was anything on the apartment roof he could use to jam the skylight, in the hope of buying himself a little more time, but there was nothing.
He sat up and looked around. The rooftop was little more than an empty stretch of gray asphalt. A line of identical apartment blocks stretched off down the street, with a similar row opposite.
He had been up here on a couple of previous occasions, with the aim of getting an idea of the layout. The rooftop gave an attractive view of the city. In the distance, he could see the large buildings thatdominated the centerâthe Post Office, the Parliament house, the Palace of Culture. He could see the pink and black monolith of the Chinghis Khaan Hotel, the wide green spaces of Nairamdal Park, and the Naadam Stadium. In the distance, he could make out the haze and black tangle of buildings that denoted the industrial areas, and the long silver sheen of the railway line. And beyond all that, the wide open green of the steppes and the distant mountains.
He had grown up in this city, known it all his life andâin all honestyâhad never thought much of it. But now, just at this moment, it looked genuinely beautiful. But that might, he supposed, have something to do with the fact that he really might not be enjoying the sight of it for very much longer.
He pulled himself slowly to his feet and walked unsteadily across to the edge of the roof above the main street. He lowered himself and peered cautiously down. The shaven-headed man was still there, but was now talking on a cell phone. There was no obvious sense of urgency in his manner, so Tunjin assumed that his own departure had not yet been noticed.
He pulled back and began to make his way slowly across the rooftop. His aim ought to be to put as much space between himself and Muunokhoi as possible. Or, perhaps more accurately, to give himself the opportunity to try to get a step or two ahead of Muunokhoi. He could perhaps simply flee the cityâhead off to another town, maybe down into the Gobi. Surely it must be possible to find somewhere where Muunokhoi couldnât track him down.
And it wasnât as if he had much of a future ahead
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