Tundra (15 page)

‘
Hell
, Ryan. He got you there.’ He trotted over to the counter, raised his hand in a high-five gesture. Purkiss waved a careless palm in response.

The mood was broken. But Montrose glared at Purkiss, his mouth tight.

The door opened and Medievsky put his head in and said: ‘John. You next, please.’

P
urkiss let Medievsky run through his questions –
did you get up at all during the night, who was the last person you saw
– before holding up a hand.

‘It isn’t going to work, Oleg.’

‘What?’

‘This kind of questioning. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was in bed, apart from one person, obviously. Everyone’s going to give you the same answer. Nobody heard or saw anything.’

Medievsky considered him. They were both seated in Medievsky’s office, the scientist on the other side of the desk. Purkiss was relieved he’d been called in before Wyatt. He wanted to get back to his room before Wyatt went to his own.

‘Do you have a better suggestion?’ Medievsky didn’t sound irritated, but genuinely curious.

‘There are other priorities,’ said Purkiss.

‘Such as?’

‘You need to secure the safety of the generators.’

Medievsky frowned. ‘Explain.’

‘I’m assuming Keys’s killer sabotaged our communications to stop us summoning help. But that’ll work only in the short term. Before long, they’ll be sending out search parties. So, something else is going to happen very soon. Which means the killer might take other short-term measures. Such as destroying our power supply.’

Medievsky narrowed his eyes, pressed his fingertips against his lips. ‘But there is little that can be done to protect the generators. The outbuilding housing them is locked, but that won’t keep a determined person out.’

‘Then you need someone in there, armed, standing guard.’

Medievsky shook his head. ‘You see, of course, the immediate problem with your suggestion.’

‘Yes,’ said Purkiss. ‘The problem is knowing whom to trust to do it.’

‘You’re suggesting you do it?’ Medievsky’s tone was incredulous.

‘Of course not. And you can’t do it yourself. You’re in charge, and needed. No. I suggest you pick someone who can handle a gun, and about whom you feel the most confident.’

‘Haglund.’

‘Again, no.’ When Medievsky opened his mouth to protest, Purkiss went on: ‘I’m not doubting that you trust him. But he’s the engineer. He’s crucial to the running of this place. He can’t be tied down.’

‘Then who?’

‘Who else do you feel comfortable with? Montrose?’

‘No,’ said Medievsky quickly. ‘Frank Wyatt.’

Purkiss felt a small punch of triumph in his gut. He’d read Medievsky correctly. The team leader wasn’t going to ask either of the women to stand guard, nor was Avner a likely candidate. And Purkiss had seen enough of Medievsky’s interactions with Montrose to know that he didn’t trust his second in command. Which left Wyatt, by process of elimination.

‘Okay.’ Purkiss paused. ‘What are you going to do about Keys’s body?’

This time Medievsky had an answer, and looked relieved about it. ‘Gunnar and I have already discussed it. We’re going to move the body into the cold storage locker.’ His manner became suddenly brusque, as if he was annoyed at the way the questioning had been turned round on him. ‘You still have not told me how you would go about finding who it is. The killer and saboteur.’

Purkiss collected his thoughts. ‘Any of us had the opportunity. It was the dead of night, and nobody heard anything. So you won’t find out that way. The way to do it is to establish
why
. What the motivation is behind all of this.’ He allowed a pause, before saying: ‘And you know what it is, Oleg, don’t you?’

Medievsky rose, slowly. He looked utterly appalled, wonderingly so, as if Purkiss had just approached him and punched him in the face.

‘You say...
I
am the killer?’

‘No. I don’t think you are. But you have an inkling, at least, what his or her agenda is.’

Medievsky remained standing. The desk between them seemed to be all that was stopping him from stepping up to Purkiss.

‘You had better explain.’

‘When you spoke to me, in this office, after the episode with my snowmobile. I said the fuel leak was down to bad luck. You hesitated.’ Purkiss leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at Medievsky’s eyes. ‘You
knew
it was sabotage, just as well as I did. You knew somebody tried to kill me out there. And it’s not the sort of thing a scientist would normally consider. You had a reason not to be surprised.’

Medievsky returned his gaze, his features angry, but riven by conflict.

‘Why was that, Oleg?’ said Purkiss. ‘Why exactly did the possibility of attempted murder here at Yarkovsky Station come as no surprise to you?’

Medievsky’s eyes flicked away for an instant, then back. Purkiss pressed home his advantage, his voice low, urgent. ‘Come
on
, Oleg. I was the one on the receiving end, remember? I came close to having my innards strewn across the tundra. I have a right to know.’

Something Purkiss had said seem to snag Medievsky, cause him to look away again, but with a puzzlement that hadn’t been there before. This time he didn’t make immediate eye contact again. When he sat down once more, folding his hands in front of his face, his elbows on the desk, there was an air of renewed confidence about him.

‘Perhaps I am not the only one keeping secrets, John,’ he said with quiet emphasis. ‘Perhaps you too have not been entirely truthful. Because yes, you are right. I did suspect your vehicle had been tampered with, and I am now all the more convinced that it was. But this raises the question: why would somebody wish to kill
you
? You, in particular? A journalist?’

By now his manner was forceful, triumphant, even. He leaned closer across the desk.

‘Who are you, really, John Farmer?’

Purkis sat back.

‘We seem to have reached a stalemate.’

*

P
urkiss took the first turn.

There’d been a lot of back and forth, a succession of silences, all necessary steps in this type of awkward situation in which each party recognised the need for disclosure but was uneasy about making the first move. Purkiss let Medievsky be the one who made the suggestion:
we each tell one another the full truth
. He’d agreed, even though he had no intention of doing anything of the kind, and knew Medievsky knew it.

Purkiss had learned through years of experience that lies were most convincing when intermingled with statements that were true to varying degrees. So he began with an outright truth. ‘I’m not a journalist.’

Medievsky’s look was one of quiet satisfaction.

‘I work for the British government.’

It was also true, in a sense, though in fact Purkiss remained unclear himself about the ultimate identity of his employers. He worked for Vale in a freelance capacity, and had no real idea about who it was Vale was answerable to.

‘And I’m here to investigate a potential security breach, by one of your staff.’

(True in the broadest sense.)

‘Though I don’t know which one of them it is.’

(A lie.)

Medievsky listened intently. When it was clear Purkiss wasn’t going to say any more, at least not spontaneously, he said: ‘A security breach.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of what nature?’

‘Your turn, Medievsky.’

The Russian seemed to consider, and his features pronounced him satisfied so far. He said, ‘Unlike you, John – if that’s your real name – I am who I say I am. A scientist in the field of soil composition research, and leader of the team here at Yarkovsky Station. But when I was first appointed as head of station, two years ago, I received a visit at my office in Moscow from some officials of the Russian State.’

FSB
, thought Purkiss.

‘I was congratulated on my appointment, and my visitors expressed confidence that I would see Russia proud with my leadership. It was clear to me, however, that the gentlemen had not come simply to flatter me. And indeed, they revealed that Yarkovsky Station was of critical importance not just for the scientific work carried out here, but for another reason.’ Medievsky hesitated, as though aware he was about to cross a line, betray a confidence.

Purkiss waited.

‘There is something out there in the tundra, some item or location in the broad vicinity of the station, which is of vital import to the security of the Russian State. I do not know what it is, or where it is. My visitors would not tell me, and cautioned me in no uncertain terms that it would be highly inadvisable of me to try to find out more about it. But they said there were others who were seeking it, and they asked me to be vigilant for any suspicious or unusual activity at Yarkovsky Station and to report it to them immediately.’

‘Nisselovich’s disappearance,’ said Purkiss.

‘Of course. But that had to be reported anyway, in its own right.’ Medievsky glanced down. ‘I should also have reported my suspicion that your snowmobile had been sabotaged. I did not.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ said Purkiss.

Anger flared in Medievsky’s eyes. ‘I’m a scientist, John. Not the eyes and ears of the authorities, not some FSB apparatchik. My loyalty is to the facts of nature. I did not want a posse of State functionaries coming here and trampling all over my station, based on the speculation that a leaking fuel tank represented an attempt at murder.’ His jaw tightened. ‘I am old enough to remember how things were under the old regime. The fear, the grovelling obedience to one’s masters. Not everybody in Russia welcomes the return to the old ways we are now seeing. Not all of us want the past back.’

Purkiss studied him.
Some item or location in the vicinity of the station.
He wondered if he was making a leap too far, fitting the facts to suit the idea that was growing in his mind.

‘As you mentioned, you’re a scientist,’ said Purkiss. ‘You’re curious by nature. Weren’t you tempted to investigate further, even though you’d been warned off? To find out what this great secret was that you’d been told to guard?’

Medievsky gave a soft laugh. ‘I said I refused to be an FSB flunky, John. I didn’t say I was stupid, or naïve. Yes, of course I was tempted. My career is solid, my reputation growing. It wasn’t worth jeopardising that for the sake of idle curiosity. If Moscow had discovered I was nosing around – and they would have – my time here at the station would have been terminated. As I myself might even have been.’

‘But you must have speculated about it.’

Medievsky shrugged. ‘I assume there is some sort of government base nearby that we don’t know about. Military, perhaps.’

Was that it? Purkiss wondered. Had the site of the mammoth fossils, the
Nekropolis
, been taken over for military purposes? But why that particular locale?

‘It seems we’re on the same side here, Oleg,’ said Purkiss. ‘In answer to your question about the security breach I’m here to investigate: my employers are being as tight-lipped as your visitors, as you call them. I don’t know quite what I’m looking for, either. I’ve just been told to watch out for suspicious behaviour among the staff at this station, and to look into it further.’

‘Then I am prepared to cooperate with you,’ said Medievsky. ‘Within the bounds of reason, and of my responsibility to this station and my team.’ He stood up. ‘I will interview the others, for completeness’ sake. And I will tell Frank to stand guard over the generators.’

Purkiss rose also. ‘How long will it be before anyone on the outside notices we’ve been cut off?’

‘Forty eight hours,’ Medievsky said immediately. ‘We establish routine contact every two days with Moscow and London and New York. The weather here causes temporary connection failures from time to time, so a loss of contact for twenty four hours isn’t considered remarkable.’

‘And the nearest manned location is the other station to the north?’

‘Correct. Saburov-Kennedy Station, almost one hundred and forty kilometres away. But the terrain in between is harsh, John. Harsher than anything you have seen so far. There is no road. It would be hazardous in the extreme to try to make the journey.’ He gestured around him. ‘We have food and fuel to last us many times over. Forty eight hours, and assistance will come.’

Unless something else happens first
, thought Purkiss.

T
he call came at ten past ten in the morning, an hour after Lenilko had returned to the office.

He’d left, finally, at eleven the previous evening. Natalya had greeted him with less hostility than he’d been expecting. The twins were fast asleep.

‘I’ll spend some time with them tomorrow,’ he promised. And he had, waking at seven to prepare Sunday breakfast for them all, romping with them on the new carpet of the apartment’s living room floor. He’d left standing instructions for any call from Yarkovsky Station to be routed to his personal cell phone, but it had stayed silent through the night.

At eight thirty, with a sense of guilt assuaged, which made him feel guilty in itself, Lenilko set off through the new snowfall to Lubyanskaya Square.

When Anna put the call through to his office, he detected a trace of her usual exuberance again. She was one of only four of five other staff in on a Sunday, and as he’d expected had got there before him, her greeting pleasant but nervous.

From nearly six thousand kilometres away, Wyatt’s voice said: ‘There have been major developments.’

Lenilko felt his pulse stir. He glanced at the time-zone clock on the wall. Just after four p.m. in Yakutsk.

‘The doctor, Keys, was killed last night. And the satellite link is down. The dish has been sabotaged.’

Lenilko listened to Wyatt’s concise, impassive account with a growing excitement, avoiding interruptions until it was clear Wyatt had finished. He said: ‘Purkiss?’

‘I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel right.’

‘Why the doctor?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

Lenilko breathed deeply. The sabotage of the communication system meant some kind of action was imminent.