A word caught his eye: Nekropolis. The excavation site Budian had told him about, with the mammoth remains. Purkiss began reading. The article had been scanned from a 1990 edition of National Geographic, and amounted to a twenty-page feature detailing the history of the site and its descent into dereliction a couple of years earlier. The piece ended with a lament about the defunct status of the site, and an expression of cautious hope that activity there might be resumed now that the Soviet Union had opened up to the world. Interestingly, there was mention of several American companies which had offered to contribute funding to the revival of the site.
Purkiss read the article again, slowly. Something bothered him; something wasn’t quite right. He knew little about the topic of mammoth fossil excavation, but the account was easy to follow and quite riveting in its own way. Entire family groups of the animals had been discovered, perfectly preserved beneath the ice. The research station had grown rapidly in the decade after its establishment in the late seventies, both in size and in staffing numbers. And the yield of fossils had continued, one of the largest hauls having been discovered in the summer of 1986.
Then, in April 1988, the plug had been pulled. Existing projects were wound down rapidly, staff were withdrawn, and by the end of the summer the site was closed.
The National Geographic article didn’t waste time on speculation as to the reason. It mentioned the context — that the Soviet Union was bankrupt, that Gorbachev had accepted that the game was up, and that priorities had to shift drastically — but otherwise seemed to accept the closing of the site that would become Nekropolis as a sad inevitability.
Purkiss leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes. April, 1988. He ran through what he knew about the time. There weren’t any events of enormous historical significance that came to mind.
He knuckled his forehead. This was a moment when internet access would have been invaluable. Perhaps he’d ask some of the others, Budian or Medievsky or even Clement. Though he suspected none of them would be in the mood for questions of such apparent triviality, given what had happened to Keys that morning.
And given their current predicament, the absence of telecommunications links with the rest of the world.
Purkiss glanced through the remaining files. There was nothing that caught his attention. He closed the folder and stared at the laptop screen.
The sudden, unexplained closure of a major research facility, more than a quarter of a century ago. It was all Purkiss had come up with. Could there be any link with what was happening at Yarkovsky Station?
Far away in the depths of the building, voices echoed off the walls, and he wondered if Medievsky and the other two had returned.
They assembled in the mess once more, Medievsky’s face raw from the outside cold, his silence portentous. Purkiss glanced at Haglund and Wyatt, but their expressions gave nothing away. Avner had emerged from his room as Purkiss was passing it, and had stared at him dully before falling into step beside him.
When they were settled, Medievsky, remaining standing, said: ‘The satellite dish has been damaged. More than that. Destroyed. There was no chance that Frank or Gunnar might fix it.’
Clement spoke up, and Purkiss was struck by how seldom he heard her voice. ‘Damaged, how? The weather?’
This time Wyatt answered. ‘The dish itself has been smashed, carefully and systematically. The supporting apparatus is wrecked. It’s been sabotaged.’
There was no ripple of reaction as there had been when Medievsky had said earlier that Keys may have been murdered. Instead, it was as though the group held its collective breath, waiting for some further revelation.
Montrose broke the silence. ‘How?’
‘It’s difficult to say,’ began Wyatt. ‘An axe, possibly. Or —’
‘I don’t mean how,’ said Montrose testily. ‘I mean who?’
All heads turned to Medievsky. He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable under the expectant gazes.
‘There are no other bases anywhere within the vicinity,’ he said. ‘No human outposts of any kind. The saboteur came from Yarkovsky Station.’
Nobody made eye contact, even though people glanced about. The concept hung heavily, like a shroud over the group.
One of us.
Medievsky clasped his hands in front of him, stood with his feet apart, a posture of authority. ‘I need to establish timings. Which of us last used either the internet or the telecom facilities? And when?’
Avner, who hadn’t spoken yet, said, ‘I sent a couple of emails at around one a.m. I can check the exact time signatures on them.’
‘One a.m. Good. Anyone later?’
Heads shook. Medievsky ticked off on his fingers: ‘So. Between one and seven this morning, when Gunnar first determined the connection was lost, the dish was destroyed. We assume a half-hour journey to reach the dish, minimum. We were all of us present at the station at seven. The sabotage therefore took place between one and half past six.’
Haglund said, ‘It was before that. I was in the hangar by six-ten, taking another look at the damaged Cat. All the vehicles were present.’
‘Had any of them been used recently?’ asked Medievsky.
‘I don’t know. There was no cause for me to examine them.’
‘Five thirty, then, let us say.’
Purkiss chimed in. ‘You have to consider the time of Keys’s murder in, don’t forget.’
All heads turned in his direction.
‘Keys was killed around three or four in the morning, in my estimation. I’m no expert, so if any of you have more specialised forensic skills, speak up.’ When nobody answered, he went on: ‘That narrows the window even further. Whoever sabotaged the dish did so either soon after Efraim last used the satellite connection, or else not long before Gunnar got up and went into the hangar. My bet is it’s the second, later in the night.’
‘Why’s that?’ Montrose asked.
‘Because it’s likely whoever killed Keys sabotaged the dish to stop us from summoning support afterwards. The killer could have smashed the dish first, then returned to kill Keys. But that’s a risky approach. Any of you might have got up in the middle of the night to do some work, perhaps use the internet or email, and would have discovered the severed connection. You’d have raised the alert, and everyone would have been up. The killer wouldn’t have had the opportunity to kill Keys in that case.’
Several pairs of eyes were on Purkiss. He tried to read what he saw there. Wyatt, Budian and Medievsky regarded him with considered interest. Efraim appeared dazed. Haglund and Montrose weren’t making eye contact, but stared grimly into the middle distance.
In Clement’s stare there was something close to amusement, as if she and Purkiss were sharing a secret.
‘You are assuming,’ said Medievsky, ‘that Keys was killed with premeditation. What if his death was accidental, after an unanticipated struggle?’
‘Then it’s all the more likely the sabotage happened afterwards.’
Medievsky clapped his hands together, in what Purkiss recognised as his sign that he was about to take action. ‘I’ll speak to each of you in turn. Wait in here until I call you.’
Montrose moved to join him at the door. Medievsky turned.
‘You too, Ryan. Wait here.’