Purkiss pulled off his goggles, felt numbing heat melt his exposed skin.
He took a casual step forward.
‘Right there is close enough,’ Wyatt said mildly, not bothering to wave the gun or anything dramatic like that.
‘What did Keys have on you?’
Wyatt smiled mirthlessly. ‘Straight to the point. If you’d been like that from the outset, Keys might still be alive and we might not be in the predicament we’re in now.’
Purkiss didn’t let his confusion show. ‘Had he discovered what you were doing here? Is that it?’
‘You know what, Purkiss? It was only a short while ago, when Medievsky returned to tell me I was going to be standing sentry duty here, that I worked out who you really are. Not John Purkiss, I knew that already. But what your agenda is. You’re the Ratcatcher. The mythical figure sent to track down us renegade agents. The equivalent of the monsters parents tell misbehaving children will come and get them if they don’t toe the line.’
‘You believe that. Really.’ Purkiss had learned not to protest too much in situations like this. ‘No, in fact I’m straightforward SIS. But yes, I am here to find out what you’re planning, and put a stop to it.’
‘You admit, then, that you don’t know why I’m here.’
‘Yes.’
Wyatt shifted to find a more comfortable position against the wall, the gun never wavering in his hands. ‘And yet, you assume automatically that I need to be stopped.’
‘You’re a traitor. You joined an enemy intelligence agency while employed by ours. That means you have to be brought to book. It’s open and shut, Wyatt. No nuances, no moral dilemmas involved.’
‘Even if what I’m trying to do is in Britain’s interests?’
Purkiss sighed. He’d managed to inch forwards, subtly, so that he was two or three feet closer to Wyatt. It wasn’t enough. He could traverse the ten paces between them in two seconds. A bullet would cover the distance in a fraction of that. ‘The Soviet Union used to argue that Britain’s interests would be served by its becoming part of the Warsaw Pact. Spare me the propaganda, Wyatt.’
Wyatt said, carefully, his eyes fixed on Purkiss’s: ‘I didn’t kill Keys.’
He was inviting Purkiss to read his gaze.
‘And I didn’t sabotage the satellite dish, either.’
To detect a lie in the eyes, no matter what the words said.
Purkiss believed him.
And, if he was honest with himself, he’d had his doubts already.
He said: ‘Then who did?’
Wyatt raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s why I’m here. To find out who, and why, and what.’
‘On behalf of the Russian government.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Wyatt’s tone was matter of fact. ‘Your version of the facts is probably more or less accurate. I was recruited in Warsaw in 1985. During the nineties there wasn’t much of a role for me, though I remained an asset of the KGB as it went through its various permutations. Things have got busier in the last decade and a half.’ He kept his two-handed grip on the Walther, but raised the index finger of his left hand. ‘And before you ask what motivated me… please. It’s not relevant.’
Purkiss said, ‘Put the gun down, Wyatt.’
Wyatt frowned, but in an almost affable way, as if to say: come on.
Six inches closer. Purkiss didn’t chance any more.
‘You’ve effectively told me that we’re on the same side in this,’ he said. ‘I’m hardly going to jump you. I’ve admitted I don’t know what your mission here is. You appear willing to tell me. I’m all ears. But that gun makes me nervous.’
‘Sit down,’ said Wyatt.
Damn. That made it more difficult. But Purkiss could hardly refuse. He lowered himself to the concrete floor, perturbed by how numb his legs still felt from the cold.
Wyatt dropped his hands to his sides, the gun pointing away.
‘The FSB picked up SIGINT data mentioning Yarkovsky Station towards the end of last year. Not just once, but several times. Nothing specific, but enough to suggest something was happening here, or about to happen. I was placed here to check it out. So far, I’ve found almost nothing. They all seem to be kosher, the staff here, even if they are an odd bunch.’
‘Do you suspect anything? Industrial espionage, the stealing of research material?’
Wyatt tipped his head. ‘It wouldn’t make sense. This is an international station, owned jointly by four countries. It isn’t some top-secret Russian facility.’
‘Then what?’
For the first time, Wyatt looked grave. ‘I don’t know, Purkiss.’
Purkiss said, ‘How did you identify me?’
‘Your name? My handler in Moscow worked that one out. I’ve maintained communications with him.’
‘I know,’ said Purkiss. ‘I found your satellite phone.’
He’d wanted to rattle Wyatt, and just for an instant he knew he’d succeeded: there was the slightest shifting of the man’s eyes, a movement at his mouth. Wyatt raised his free hand in an imaginary toast.
‘Just now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. You didn’t search my room before.’
‘No.’
Purkiss glanced away naturally, took in the immediate environment. He wasn’t going to reach Wyatt in time, not from a seated position, so the only other option was to use the surroundings in some way. To his right was the wall. To his left, a row of wall cupboards, seven or eight feet away.
In a pocket inside his jumpsuit, he felt the weight of the satellite phone.
He said, ‘Okay. Neither of us knows what’s going down here. There’s no obvious way of finding out. But something’s imminent, hence the cutting of the communication system. So we focus on who the culprit is.’
‘Yes. I’d agree with that.’
‘And?’
‘Who do I think it is?’ Wyatt looked away, considering. ‘Medievsky, possibly. He’s in charge, he’s well placed to hide evidence of what he’s up to. Montrose is another possibility. A dark horse. And Haglund. He’s the engineer, he could have rigged the explosion in the fuel tank of your snowmobile. Which was something else I didn’t do, by the way. And he was the first to discover that the comms were down.’ He nodded at Purkiss. ‘How about you?’
‘Haglund, yes,’ said Purkiss. ‘A definite possibility, and for the reasons you mention. Montrose… I don’t know. He’s too resentful, too uncontrolled. He doesn’t feel right. I think you’re completely wrong about Medievsky.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he told me during our recent conference that when he was appointed as leader of the team, some FSB apparatchiks ordered him to report any unusual activity at the station. It was some matter of national security, some item of interest in the region that might attract the attention of undesirable elements. All very vague and very KGB.’
He watched Wyatt carefully as he said it, and the man’s interest was definitely piqued.
Purkiss went on: ‘The thing is, Medievsky was completely sincere when he relayed all this. And genuinely uncomfortable about betraying a secret. He wasn’t covering anything up.’
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘No. I can’t. But you know when your instincts tell you something. Medievsky’s not the one.’
Wyatt appeared to think about it. ‘Any of the others grab you?’
‘Avner’s whole volatile, office-joker performance might be just that, a performance. But he doesn’t feel right. Budian’s in the running, though Keys’s death really seems to have shaken her. Clement, though… She’s cold. Unreadable. I know very little about what she actually does here, apart from watch people and make gnomic remarks from time to time. She’s one to watch.’