But Lenilko thought it highly likely that Purkiss had killed Wyatt in his pursuit of the investigation. And that made what was going to happen to him marginally easier for Lenilko to come to terms with.
Assuming of course that Purkiss himself was still alive. Lenilko had heard the barked orders in the background during his brief conversation with Purkiss, listened to the muffling of the sound as the phone handset was laid down. Shortly afterwards there’d been a click as the call was terminated. Had Purkiss been shot subsequently? Lenilko suspected he’d never know.
He’d turned his own satellite handset off immediately. There was no more use for it.
He thought of Purkiss’s final question: when and where did it crash? Lenilko had told him the date, but they’d been interrupted before he could finish the second part of the question. The truth was that Lenilko didn’t know the location of the wreck. He’d asked Rokva, during their meeting that morning at the restaurant, but the Director had said he himself was unaware of the precise coordinates of the Tupolev, that it was considered information too classified to be shared even with the heads of the FSB directorates. Lenilko supposed Rokva was telling the truth. On the other hand, it was perfectly feasible that he was withholding the information because he didn’t trust Lenilko with it.
Deceptions within uncertainties within suspicions… It was a life Lenilko had entered voluntarily and without illusions, one he’d come to accept as his home. But he felt weariness settle on him like a shroud. He longed suddenly for simplicity, for the straightforward innocence of the world his twins still knew.
For perhaps the tenth time, Lenilko caught himself glancing at the clock on the wall. It was now six thirty-five p.m. in Yakutsk and at Yarkovsky Station. By eight, the Mi-26 transporter would have arrived. The troops would do their work, and the Tupolev and its deadly cargo would remain in the tundra, undisturbed for now.
If, of course, eight o’clock wasn’t too late. If the terrorist cell hadn’t already broken out of the station and reached the aircraft.
Anna came in then, with a preliminary draft of the report he would furnish, and Lenilko set to work with his editing pen.
Twenty-three
Montrose tossed the handset back to Purkiss, who caught it one-handed.
‘Damn it.’
He’d snatched it from Purkiss and stared at it and hit the dial key, listened.
Avner began to pace, his hands thrust into his pockets. ‘So what now? What do we do?’
Purkiss said, mostly to Medievsky, ‘They’ve severed contact, which means they assume I’ve been compromised. Either killed or otherwise incapacitated. The time for subterfuge is past. They’ll be sending a force here.’
‘To rescue us,’ said Budian from the sofa. It was half a question, and her tone held little hope.
‘Maybe.’ Purkiss was thinking quickly. ‘Oleg, I need a word in private.’
‘Hey.’ Montrose stepped forward. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
Medievsky held up a hand. ‘Over there.’ He nodded at the far end of the room.
Montrose got between Medievsky and Purkiss. ‘You can’t do this. We’re all part of this now. He can’t be allowed to just —’
‘Back, Ryan.’ Medievsky laid a hand on the Ruger slung across his chest. Montrose clenched his teeth behind compressed lips.
In the corner, aware of the others staring across at them, Purkiss murmured close to Medievsky’s ear, ‘I can’t be sure, but there’s a strong chance Moscow will take extreme measures to deal with this.’
‘Meaning?’
‘The situation’s out of control. They have no idea who it is here at the station they’re looking for. All they know is there’s nuclear material in the area, under threat of being stolen, and a terrorist cell of unknown numbers and unknown firepower operating here. They won’t be cautious. They’ll be looking to shoot first and salvage whatever’s left afterwards.’
Medievsky stared at him, his eyes at once haunted and disbelieving.
‘Don’t think they wouldn’t dare it, Oleg. Just because this is an internationally owned facility, with foreign nationals working here. It’ll be simple to cover up. They’ll concoct some story about a freak storm, a faulty exploding generator.’
Medievsky glanced away at the others, crowded on the either side of the mess. ‘What do you suggest?’ he muttered.
‘If they’ve scrambled jets, which would be the quickest way to reach us, they could bomb us at any second. There’s no point planning for something like that because we wouldn’t have a prayer. But I don’t think they’ll do that. The US monitors flight patterns over Russia with satellite technology. Any unusual activity would alert suspicions, and if Yarkovsky Station suddenly got obliterated the Americans would put two and two together. My guess is they’ll be sending in ground troops, probably Spetsnaz, by helicopter. It buys us time. Not much, but perhaps an hour, two at the most.’
‘Time… to do what?’ Medievsky said, not fatalistically but with genuine curiosity.
‘To pack up and move out of here.’
‘Move out?’
‘We can’t stay. We’d be no match for a detail of Spetsnaz troops, however good Haglund is with a rifle or whatever. We have to get away from here, find sanctuary.’
Medievsky appeared to consider it. ‘The nearest human habitation — ’
‘Is Saburov-Kennedy Station to the north. Yes.’
Medievsky shook his head, once. ‘Impossible.’
‘It’s not impossible.’
‘One hundred and forty kilometres —’
‘Of hostile, impassable terrain. Yes, I know.’ Purkiss spoke more urgently, aware of the growing hum of mutters emanating from the other end of the mess. ‘But we don’t have a lot of choice, Oleg. Either we strike out, and pool our talents and our intellectual powers, and find a way to make it there. Or we sit here and wait to be butchered like livestock.’
Medievsky’s jaw worked, his eyes flicking, calculating.
Purkiss said, ‘How many people can your truck carry?’
‘The Ural? All of us. Three up front in the cab, the rest in the back.’
‘Okay. You need to get it ready. Load it up with whatever’s essential. Your research equipment, stuff you can’t save electronically. As little in the way of hardware as you can manage. And the rifles have to come with us. All of them.’
Medievsky said, ‘There’s a problem with your plan.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The killer, the saboteur, the terrorist, will be coming with us.’
‘No, he won’t,’ said Purkiss. ‘Or she.’
Medievsky frowned.
Purkiss said: ‘Because I’m going to identify, and neutralise, whoever it is. Before we leave.’
‘How?’
On the periphery of his vision, Purkiss saw Haglund and Montrose break away from the group and come striding across the room towards them.
‘Give me access to your database,’ he whispered. ‘You said you keep logs of when each team member leaves and returns to the station. I think I know what I’m looking for.’
With only a moment’s hesitation, Medievsky muttered two sequences of letters and numerics. ‘Username and password. The file’s named passages.’
Purkiss hooked each of the sequences on the mental grid he used to memorise new strings of data. ‘Got it.’
Before either Haglund or Montrose could speak, Medievsky turned to them. ‘We’re moving out. Get everything you consider absolutely essential, possessions and research material and the like, and bring it to the hangar as quickly as possible. I’ll sort through it and cull anything I don’t agree with.’ He tipped his chin at Purkiss. ‘You too, Farmer.’