Lenilko rose to his feet, distantly surprised that his legs were able to support him. The phone at his ear, he approached the window, gazed at the toy store across the square.
Games. He’d been playing games, and Tsarev was right, he’d known it all the time.
The General said, his harsh voice a degree softer: ‘This is the end of our association. I can’t help you from now on, can’t afford to have anything more to do with you. But for what it’s worth, Semyon Vladimirovich — and I know it’s scant comfort — I believe I understand your motivations. I know all about ambition, and the power it can exert. I also believe you were driven not only by a desire for personal glory, but by the genuine conviction that you were doing the right thing for Russia.’
Lenilko’s throat worked desperately to force words past the dryness. Tsarev was going to end the call at any moment, and Lenilko couldn’t endure the humiliation of saying nothing in response. He didn’t know quite what he was going to say until after the words had left his mouth.
‘Thank you, General. For everything.’
‘May God be with you, Semyon Vladimirovich.’
The line went dead.
Even before Lenilko turned to the door, he heard the alarmed voices of his staff outside, the heavy footsteps as they approached.
Twenty-eight
The wind scoured the ground at a forty-five-degree slant, propelling sheets of snow across the Ural-4320 so that it felt as if the vehicle was about to be engulfed.
They had been on the move for thirty minutes, Haglund at the wheel, Purkiss and Budian beside him in the cab. Avner hadn’t looked happy about being asked to climb into the rear, but he’d followed Clement up. Also in the rear compartment were three of the snowmobiles and four Ruger rifles with spare ammunition, which Haglund had retrieved from the arms storeroom just before they’d set out.
The truck had a maximum speed of seventy-five kilometres per hour. On a straight road, they could reach Saburov-Kennedy Station in less than two hours. Given the terrain ahead, and assuming it was traversable at all, they were more likely to take twice as long as that.
Haglund said, ‘You’ve considered, of course, that Saburov-Kennedy Station may have been notified about us. That it’ll be assumed that’s where we’re heading, and the staff at the station will have been instructed to detain us the moment we arrive.’
‘Yes, I’ve considered it.’ Purkiss saw the ground rise ahead of them, the flatness of the tundra around Yarkovsky Station starting to give way to more uneven terrain. ‘But I don’t think they’ll do that. They’ll want to keep this whole thing under wraps for as long as possible. They’ll come after us, and try and stop us before we get there. They know what vehicles we’ve got at our disposal, and they’ll be confident they can reach us first.’
It was remotely possible, Purkiss thought, that the troops wouldn’t pursue them. That they’d read Purkiss’s note, and would focus all their attention on the Nekropolis and the activity there. But although they’d almost certainly investigate the lead Purkiss had given them — he was relying on it — there was little chance they’d allow Purkiss and the others to get away.
While they were making final preparations to board the truck, Clement had said in Purkiss’s ear, raising her voice above the wind: ‘A left field question, but what if we stay put? Explain to them about Montrose, offer to help them in any way we can.’
‘Because they may come in with all guns blazing. We might not get a word in.’
She nodded immediately.
Haglund lapsed into silence once more. Seated between him and Purkiss, Budian stared straight ahead through the windscreen. Some of the dullness had left her eyes, but her expression remained slack.
Purkiss ran the possibilities through his mind, finding the flaws in each plan as soon as he formulated it. They were unlikely to outrun the troops at their back, however much of a head start they had. Even more unlikely was the notion that they’d stand a chance in the event of a firefight, four lay people and one intelligence agent against an unknown number of Spetsnaz soldiers.
No. Their only hope of success, of survival, lay in an entirely different approach. One involving that most ancient of tactics: deception.
The idea that was growing in Purkiss mind would, he knew, be opposed by the others. They’d regard it as counterintuitive, as outlandish, as grossly irresponsible. So he’d have to keep them in the dark about it as long as possible, until it was too late for them to prevent it.
But he’d need Haglund’s cooperation.
Purkiss said, ‘Stop the truck.’
‘No chance.’
‘It’s our only chance.’ Purkiss looked his watch. ‘Forty-five minutes we’ve been on the go. Assume we had half an hour’s head start, which is optimistic to say the least. That puts us an hour and fifteen minutes ahead of them, at best. But we haven’t even hit the really rough terrain yet. And we don’t know what sort of transport they’re using. They could have something with tracks, which will give them a huge advantage over us. I’m assuming they’re not after us by air, because they would have found us by now. But they might have called in air support from Yakutsk. If we hit some insurpassable obstacle, we’ll be sitting ducks.’
They sat alone in the cab of the truck, Purkiss and Haglund. After Haglund had pulled to a halt, his normally impassive face creased in surprise, Purkiss had jumped down into the cold and tugged on Budian’s arm — I need to talk to Gunnar alone — and bundled her into the back. Avner and Clement had peered out.
‘Don’t ask questions,’ Purkiss said. ‘Sit tight. We’ll be on the move again in a moment.’ He slammed the door on Avner’s cry of protest.
Back in the cab, he’d told Haglund his plan.
Now the engineer said, ‘The others won’t cope. They’ll slow us all down.’
‘Clement will be all right. Avner, Budian… we’ll have to be robust with them.’ Purkiss glanced down through his window. The blown snow was already beginning to bank up against the wheels of the truck. ‘Come on, Haglund. We have to do this. Time’s slipping away.’
Haglund stared through the windscreen, the muscles of his closed jaws working. He’d kept the engine running, and he reached down and released the handbrake.
‘Okay. We do it.’
The ground swept inexorably upwards, the landscape pitted with gnarled tree trunks and outcroppings of rock, visible in silhouette against the white of the snowfall. The cloud cover above was almost total, blanking out all starlight.
Twenty minutes had passed since they’d set off again, and Purkiss hadn’t yet seen what he was looking for. He leaned towards Haglund and peered at the Ural’s dashboard. They’d covered sixty-nine kilometres, and their speed had slowed to 45 kph, the truck’s tyres slipping occasionally on stretches of ice, the unevenness of the ground requiring Haglund to weave around pits and protrusions rather than allowing him to maintain a straight course.
Haglund geared down as the truck rocked over a particularly erratic series of dips when Purkiss said: ‘Wait a moment. Over there.’
He pointed through Haglund’s window to an indistinct strip of darkness, forty or fifty metres to their left.
Squinting, Haglund said, ‘Maybe.’
‘Pull up.’ Purkiss drew on his face protection and dropped down from the cab once more. The cold hit him anew, knocking the breath out of him momentarily. He picked his way across the rough ground, taking care not to turn his ankles over. As he approached the strip of ground, he saw he’d been right.
He stood on the lip of a ravine, a ragged scar in the tundra some twenty metres across. Lowering himself to a crouch, he crept closer. The ground sloped gently before suddenly dropping into blackness. Purkiss could see the other side descend and disappear, the bottom of the crevasse invisible.