Tundra (22 page)

‘Y
ou think it’s me, don’t you?’

She perched on the edge of the desk, her gaze unwavering as ever, the same half-smile playing at her lips. She’d closed the door behind her.

Purkiss said: ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because of my reaction to all of this. The way I seem unfazed.’

Purkiss shrugged. ‘The thought had crossed my mind, yes. On the other hand, your apparent nonchalance wouldn’t be very effective cover. It’s a bit obvious.’

‘Fair enough.’ Her expression became a shade more serious. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’

She couldn’t see the monitor from where she was sitting. Purkiss waited.

‘You’re looking at the movement logs. Trying to work out if anyone slipped up, left a trail. I suspect you haven’t been successful so far.’

He watched her. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I assumed you hadn’t gone to your room, so the west wing was the next choice. I’ve been trying doors, seeing if you were using any of the offices. Bingo.’

‘Why were you looking for me?’

‘I may be able to help. The night Feliks Nisselovich disappeared, there was... something. It might be significant, might not.’

‘What?’

She glanced away, as if remembering. ‘The last time anyone recalls seeing him was around nine in the evening. He and Efraim and Frank Wyatt were in the mess, shooting the breeze, and eventually he wandered out. I was in my office at the time, working on some notes. At ten after ten, Gunnar knocked, asking if I knew who’d taken one of the snowmobiles, saying he’d been to the hangar and discovered one of them was missing. I didn’t know. Next thing, there’s a big panic and Oleg gathers us together. Feliks is gone. Everybody knew he was pushing to head out to collect the plant samples, everyone knew he was crazy to think about it because of the storm that was headed our way.’

She touched her fingertips to her lips.

‘So there’s a debate. Frank, Oleksandra, Gunnar, they think we should go after him, try to find him and bring him back. Efraim and Ryan, also Doug Keys, don’t agree, say it’s too dangerous, that there’s no point more of us risking our lives. None of the satellite handsets are missing, so Feliks hasn’t taken one and can’t be contacted that way. In the end Oleg decides to lead a search party. They make it halfway to the location where Feliks was headed when the storm hits. Oleg and the others are forced to turn back. He raises the alarm with Yakutsk, but weather conditions are so severe that they aren’t able to despatch assistance until the middle of next morning. By which time it’s too late, and Feliks is lost.’

For the first time, Purkiss saw something in her expression other than ironic amusement. There was a sadness there.

He said, ‘You mentioned you had something that might be significant.’

‘Yes. After Oleg and the others had left to find Feliks, I met Doug Keys in the corridor, here in the west wing. This would have been around eleven. Keys was looking perplexed. I asked what was wrong. He stared at me vaguely, like he couldn’t quite place me, and said, “I just saw Nisselovich”. I asked where, and he said, “Outside, through the window.” I told Keys to show me. He took me back into the infirmary, pointed out the window. There was no sign of anybody. I said he must have misinterpreted something, and asked if he might be having a hypo – he was pale and sweaty, the way he used to get. He became agitated, almost shouting, and grabbed my arm, insisting he knew what he’d seen. I managed to persuade him to take a glucose sweet and he calmed down a little, but he stalked out, saying he was going to find someone who’d believe him.’

‘What then?’

Clement shrugged. ‘I let him go. Keys could be awkward, and obstinate. I figured he’d get the same response from the others and would eventually give up on the idea. But next morning, before breakfast, I decided to check in on Keys. I found him in the infirmary again, on his own. When I asked if he was okay, he said he’d made a mistake the night before, that he hadn’t seen Feliks. He seemed ashamed. More than that, he appeared...
scared
.’

‘Why did you think that was?’ asked Purkiss.

‘I guessed he was worried I’d think he was losing his mind. He was always a little wary around me, because of what I do. Telling the resident psychologist you’re seeing things... well, he may have thought I’d report him or something.’

‘Did you discuss it with anyone?’

‘No. But he was even more avoidant of me than usual in the days and weeks after that.’ Her eyes probed Purkiss’s face. ‘What do you think?’

‘Did you know Keys was a heroin addict?’

Purkiss had never seen her surprised before, thought she probably seldom revealed when something startled her. But there was a flaring of her eyes, a slow drawing of breath.

‘My God,’ she murmured. ‘Yes. It makes sense.’

‘It doesn’t explain why he said he saw Nisselovich, though,’ said Purkiss. ‘You said he was sweaty and jittery, which suggests he might have been in need of a fix. Opiate withdrawal doesn’t cause visual hallucinations as a rule.’

She continued to watch him, her gaze questioning.

‘Two possibilities come to mind,’ said Purkiss. ‘One is that you’re lying.’

The amusement was back, playing around her mouth. ‘I suppose. What’s the other?’

‘The other is that Keys was right. He did see Nisselovich through the window.’

Clement’s eyes narrowed.

‘Here’s a scenario,’ Purkiss said. ‘Nisselovich starts to become suspicious about one of his colleagues. Maybe that colleague is showing an unusual interest in the
Nekropolis
when he’s out on field trips with them. Or he notices something incriminating on their computer. Or overhears something when they’re on the phone. So he manufactures this story about how he wants to collect plant samples in the middle of a storm. He disappears with one of the snowmobiles, assuming correctly that a search party will be organised. But he doesn’t go far from the station. Once the search party has left, he sneaks back reasoning there’ll be more chance of his avoiding being noticed now that at least some of his colleagues are away from the premises, looking for him. Maybe he intends to search the room of the person he’s suspicious about. But he’s out of luck. He encounters the person, who attacks him, either killing him then and there or chasing him out into the tundra, where he’s killed or dies of exposure.’

Clement looked sceptical.

Purkiss went on: ‘It’s rank conjecture, yes. We’ll never know exactly what happened. But it’s at least plausible.’

‘And Keys sees him.’

‘Keys sees him, tells everyone about it. Nobody believes him, except the person Nisselovich is investigating. That person disposes of Nisselovich, and then, later that night, pays Keys a visit. He discovers Keys has seen too much – has maybe even witnessed him chasing or killing Nisselovich – and blackmails the doctor into silence, either with a threat of direct violence or by using his addiction against him. That’s why Keys recants his story to you the next day, and it’s why he’s frightened. Two months later, I show up and interview Keys. The killer decides enough is enough, the end game has arrived, and Keys has to be terminated before he opens his mouth and scuppers the whole operation.’

The room was quiet apart from the whirr of the computer and the thin whine of the wind outside.

Clement said, ‘Okay. Let’s assume it played out like that, or something like it. It rules out any of the members of the search party as the killer. Oleg, Frank Wyatt – who obviously didn’t do it – and Gunnar.’

Purkiss had been rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He stopped.

‘Say that again.’

‘It rules out –’

‘No. I mean the names you listed.’

‘Oleg, Wyatt and Gunnar.’

Purkiss turned back to the computer monitor, clicked through the spreadsheet until he found the date he was looking for.

He stared at the entry.

To Clement: ‘You’re one hundred per cent sure of those names.’

‘Yes. I have almost perfect recall.’

Purkiss looked up at her.

He said: ‘I know who it is.’

H
is flailing arm caught the computer monitor and sent it toppling to the floor in a cascade of paper and pencils, the crash echoing off the walls and ceiling.

Purkiss pivoted in his chair so that his back was to the desk, his head reeling, waves of nausea eddying up from his stomach. For a second the room around him took on the distorted quality of a dream image, and he felt himself on the cusp of passing out. He let out a groan through his clenched teeth.

Clement, blurred through a river of pain, raised her arms once again, the trophy from Medievsky’s shelf poised in her hands. Purkiss lunged groggily sideways as the steel container came down, connecting with the side of his head where Haglund had kicked him earlier, reopening the scalp wound and flicking blood across his shoulder.

He half-flopped over the corner of the desk and turned towards the door as it swung open. Medievsky stood with the Ruger raised.

‘What the hell...’

Clement backed away into the corner, the trophy clanging on the floor. Purkiss straightened, peered at her. Her eyes were wide, feral, her greying hair tousled where it had escaped her pony tail.

‘She’s...’ Purkiss tried. ‘She attacked me. She’s the one. The terrorist.’ His slurring tongue struggled with the syllables. He thought:
she hit me too hard
.

Medievsky’s gaze swept the room. His eyes flicked from Purkiss to Clement and back.

‘Out,’ he said. To Clement: ‘You first.’

He backed into the corridor, the rifle level on her. Clement didn’t look at Purkiss as he stepped out of her way. He followed her out.

Medievsky said, ‘Hands behind your head.’ He glanced Purkiss over. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’ll live.’

To Clement, Medievsky said: ‘Walk ahead. Don’t run.’

As they began to move down the corridor, he said to Purkiss, ‘What happened?’

The walls were starting to tilt less alarmingly, and the nausea had morphed into a cracking headache at the back and the right side of Purkiss’s head. He focused on Clement, shuffling six feet ahead of the two men with her hands clasped at the nape of her neck.

‘I was checking the movements log. She came in, asked if she could help. I made two mistakes. I told her what I was doing, and I let her get behind me. Next thing, she’d cracked me with that trophy.’

Avner emerged from his lab further down the corridor, a briefcase in each hand. ‘What’s going -’ He gaped at Clement, then at Purkiss and Medievsky.

‘She’s the killer,’ Purkiss said.

Medievsky jerked his head. ‘Come, Efraim.’

Avner watched them pass, then hurried after them, jabbering. ‘Hey. Wait. No way, man. No fuckin’ way.’

The group moved along the passageways, picking up Montrose on the way. When Budian appeared, saw Clement, the gun at her back, she clamped one hand to the side of her face, her mouth wide.

‘Patricia -’ She made as if to approach the other woman.

‘Back,’ said Medievsky.

In the entrance hall, Medievsky advanced and prodded Clement to a stop with the rifle barrel. She stood, facing away from him. The others wandered into a semicircle before her, like spectators at a circus.

Purkiss said, ‘Where’s Gunnar?’

‘In the Hangar, loading the Ural,’ said Medievsky.

‘You need to get him in here.’

Medievsky seemed reluctant to take his eyes off Clement. ‘What? Why?’

‘Because we have to change our plans.’

Now Medievsky looked at him. ‘Change in what way?’

The front door opened and Haglund came in, fully suited, carrying  his rifle. He uncovered his head and face and started to say, ‘Where’s the rest of -’ before he registered the scene in front of him.

Purkiss touched the back of his head gingerly, felt the swelling already the size of half a squash ball. ‘To sum up, I was looking into the movement records of all of you, trying to work out if there were any suspicious patterns, anything that might link any of you to what’s been going on here. I didn’t find much. But Dr Clement here came in and attacked me from behind, damn near bashing my head in.’ He turned to Clement. ‘Why was that, Patricia?’

She avoided eye contact with him, her fingers still interlaced behind her head, her face tight and unreadable.

Purkiss looked at each of the others in turn. ‘She’s the one. God knows why, or how. But Clement is the person who killed Keys, and Wyatt, and, probably, Feliks Nisselovich two months ago. She’s the one who wrecked our link with the outside world. She’s the one trying to steal six nuclear missiles from the crashed plane near the
Nekropolis
.’

Their heads switched from Purkiss to Clement as if they were at a tennis match, following the ball as it was smashed over the net.

Medievsky said, ‘So we go. Make our way to Saburov-Kennedy Station, taking her along, and we deliver her to the authorities there.’

‘There’s no need.’ Purkiss spread his hands. ‘Don’t you see? We have the terrorist. She’s the person the FSB are interested in. We wait here, and when the
Spetsnaz
arrive, we simply hand her over.’

The wind outside, separated from them by a single layer of wall, hissed through the silence that followed.

Avner pulled off his cap, raked a hand through his matted curls. ‘That’s bullshit. You said so yourself, man. They’re going to hit this place with all guns blazing. They don’t know how what kind of threat they face, so they’ll shoot first, kill us all, then figure out where each piece fits afterward.’

‘I agree with Efraim.’ Budian’s voice, so seldom heard, was startling. Behind the thick lenses of her glasses, her eyes were dull. ‘These are State troops, sent by the FSB. The KGB. They do not care for fairness, or nuance, or human rights. They will assume we are all involved, and they will kill us.’ She looked around for support. ‘We leave, now. No matter how difficult the journey north.’

‘Hey.’ Avner’s tone was desperately enthusiastic. ‘How about we head southwest, to Yakutsk? It’s further to go, but there are roads. The highway. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier.’