Free Tundra by Tim Stevens Page B

trips in this kind of environment are always going to be potentially hazardous. I accepted the risks, and I still accept them.’
    ‘You do not wish to leave?’
    ‘Far from it,’ said Purkiss. ‘If you’re still happy to have me here, that is.’ He paused. ‘The reason I requested a word in private is that I wanted to make it clear I’m not having a go at Gunnar, or any of your people. Montrose and Wyatt did all they could to ensure my safety out there. I hope you can reassure them of it. They’ll take it better from you than from me.’
    Medievsky looked at him gravely. 
    Purkiss went on: ‘The last thing I want to do is create divisions among the staff.’
    ‘Understood. Thank you. I will convey your message.’
    ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to return to my room and clean up a bit.’
    Purkiss exited on his own, wondering which if either of the lies he’d told Medievsky had been believed.
    The first lie was saying he thought the fuel leak had been down to bad luck. Of course it hadn’t. The tank had been sabotaged.
    The second lie was that he didn’t want to create divisions between the staff. Because one of the chief reasons he’d asked for a private meeting with Medievsky was to sow suspicion and unease amongst them. Their interactions with Purkiss and with each other, the pervasive atmosphere at Yarkovsky Station, indicated that something was wrong. Something was being hidden, or avoided. As yet, Purkiss had no idea what it was. But in such a situation, where some or all of the others were privy to secret knowledge that Purkiss wasn’t, it would give him an advantage to put them on the back foot.
    Medievsky’s own reaction had been interesting. When Purkiss had made his comment about bad luck , there’d been the slightest hesitation before the team leader responded. As if he suspected that luck had played no part in the so-called accident.
    Suspected, or knew .
    As Haglund had said, there was no chance of discovering how the damage to the fuel tank had occurred, not by examining the wreckage left behind. Purkiss assumed the tank had been tampered with while they were at Outpost 56-J. Wyatt would have had ample opportunity to do so, either when Purkiss was in the hut with Clement, or later when he was watching Montrose collect soil and plant samples.
    It was an inefficient means to murder somebody. As it happened, the fuel had caught alight, and Purkiss might well have been killed. But the tank might simply have run dry, rendering the snowmobile useless but hardly stranding Purkiss, because Montrose and Clement had been behind him and would have seen him come to a halt. Which meant that it had been more than a fuel leak. It had been a booby trap of some kind, designed to ensure that the fuel caught fire.
    Not only had Vale’s suspicions about Wyatt been correct, it was clear that whatever secret Wyatt was harbouring, he was prepared to kill to protect it.
    *
    T he call came at a little before three in the afternoon, an hour after Lenilko and his team had made the Martin Hughes connection. Already the city beyond the windows had receded into darkness.
    Lenilko saw Anna pick up the phone and glance over her shoulder at him. He was already striding across to his office as she opened her mouth.
    Behind his door, he picked up the phone.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘There’s been a complication.’
    Lenilko waited, holding his breath.
    ‘Somebody tried to kill the journalist, Farmer.’
    Lenilko breathed out, trying to process what he’d heard.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘I don’t know yet.’
    The delay on the line gave Lenilko a moment to think. This was unexpected. This didn’t make any sense.
    He listened to the Englishman’s clipped account. On the return journey from the field trip, the fuel tank of Farmer’s snowmobile had exploded. Farmer was unhurt, but it had been a close thing. A leak, it was assumed, but the mantra repeated itself through Lenilko’s mind. There are no coincidences.
    He said, ‘We have