Nemesis by Tim Stevens Page B

Purkiss.
    ‘We did. Washington. And, like I say, we persuaded your government to hand over Rossiter in return.’
    Purkiss ran through it in his mind, trying to establish if it added up. ‘Perhaps Mossberg really was CIA. And this is a way of bringing him back.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Asher. ‘It’s a possibility. It’ll certainly convince the Russians that they were right all along. Why else would we be so eager to get our hands on a disgraced former academic who’s rotting in a Moscow cell?’
    ‘But you don’t believe that.’
    Asher tilted his head. ‘Even if Mossberg was one of our assets, it still doesn’t explain why we’d be willing to sacrifice somebody like Rossiter to get the guy back.’
    Purkiss looked out the window, at the thickening layers of pine forest. ‘Unless Mossberg knows something the Russians don’t know he knows,’ he said. ‘Unless there’s some crucial piece of intelligence we need to get hold of, and the Russians are unaware he has it.’
    ‘That’s my thinking,’ Asher said. ‘It’s plausible, at least.’
    *
    T he security cordon around the site was as tight as if a live bomb had been discovered there and not yet disarmed. As soon as the Mercedes came within half a mile of the area, a line of military personnel appeared as if from nowhere, melting out of the trees, and halted the car.
    Credentials presented and approved, Purkiss and Asher were escorted the rest of the way until they were directed to pull over near a rough gravel track. A small army of forensic technicians swarmed over some kind of clearing at the end.
    Stepping carefully so as not to interrupt the forensics people, the two men picked their way across the ground.
    Asher said, ‘The backup team came from that direction. South-west.’ He indicated a ridge to the north. ‘The helicopter must have come that way. And there are tracks, apparently, on the ground from due south. The land attack consisted of men on foot. They probably arrived by sea and landed somewhere along the Forth, then headed inland.
    The ground of the clearing was stained erratically with mulberry-dark blotches. Purkiss recognised the chips and gouges in the rocks as caused by bullets.
    The bodies had all been removed.
    Purkiss closed his eyes. Tried to picture it. Rossiter, standing somewhere here, hooded and shackled. The meeting between the two parties. Perhaps a handshake.
    Then: the sudden onslaught, carried out efficiently and mercilessly.
    He said, ‘Rossiter’s people not only knew about the exchange, but knew precisely where it was taking place.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Asher said. ‘A leak somewhere.’ There was a trace of contempt in his voice. Purkiss wondered if he was expressing disdain at the British security measures.
    ‘Probably,’ said Purkiss. ‘But not necessarily where you think.’
    Asher’s brow creased. ‘Come again?’
    ‘I mean, there may have been another way they identified the site of the exchange.’
    He stepped away from Asher, far enough that he could be certain he was out of earshot. From the corner of his eye he saw the man watching him.
    Purkiss took out his phone.
    When Vale answered, he said, ‘Quentin. I need you to find out when and where Rossiter had that bug implanted in his arm. Which staff were present.’
    After a moment, Vale said, ‘Ah. Yes, I see. I’ll see what I can dig up.’
    ‘Also,’ Purkiss said, before Vale could hang up. ‘Asher’s not one of us. He’s CIA.’
    He explained tersely. When he had finished, Vale took a moment to reply.
    ‘That’s interesting.’
    ‘Keep it to yourself for now, all right?’ Purkiss sensed that Asher had taken a step or two closer. ‘I haven’t decided yet whether to confront Waring-Jones or not.’
    ‘Agreed.’
    Purkiss put away his phone. He walked back to Asher, said: ‘Housekeeping.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    They prowled around the site for half an hour, but Purkiss felt the frustration building. He hadn’t expected to spot any clue that the