Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,45

of the spotters will be critical. Our shooters will be Villanelle and, er, Charlie. Spotters will be Eve and myself.”

“So what’s wrong with these two heroes?” Oxana asks, jerking a thumb at the two instructors. “If they’re so fucking experienced, how come you need us?”

Anton regards her with calm loathing. “Nobby and Ginge have retired from the stage. They prefer to pass on their wisdom to a new generation.”

“It’s that dangerous, then,” Oxana says and smirks.

“I’m not going to pretend it’s not dangerous. It’s very dangerous indeed. That’s why preparation is everything. We have a week in which we can concentrate fully on the task at hand. There’s no WiFi here, so you’ll have no active links to the outside world. We are going to be living and breathing our mission. Train hard, fight easy.”

It’s at this point that I lose hope. There’s no way to contact Tikhomirov, and as I have no clue as to the identity of the target, or targets, there’s no point in thinking about how to do so. Anton, moreover, clearly has no intention of telling us the details of the hit until the absolute last moment. Maybe he doesn’t even know them. The fact that we have been flown all the way to the middle of the North Sea, rather than to a secure facility in Russia, tells me how concerned the Twelve are that no word of this operation should get out. We’re confined to this tiny, isolated, storm-battered platform with no possibility of escape, and no way of contacting the outside world.

“The two teams will be training separately,” Anton continues. “Villanelle and I with Nobby, Charlie and Eve with Ginge. Neither team will discuss the details of their mission with the other team. You all have separate quarters, three in the north leg of the platform, three in the south, and there will be no doubling up.” He looks balefully from me to Oxana. “This is not a request, it’s an order.”

Watching Anton, with his too-pale eyes, wolfish jaw and thin, fastidious mouth, I can’t suppress a shiver. He’s one of those men whose hatred of women is so deep, so central to his being, that it almost defines him. He knows where he stands with men. With Richard he’s subtly obsequious; with Nobby and Ginge matey but superior. He’s pretty sure where he stands with me, too, as I’m too much of a scaredy-cat to give him much trouble. But he has no idea how to deal with Charlie and Oxana, who are every bit as hardcore as he is, and not frightened to let him know it. I turn to Oxana but she is staring expressionlessly into space. Impossible to tell what she thinks of the sleeping arrangements.

This briefing is followed by a meal of warm baked beans and luncheon meat prepared by Nobby, during which Oxana remains wordless and withdrawn, refusing to meet my eye. As hurtful as this is, it no longer surprises me. I’m familiar with her mood cycle. I know that when I say good night to her, she will look straight through me, and she does.

My quarters, accessed by a vertical ladder from the deck, are a concrete-walled cabin in the interior of the north leg. Inside is a metal bunk bed furnished with a mattress, sheet and blanket, all damp to the touch, and a locker containing cold-weather combat clothes.

I’m bracing myself for the chilly business of undressing when there’s a bang on the steel door. It’s Charlie.

“So we’re a team,” they say.

“Looks like it.” I sit down on my bunk, loosen my boots and kick them off. “How’s your cabin?”

“Same as yours, but I’m in the south leg, between Oxana and Nobby. Bit like being back in Butyrka.”

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me as your spotter. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“Are you good at mathematics?”

“Hopeless.”

“Because the spotter has to make all the calculations. You know: range, wind-direction, all that. And you have to keep us safe. You’re the lookout.”

“Er, right. And you?”

“I’m looking through the rifle scope. That’s all I see, that little circle. Until I take the shot. Then we get out of there, fast. Who do you reckon the target is?”

“I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Not you, anyway. Makes a change.”

“Yes, there is that.”

Charlie leans against the rust-streaked wall, arms folded. “Do you miss her? Oxana, I mean? When you’re not with her?”

“Mmm. Yeah, I do. A lot. What was it