Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,52
queue would be a possible place to lift one from a fellow traveler’s back pocket or bag. All I would have to do would be to input Tikhomirov’s number and let it ring. He would know it was me and be able to identify my location and track the phone. The penalty if I was discovered, however, would be severe, and given how closely we would all be watched, discovery was the probable outcome.
We’ve been working our way through our evening meal for the best part of fifteen minutes when I realize what’s happening right in front of my eyes. Anton’s watching us from the head of the table, and making entries in a small spiral notebook.
He’s writing. With a pencil.
When he’s finished Anton shoves the notebook in his trouser pocket and tosses the pencil onto a worktop, between a box of plastic spoons and a glass jar filled with teabags. Looking up, he catches my eye, and we exchange tight, non-committal smiles. Neither of us has quite worked out how we should conduct ourselves with each other. He’s tried to have me killed at least twice, and I’ve never disguised the fact that I find him repulsive. It’s not the ideal basis for a relationship.
I glance at the pencil. It’s almost hidden behind the cardboard spoon-box, and as I look away a plan comes to me fully formed. It’s dangerous, so dangerous that I can’t bring myself to think of it in too much detail, but it’s all I have. And weirdly, it brings me a sort of peace.
Sliding out of my bunk in combat clothes and socks, I open the door inch by inch, terrified that a squeak of hinges will betray me. Outside the cabin it’s dark, but I’ve learned the layout. I’m on a small landing, inside one of the platform’s cylindrical legs. Bolted to the wall opposite me is a ladder, which runs upward to the deck and downwards to the level of the sea. Below me is Ginge’s cabin. Above me is Anton’s. I’ve got to get past his door without him hearing me if I’m to get to the deck.
Taking a deep breath, I begin to climb the ladder. My socks are slippery on the cold steel rungs, and I can feel my heart pounding fearfully in my chest, but I force myself to keep going. There’s no sound from Anton’s cabin. I move upward, and now I can hear the faint hum of the generator that provides the platform with power; it’s housed in a hut next to the canteen.
As I haul myself through the hatch onto the platform deck, a gale-force wind whips my hair into my eyes. Above me the sky is a streaky blue-black, around me the sea is a roiling gray, faintly illuminated by the warning lights at each corner of the platform. I crouch there for a moment. I can no longer hear the generator, only the scream of the wind and the crashing of the waves. Then, keeping low, I run to the canteen and close the door behind me. Inside it’s quieter, but no less cold. A couple of steps take me to the worktop, and I reach around the box of spoons for the pencil.
A moment later it’s in my hand, and just as I feel its hexagonal shape between my fingers the door swings open and a torch shines in my face. The shock is so great that I stop breathing, and stare open-mouthed into the light.
“You deceitful cunt,” Anton says. “I knew I was right about you.”
I can’t see his face behind the torch beam, but I can imagine the sneer. There’s no way I can escape. He’s standing between me and the door.
“You were going to try and get a message out, weren’t you? You saw me writing notes with a pencil and you thought, I’ll have that. Well you know what, you dumb dyke, that’s exactly what you were supposed to think. I left the pencil there knowing you’d come looking for it. You fucking women, honestly.”
Waves of fury wash through me. I feel weirdly focused and light-headed.
“I wish I’d saved everyone’s time and killed you in St. Petersburg. You and your psycho girlfriend. But hey, better late than never.” He reaches out with his free hand and grabs my arm, wrenching me toward the open door. I resist, pulling back hard, and as I do so I have the surreal impression that my body has been occupied by someone