‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve got too close to us, and by us I mean Dvenadtsat, the Twelve. When Anton gave me the order, I was in a private hospital in Austria. He came to see me in my room, and when he left the hospital, he drove away with this man. That’s Anton on the left.’
The image is tilted and poorly framed, but clear enough. It’s taken from inside a building, looking down on a snowy car park. Two men are standing by the passenger door of a silver-grey BMW. The left-hand figure, in a bulky black jacket, has his back to the camera. Opposite him, clearly recognisable in an overcoat and scarf, is Richard Edwards.
Eve stares at the image for a long while without speaking. Inside herself she feels the collapse of all her certainties, like an iceberg imploding into the sea. This man, who just hours ago was pouring her prosecco in a pink linen shirt, and telling her that she was ‘born for the secret life’, has agreed to, and perhaps even demanded, her death.
Tikhomirov guessed. That moment when she asked him whether Richard had mentioned their suspicions about Yevtukh’s disappearance. Just for a second, the FSB officer’s eyes widened, as if he’d suddenly understood something that had eluded him for ages. That’s when he asked her about the canary. She pictures the bird, singing in its cage, far underground. The deadly, odourless gas wreathing through the seam, and the canary silent now, a stiff little mess of feathers.
‘I need to make a call,’ Eve tells Villanelle, and, searching the detritus of her bag for Chloe Edwards’s card, she calls the number. It rings for almost ten seconds, and then Chloe answers. She sounds as if she’s been asleep.
‘Chloe, it’s Eve. I wanted to ask you something about our conversation this afternoon. Confidentially.’
‘Oh hi, Eve. Yeah, um . . .’
‘That Russian guy you were talking about.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Was his name by any chance Konstantin?’
‘Er . . . Yeah! I think it was. Wow. Who is he?’
‘Old friend. I’ll introduce you one of these days.’
‘That’d be cool.’
‘Just don’t mention to your dad that I called, OK?’
‘’Kay.’
Eve disconnects and lays the phone gently on the table. ‘Oh, God,’ she says. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I’m sorry, Eve.’
She stares at Villanelle. ‘I thought I was hunting you down for MI6, but in reality I’d been set up by Richard to test the Twelve’s defences. I was the canary in their mine.’
Villanelle says nothing.
‘Every time I discovered anything I’d report it to Richard, he’d pass it on to the Twelve, and they’d patch the vulnerability. All I’ve been doing, all these weeks and months, is making them stronger. Jesus wept. Did you know?’
‘No. They don’t tell me things like that. Of course I knew you worked for Edwards, but it wasn’t until I saw him with Anton in Austria that I understood how you’d been set up.’
Eve nods, coldly furious with herself. She’s fallen for a classic false flag operation, constructed, like all the best deceits, around her own vanity. She thought she was so clever, with her intuitive leaps and her left-field theorising, whereas in truth she was just a skilfully manipulated dupe. How could I have been so obtuse? she wonders. How could I not have seen what was happening right before my fucking eyes?
‘You liked it though, didn’t you?’ Villanelle says. ‘Playing the secret agent in your secret Goodge Street office with your secret codes, which weren’t secret at all.’
‘Richard flattered me, and it worked. I wanted to be a player, not just some paper-pusher at a desk.’
‘You are a player, sweetie. Any time I was bored, I’d log on and read your email. I love that you spent so much time thinking about me.’
Looking at her undrunk wine, Eve feels a vast weariness. ‘So what happens now? I know this sounds weird, but why haven’t you shot me or whatever, like Anton said?’
‘Two reasons. When he ordered me to kill you, I realised that it was because you’d found out too much about me. Which meant that I’d be the next one to die.’
‘Because you were compromised?’
‘Exactly. The Twelve don’t take any chances. I saw that with Konstantin, who you obviously know about. He was my handler before Anton. They thought he’d talked to the FSB, which was bullshit, and they . . . had him killed.’
‘At Fontanka.’
‘Yes, at Fontanka.’ She looks pensive. ‘And now one of my people has been arrested in Moscow.’
‘Larissa Farmanyants. Your girlfriend.’
‘Lara, yes, although she wasn’t so much a girlfriend in the holding hands and kissing sense. With us, it was more just sex and killing.’
‘Well, the FSB have got Lara now. She’s in Butyrka.’
‘Putain. That’s bad. They’ll definitely interrogate her, so I’m doubly burned as far as Anton’s concerned.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that he’ll have me killed, as soon as he can. I imagine his plan is to wait until I’ve finished with you, then deal with me.’
‘You’re certain about this?’
‘Yes, and I’ll tell you why. I know that Lara was arrested, because she managed to send me an emergency message. And then when I saw Anton earlier today he spoke about Lara, but didn’t say a word about her being arrested. He knew that I’d know what it meant.’
‘You said there were two reasons you haven’t killed me. What’s the second?’
Villanelle looks at her. ‘Really? You haven’t worked that out yet?’
Eve shakes her head.
‘Because it’s you, Eve.’
Eve stares at her, the complexity, strangeness and sheer enormity of the situation suddenly bearing down on her. ‘So what happens now? I mean, what . . .’
‘What do we do? How do we get out of this alive?’
‘Yes.’
Villanelle begins to pace the room, her movements as fastidious as a cat’s. Occasionally she darts a glance at a book or a photograph. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, she comes to a halt.
‘You need to understand two things. First, that the only way of surviving is if you and I work together. You have to put your life in my hands, and do
