Killing Eve: Bloodline (20)

The twentieth episode of a new Killing Eve adventure, published exclusively on Substack

            'How are we tonight, Mr Dominik?' The young woman is Filipina. Her name tag reads Irene Mendoza, Staff Nurse.

            'We're OK,' Valentin says.

            'Good, because we're moving you to a side room. You don't need to be in intensive care any more.'

            'You're moving him now?' Eve asks.

            'I'm afraid we need the IC bed.' She glances at Eve. 'Are you all right? You're very pale.'

            Eve forces a tense smile. 'I'm fine. How far away is this side room?'

            'Two minutes.'

            'Can Valentin walk there?'

            'Yes. Dr Sen wants him to start taking exercise.'

            'OK,' Eve says. 'I'll gather up his things.'

            'There's no hurry. You can come back for them.'

            'I'd rather not leave him alone.'

            'I understand.'

            They leave the intensive care unit together. Irene Mendoza walks slowly at Valentin's side; he looks as frail as a scarecrow in his hospital gown. Eve carries his clothes. She's stuffed the barrel of the Pernach automatic down the front of her jeans, and she's worried it's going to fall out. As they make their way along the corridor Eve scans the faces that pass them. Doctors, nurses, porters, patients in wheelchairs, patients with walking frames, patients on crutches. No one, though, with a conspicuously injured hand. No one with the blunt features that she remembers from her brief glimpse of the blond man in the nightclub. She's sure, nevertheless, that he's nearby, watching them and waiting for his moment. He's probably in pain, and almost certainly knows that his situation is hopeless. But Eve guesses that he will not be stopped. He will complete his mission. She feels an icy coldness rising in her chest.

            The side room is small, with a single raised bed and a chair. There's a small en suite bathroom with a toilet and shower. Irene helps Valentin into bed and leaves.    Listening to the departing squeak of her Crocs, Eve texts Villanelle with the precise location of the new room. Turning to Valentin, she explains the situation in a few succinct sentences.

            'So... he's here?’ Valentin whispers. ‘In this building?'

            'We have to assume so. But don't panic. I have a gun.'

            He gives her a frozen nod.

            'Are you OK, Valentin? I need you to be OK. For me.'

            He nods again.

            'Right. Here's what we're going to do.'

            Please come, my angel. I'll do what I can, but I'm not sure I'm equal to this. To a Moscow-trained assassin. Valentin trusts me, I can see it in his eyes, but I'm not sure I trust myself. I have to get this right. If I don't, you'll find me dead, and Valentin gone. Or dead beside me. I'm trying to be calm, but I'm terrified. My heart's beating so hard it hurts. It won't be long now.

            He comes minutes later. At first there's just the soundless turning of the door handle, then a whisper of a draught as the door opens, the faint hum of the corridor outside, and silence again. A broad figure, not tall, dressed in the loose T-shirt and regulation trousers of a hospital porter. One hand is clearly injured, with a compression bandage covering stained dressings. The other hand holds a UK police issue Glock handgun. The blond hair has been cropped to stubble. The features are shadowy.

            Gyorgiy Peskov stands there for a moment, scanning the unlit room. His eyes take in the dim rectangle of the window with its vertical blinds, the bed surmounted by the hunched shape of Valentin, and the blanket-wrapped figure of Eve in the chair. He listens to the faint grumble of her snores. Silently, he swings open the bathroom door. A glance tells him that it's unoccupied. Slowly he moves towards the bed, and lifts the sheet and coverlet with the barrel of the Glock. He finds Valentin's back, and prods it with the snout of the gun. Valentin turns over, blinking as if suddenly awoken.

            Lifting the Pernach double-handed from beneath the blanket, Eve fires. The 9mm Makarov bullet misses Peskov's face by an inch, punches through the bedside Vital Signs monitor, and embeds itself in the wall. Peskov half-turns, and Eve’s second shot takes the back of his head off. He remains on his feet for several seconds, a wet pudding of brain matter slipping down his neck, then folds to the floor. Eve stands, makes the handgun safe, and sits down abruptly on the chair again.

            'Is he... have you killed him?' Valentin asks, his eyes wide.

            Eve looks from the figure on the floor, with its broken head, to the blood and tissue-spattered wall. 'Pretty much,' she says, staring at her hands, which no longer seem to belong to her. She walks to the door and peers out. At the far end of the corridor two elderly patients are shuffling past the nursing station, but the sound of gunfire doesn't appear to have excited any interest.

            'Anyone coming?' Valentin asks, his voice unsteady.

            Eve shakes her head. 'They probably thought it was fireworks. Or Netflix.' She pulls her phone from her pocket and calls Villanelle. 'Our visitor arrived.'

            'Oh my God. Are you both all right?'

            'Uh-huh.'

            'We're downstairs. Hang on, babe, OK?'

            Eve looks up and down the corridor but sees no hospital staff, only a couple of elderly patients. Less than a minute later Villanelle and Johnny hurry past the nursing station. Johnny looks into the room, assesses the situation, steps back into the corridor, and pulls out his phone.

            Villanelle hurriedly checks that Valentin is unhurt, and goes to Eve. 'My poor love. We came as quick as we could but... you dealt with him. You're unbelievable.'

            'I was scared sick,' Eve whispers.

            'I'm sure. But you did it anyway.'

            Eve sits down. 'Sorry, I feel a bit shaky. Hold my hand, angel.'

            I'm terrified I'm going to cry, or have an uncontrollable fit of the shakes, but somehow I keep it all together. Johnny stands guard at the door, and discovers from a passing porter that a man has been found dead in one of the lifts - strangled, people are saying - and that the police are in the building. Balice's close-protection guy. Poor chump. No more Candy Crush for him.

            Johnny tells Oxana to take Valentin downstairs to where Dmitri is waiting with a car. My heart lurches when she goes; I want to be alone with her. I want to be held. I absolutely don't want to stay in this butcher's shop with the blood congealing on the walls and the dead man lying on the floor with his head smashed like a rotting gourd. But I grit my teeth.