Killing Eve: Resurrection (22)

The twenty-second instalment of a new Killing Eve story, published exclusively on Substack

 

           At 11:30 pm two days later, Villanelle is sitting in the back of a BMW four-door saloon parked at a meter on Borough High Street, at the south end of London Bridge. Myrtha Willis is sitting next to her, silent and sour-faced. A bored driver sits in front, scrolling through pictures of luxury sports cars on his phone.

            At Villanelle's request, Johnny has anonymously brokered a deal with Balice to exchange Myrtha for Eve. He and the Twelve are happy to do this, Johnny explains, because he has extracted from Myrtha the admission that he wanted: that she and Tiberius were being run by MI6 as agents. Villanelle guesses that the agreement to her request has been carefully calculated. The exchange holds no obvious advantage for the Twelve, but as her handler Johnny wants a happy operative, and if this means delivering Eve to her, then he's prepared to make it happen. It also occurs to Villanelle that he sees the long-term advantage of putting her in his debt.

            Myrtha has been told nothing of the exchange, nor has she been told that Ron is dead. She's spent the last twenty-four hours in a South London safe house facing a relay of hostile interrogators, and is exhausted and ill-tempered. 'If you won't tell me who you are,' she mutters to Villanelle. 'At least tell me what you're going to do with me.'

            'I will. In half an hour. Until then, sit quietly.

            Myrtha sniffs, blows her nose on a used tissue, wraps herself in her grey shearling coat, and stares straight ahead.

          Finally we get the word. They're ready to exchange. The deal is that I walk Myrtha across the bridge to the mid-point, and Balice does the same with Eve. We're to meet in the middle, then verify and hand over our respective people.

            I get Myrtha out of the car. She asks what's happening and I tell her that I'm returning her to people she knows, and that she must do exactly as I say. She's all questions, but I shut them down and start to walk her towards the bridge. The road isn't crowded, but there are still plenty of people on the streets, mostly drunken men, so I take her wrist. She tries to pull away, but I don't relax my grip. 'Fuckin' lezzies,' someone shouts, and there's laughter. When we get to the bridge, we start walking up the right-hand pavement. There are few cars and fewer pedestrians. The bridge is long, much longer than I expected, at least a couple of hundred metres end to end. Beyond it, glinting against the midnight sky, are the steel and glass towers of the City of London. To our right, beyond a low parapet, is the dark gleam of the river.

            I pull Myrtha forward, my heart skittering in my chest, because I see two figures walking towards us. I increase our speed, pulling at the protesting Myrtha. I can see them clearly now. Balice and Eve. I can't see anyone else, but Balice will have her watchers overseeing the exchange. I have left it to Johnny to make the same arrangements.

            I can see Eve's face now. The unreadable look in her eyes. Is Balice going to hand her over only for Eve to tell me that she's decided to stay with Niko? The thought freezes me, I falter, and this time it's Myrtha pulling me. She's seen Balice; I release her and she's gone. Eve's running towards me now, her mouth forming words I can't hear. I gaze at her, not moving, not understanding, and then the air splits open. Something bursts behind my eyes, flooding me with light, and in that moment I know what I should have known all along. That she is me and I am her, and that this is what love is. 

            Eve catches Villanelle as she falls, and as a second silenced round tears through the air, drags her to the parapet. She tries to lift her but Villanelle is limp, deadweight. Desperate now, she locks an arm around Villanelle's waist, and with the other arm presses Villanelle's warm, bleeding head to her cheek. Gasping with the effort she backs against the parapet, and with a desperate, rolling swivel of her hips drags them both over the edge. They fall, a single unmoving shape, and the black water closes over them.

The story continues…