The door opened and a tall heavy-set man came in, carrying a bowl. Maria didn’t recognise him but he had a distinctly Russian or Ukrainian look. His hair was cropped short and his nose showed signs of an ancient break. He placed the bowl next to her bed and left the cold store without speaking. So there were others now. For all she knew, Vitrenko had left and was going about his more important business. Maria made a mental picture of the guard who had delivered the food. I’ll call him The Nose, she thought. She ate the stew. It was so hot that it burned her mouth but she didn’t care. She relished the scalding heat in her chest and belly and consumed every morsel.

She had been surprised to find a metal spoon in the bowl. When she finished the stew she licked it clean and rubbed it against the stone floor next to the camp bed. After a minute or two she ran her thumb along the edge of the spoon: yes, she could sharpen it; create a weapon. She picked at the stitching of the mattress and concealed the spoon inside. She pulled the blanket over her eyes as a shield against the perpetual light from the neon strip. She couldn’t sleep. Her head buzzed as she conceived, elaborated and then rejected one plan of escape after another. She might not be fed again that day, but that was the only opportunity for escape. Even when she was fully fit she would have been no match for The Nose. She would have to take him by surprise and kill him quickly. If she worked at sharpening the edge of that spoon, she could maybe have a go at slashing the artery in his neck. She would have only one chance.

The door opened. Maria feigned sleep beneath the blanket. She heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. There would be no surprise attack now. It would need at least another day of preparation, of sharpening the spoon into a killing edge. The blanket was ripped from her head. She turned, blinking, to look up at The Nose who had collected her food bowl. He held out his hand, moving his fingers in a ‘give me’ gesture. Maria frowned as if confused. He repeated the gesture and she shrugged. The Nose sighed wearily, put the bowl back down and unholstered his heavy automatic. He snapped back the carriage, clicked off the safety and rammed the barrel of the gun into Maria’s cheek. He then repeated the ‘give me’ gesture with his free hand. Maria reached into the pocket she had fashioned in the mattress and removed the spoon. She handed it to The Nose with a cynical grin, which he returned, simultaneously slashing her across the forehead with the barrel of his automatic.