Kate grasps it and watches as the woman continues to flirt with Putin, leaning in to whisper something to him. Men can be so weak. He momentarily turns away, as if he doesn’t want Kate to hear their exchange. And then the woman looks over his shoulder at her and mouths one word.

Jump.

108

Jake

Jake’s heart sinks as he reaches the end of the deserted beach. Both boats moored in the inlet are old and unloved. Earlier he’d seen some buoys marking lobster pots, strung along the coast like beads on a giant necklace, and he’d thought the boats might be in decent condition. He’d also expected to find a tender pulled up on the sand somewhere, hidden at the back of the beach, but he can’t see one. He’ll have to wade out.

Five minutes later, he hauls himself onto the nearest of the two dilapidated boats, checking again that there’s no one around. He’s hidden his phone and wallet behind some rocks on the beach. The water was cold and his wet trousers are heavy as he gets his bearings on board. He’s always loved boats and has long dreamt of owning one like this, maybe a Plymouth Pilot with an enclosed cuddy and dual helm positions. He’d keep it down in Cornwall.

He scans the cliffs again, where he thought he saw Kate. It’s at least a mile away, but if he can get the engine going, he can cut straight across the bay and search for a way up. He lifts the inspection hatch and peers down at a rusty, single-cylinder, ten-horsepower diesel engine. The last time he had to hotwire anything was when he lost both sets of ignition keys for the narrowboat’s ancient engine. All he needs is a piece of cable. The owner of the boat seems reassuringly untidy, like him, and Jake soon finds a rusty length in the depths of the engine bay, semi-submerged in the bilge’s oily seawater. After turning on the fuel, Jake touches one end of the cable to the starter motor, the other to the positive terminal of the twelve-volt battery, bypassing the ignition switch. A few sparks – enough contact to crank the engine. Bingo. Removing the cable, now hot, he grabs the tiller and sets a course for the cliffs.

Kate used to hate how much time he spent with his head in the engine. Maybe now she’ll think it was worth it.

109

Kate

Kate grips the card in her hand and slides off the flip-flops, trying to control her breathing. She can’t stay here a second longer. The ventilator masks, the IV tubes, the screens – she’s never going to subject herself to all that again. She’d rather die than get trapped here, in this grey torture zone between life and death. Her body might be weak, boot-marked and sore, but her mind is strong.

Jump.