There wasn't enough time to leave. I tried to create a plan. I heard Jones setting the alarm, saw the double orange flash of the car locking, then the crunch of gravel as she headed up the driveway.
I ran upstairs to the spare room.
The window.
I looked out at the garden. It was a straight drop. Maybe fifteen feet, maybe more. If I landed too hard, I might limp away. Crawl on my belly. I might not get away. I looked left and right. Searching for the drainpipe.
It was on the right.
I heard Jones opening the front door.
Dropping the catch on the sash window, I manoeuvred it upward, as quietly as possible. It was possible. The windows were original. The runners gummy. They jammed and rocked. As they neared the apex of their opening, they squealed as an animal.
A second earlier, there were footsteps on the stairs.
Now they'd stopped.
He's heard me.
I didn't have time to worry. It was dark. The garden black. Lights were on next door.
Jones moved again.
I shuffled. My backside was facing out. Put my knee up onto the windowsill. Dangled my left leg out to where the drainpipe was. Metal notches held it in place all the way to the ground. Securing the plastic to the render. As soon as my toe found one, I pressed my right knee into the sill. Put one hand and one foot on the drainpipe. The rest of me on the sill. I slid the window back into place.
I punched the flat of my hand to the bottom of the window frame. As the door opened, it jammed. I didn't see Jones enter. I made it to the drainpipe, feeling it straining to take my weight. I dropped to the next notch.
I dropped the rest of the way. I landed hard. Shuffling into the darkness, under one of the living room windows. I could see the bedroom window. Saw Mia Malkova come to the glass. My heart was beating hard, a fierce drumbeat in my ears. She didn't notice the catch on the window remained undone. She kept her eyes on the garden as if she knew something was wrong.
I'd been so near to getting caught breaking into someone's house. The house of a Russian assassin and her husband.
Mia pulled the curtain across, and I made my move, following the darkest part of the garden to a gate at the rear fence.
As I opened the gate, a splinter of wood flew off near my head and into the night sky.
I looked over my shoulder, and Mia Malkova was aiming a silenced gun in my direction. I went out onto the path behind the gate and ran.
Behind me, a silhouette in pursuit.
Another ricochet nearby.
Suppressors affect a firearm's accuracy – but not always how you might expect.
Sometimes, accuracy becomes worse when you attach a suppressor.
Other times, the accuracy may improve.
I tried to pick up the pace, but I was blowing hard. Struggling to find my footing on the wet grass. I followed a faint chalk path in the beach's direction. The chalk slick, the wind fierce.
If Malkova was still firing her gun, I couldn't hear it. The shots lost in the wind.
I saw respite for the first time. A boat. Pulled up onto the beach.
I ran to the stern and shoved the vessel towards the water.
Lights from the village and the spotlight on the shingle spit showed Mia's slender outline, running towards me.
My feet started kicking up water.
Another shot, but the wind carried it away.
She'd caught me up by a few yards. I was in the water. The boat gliding. Once it did, I gave it another, much harder shove and then leapt into it.
The boat rocked on the waves. Left and then right. I adjusted my balance. Staying at the stern, by the motor. I tried to start it, fiddling with the choke.
It spluttered.
As I tried again, she closed the gap. With a charge of fear, the motor erupted into life. The boat jolted forward. Glided away on the water. I grabbed the tiller.
An ashen glow washed in from the DEFRA spotlight again. I was out in the water now. More exposed to the beam. No longer protected by the darkness.
But I knew the light was coming.
A second earlier. She was beside me as I looked at the engine. Reached for the tiller. My profile is in full view. Then I made a fractional movement away, out towards the horizon. As the boat took off, the spotlight flickered on her frustrated silhouette.
The beach became dark again.
Her silhouette began dissolving into the night.
And then nothing.