66 Metres: A chilling thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat!. J.F. Kirwan
ferry, until the heightened security made her think again. The heliport was out of the question. Hopping down a few steps onto the creaking gangplanks of the floating jetty, she searched for a smaller boat, ‘Scilly Boy’. She’d met Mike, the boat’s red-haired skipper, in a bar the night before. He’d said he was heading to the Isles. Mike had shown interest in her, though he’d seemed shy. She’d noticed that his second finger had a ring-shaped patch less sunburned than the rest of his hand. Probably married. Only wore his ring when back home. Not that she was interested. Since the ordeal with Slick and Pox, she’d forged herself into the female equivalent of a eunuch. Besides, Katya more than made up for Nadia’s abstinence. Maybe when this was all over.
Maybe.
At the end of the jetty she spied him preparing to leave. ‘You headed where I think you are?’ she shouted.
Mike raised his head. On seeing her, his freckled face lit up.
‘St Mary’s, Hugh Town.’ He paused, as if gauging his luck. ‘You want a ride? It’s a long trip, won’t be there till dark. The ferry’s much faster.’ Mike appeared to be standing perfectly still, despite the rocking of the boat. ‘You get seasick?’
‘Only on large boats.’ Flashing a smile, she passed her backpack down to him.
‘Hey, it’s pretty heavy; what have you got in there?’
Nadia locked her smile into place. ‘Oh, you know, lipstick. Girl stuff.’
Mike shook his head. ‘Whatever you say.’ He set it down on the short bench at the back of the boat, helped her in, and began casting off. She knew he’d be busy slaloming his way through the other boats anchored in the harbour, so she knelt down with her back to him and delved into her backpack. She’d bought some tape earlier, and tore off three strips and fixed them to one side of the Beretta. Glancing around to ensure that Mike was engrossed, she leant forward and fixed the gun to the underside of the bench, made sure it was secure, then slid her bag underneath it.
As they chugged their way out of Penzance Harbour, she laid her head back on the smooth fibreglass edge of the boat. Mike was still occupied, and left her alone with her thoughts. Unfortunately, these consisted of Janssen’s last moments, over and over again. She wondered what she could do to change the disk inside her head. She found herself staring at Mike’s fit body, especially his muscular forearms. But images of Pox and Slick kept intruding, and her hormones beat a hasty retreat, as usual. She pitied the next man she slept with. He’d have to be patience on a pedestal.
Relief spread through her as they quit the choppy waters in the sheltered harbour for the long, smoother rhythm of offshore rollers, finally putting some distance between her and the warehouse. Her right hand dangled over the side. A hissing, cool spray rinsed it every few seconds, and she inhaled the rich scent of the sea, letting it clear her mind.
Mike came over and planted a hat on her head so she wouldn’t burn, stared at her a moment, then returned to the front of the boat. Her thoughts drifted to Katya, wondering what she was up to, dreamy thoughts of the two of them living together in some small house somewhere, anywhere, nowhere.
Seagulls trailing the boat peeled off one by one, and headed back to shore. As the engine settled down, she listened to the slopping of the water against the hull, allowing it to lull her as she curled into a foetal position under her anorak, and closed her eyes.
When she awoke, it was night. Mike was gazing at her, a hint of a smile on his lips, his hair rendered brown by the red and green running lights. A dull yellow lamp behind him shone on the boat’s compact steering console. She returned his smile, but suddenly it stalled, as the blood-soaked image of Janssen pushed into her mind. She pulled her anorak close around her. Mike looked away, and got up to check the controls. He was a genuinely nice guy. Unlike most of the men she’d had to hang out with in the past five years.
She glanced toward the slowly rocking horizon, stars reflecting on smooth waves, and spotted the distant lights Mike hadn’t yet seen. Another boat, slicing like a shark through dark water towards them. It was moving fast, but was downwind, so they couldn’t hear it. Police boat. No, Navy. She sat up. Not long till intercept. They must be checking all boats that left Penzance. Her pulse sped up as she predicted the consequences of being found with the Rose: accessory to murder; a long prison sentence; Katya in a shallow grave in the woods.
The Rose was still in her backpack. She’d have to ditch it in the water, without Mike seeing. But once he saw the patrol boat, she might not get the chance. She dug out her satellite-linked smartphone – Kadinsky was generous with his gadgets – and activated the GPS app, then let it drop into her bag while it fixed her location. Joining Mike at the helm, she checked the depth of water beneath them on the sonar display: seventy metres. Seriously deep, but not irretrievable.
Mike cautiously placed a hand on her waist, their first physical contact. The patrol boat lights were behind him, gaining steadily. She needed more time for the GPS to locate their exact position. She remembered her training for a scenario like this. Distract and misdirect. And she imagined Katya reminding her younger sister that she was Russian, and Russians always did what was necessary. Katya had always said the best cover story was one that stopped people from asking questions…
Mike set the engine to idle, and moved closer. She swallowed. Maybe she could do this. He was attractive, after all. Confident about his job, yet quiet. Sensitive not pushy. Maybe, if given a bit more time… But the patrol boat was catching up. Mike leant forward and kissed her neck. Normally it would have made her spine tingle, instead she felt prickly all over her body. Her breathing sped up. That seemed to goad Mike on. A reasonable misinterpretation. She made her decision, and kissed him fully, his coarser seafarer’s mouth bitter from the coffee on his tongue. Both his hands gripped her, pulled her to him, his eyes closed. Hers stayed open, and over his shoulder she saw the patrol boat lights in silent pursuit. But as he held her wrists, that night with Slick and Pox came back to life as if it was yesterday, no, as if it was now. She tried to disconnect, to make her body go limp, but she remained tense, her rape memory screaming at her to fight back this time. Her muscles barely held back from lashing out at his pressure points.
Mike’s breath quickened as his hands went to work on her. Strong fingers slid under her t-shirt, fondled her breasts, his hands less sure on her than they were on the boat. She willed herself to play along, and led him towards the bench above her bag, keeping his back to the patrol boat trailing them. He kissed her harder, pushed her backwards onto the bench. He pulled off her top and savoured her breasts with his mouth, just like… She could hardly breathe. Concentrate. One more minute. The boat will arrive. Then you can dispose of the Rose.
He unzipped her jeans and one of his hands slid between her thighs, making her gasp. She slipped back on the bench as he peeled her jeans off, his index fingers hooking into the sides of her underpants, pulling them off, too. She wondered if this was how it was for Katya back in Moscow. She shut her eyes. Her lips trembled. And then the rape scene came flooding back to her in all its sick detail: Slick grabbing her forearms, licking her face like a dog, punching her in the stomach when she’d spat in his eye, thrusting inside her as violently as he could, while Pox… She opened her eyes. Her hands shook, her breathing was out of control. Mike was staring at her, a deep frown on his face.
‘Jesus! Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet.’
‘I’m sorry’ she said, because on so many levels, she was. ‘Mike, I –’
‘STAND TO! SWITCH OFF YOUR ENGINE! PREPARE TO BE BOARDED.’
Mike whirled around. ‘What the…?’ Pulling up his trousers, he hobbled to the canopied engine controls. Nadia sat up, her breasts momentarily lit up for all the crew to see, before the searchlight jerked towards a semi-naked Mike.
The loud-hailer blared again. ‘CUT YOUR ENGINES! NOW!’ The patrol boat loomed closer, its bow surging through the waves, water frothing white before dissolving into blackness.
Get a grip on yourself! She stood up, pulled on her jeans and top, then bent down as if to find and fasten her shoes, all the while trying to get