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He rang the bell, and was surprised when Celik’s mother opened the door herself.
He knew what she looked like from the photos Damon had sent him. He’d been expecting polish and he got it. She was a very beautiful woman in her late twenties, with a face that had an innocence to it that couldn’t possibly be real, given her profession. But she had a kind of vulnerability—and her smile was sweet as she asked him his name and then stood back to let him in, waiting until the door had closed behind him.
She led him into a small sitting room filled with deep armchairs and elegant furnishings before asking him for more formal identification.
‘A driver’s licence, if you please, or a passport.’
He handed her the passport Damon had secured for him and she took a photo of it with her phone and presumably sent it somewhere, presumably for safekeeping.
Not a foolish woman, by any means.
‘Precautions,’ she said, with another sweet smile. ‘Should you become a regular patron, this part of the afternoon can, of course, be dispensed with. My name is whatever you want it to be this evening. Would you care for a drink?’
‘I’m really not here for what you think I’m here for.’
He pulled out the second set of credentials and handed them over and watched her innocent expression fade, to be replaced by sharp-eyed consideration.
‘I’m here in collaboration with Dutch and Russian officials. I work for an organisation that relocates certain individuals—if that’s what they need. I’m here to offer you and your son entry into a witness protection programme.’
Would she do it? He had a plan in place, just in case she said yes.
But neither he nor Damon had judged it likely.
‘No.’ He watched in silence as her pretty face contorted into a mask of pain and frustration. ‘Yes, I requested help, but this is not what I want!’
He and Damon had judged correctly.
‘Witness protection?’ she continued angrily. ‘Why should I give up my life here when this was never the arrangement? I bore that man a child, yes. A sick child that I couldn’t care for. The child’s father paid me to go away and stay away—and I did. That child upstairs was three days old when I walked away from him. I have the paperwork to prove it. I made no claim on him, or on any fortune he might some day inherit. I have paperwork for that as well. But does anyone care? No! “You’re his mother,” they said. “He’s your problem now—you deal with it.”‘
Not a lot of maternal instinct in that heart.
‘Look, he’s a sweet kid. He’s soft. He has this innocence …’ she continued. ‘How that happened, given that father of his, I have no idea. But I can’t protect the boy from who he is and what his late father owes. I don’t have access to the money his father’s business associates want. I don’t have the weapons they want. I was never in Antonov’s confidence. But these people … they don’t want to hear that.’
‘You fear for your safety?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’m offering you and your son a chance to leave this place and start afresh. Somewhere Antonov’s debtors won’t find you.’
‘Take the boy—yes. If he goes away my problems will disappear. Take him. Please. And leave me out of it. I have a life here—and it’s a good one.’
‘If that’s what you want …’ He’d been counting on it. ‘I require your signature and your co-operation when it comes to getting the child away from the property without being seen. Your son will have a new identity and a new life without you in it. One that precludes any contact with you in future years.’
‘Take him.’ She spoke with no hesitation. ‘Keep him safe if you can. Let him grow to become his own man—there’s freedom in that, and choice. He could go to school, make friends with other children. I tried to get him to make friends, but he’s too used to being with adults … he’s never been anything but home-schooled.’ She shook her head. ‘The child thinks he’s too sick for regular school. He’s not. He was home-schooled because of his father’s protectiveness and paranoia.’
‘Under the circumstances, I guess the paranoia was warranted.’
‘All I’m saying is that if he stops being Antonov’s son, Celik can go to school. He can choose who he wants to be.’ She looked sad suddenly. ‘He won’t get the chance to start over if he stays with me.’
‘You do care about him?’
‘No! Not enough to change my life. There’s a difference between wanting someone to have a chance and caring about them.’
