Chapter Fifty
Nicole watched the door close, then stared at the two manila envelopes in front of her. She didn't want to open them; suddenly she had a million questions. He hinted that his father had hurt him, that he wanted to hurt her.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled the first file towards her, and reluctantly opened it. The photos were of the room she'd met Aleksi in, or at least a similar one, the furnishings and colour scheme were identical to the room that she'd tried to hide in the depths of her memory. That didn't mean anything, not really. She was still trying to put together the pieces of the stories that Maxim had received so far. She couldn't fathom why his father would want to hurt her, what benefit that would have to anyone. Other than it would hurt him, that was the sure fire way to hurt Maxim. Suddenly it was becoming a little clearer, though she honestly believed the man that she'd met who she now knew was his father wasn't the cold hearted killer that he'd been described as.
Nicole looked back at the photos and rifled through them slowly. The room - as she remembered it, and the three doors leading off it. Each door photographed both closed, and then open. The first was the bedroom, a typical double room, the second the bathroom. Again a typical hotel bathroom. But it was the third that made her heart stop.
Rather than a bed, a lounge or even a second bathroom, the room only contained a chair, a single chair in the centre of the room which was decorated in the same colour scheme as the rest of the suite of rooms. But there was only one light that shone too brightly on the chair, and the chair itself was adorned with ropes at the arms and legs, and some heavy-duty chains wrapped around the seat of the chair.
It was an object designed to restrain, and the accompanying photograph showed a selection of vicious looking weapons. Knives, skewers, small axes.
Shuddering she snapped the file closed. Had that been the room she'd met Aleksi in? She couldn't be sure, but would Maxim lie about this? He'd know that this would hurt her, and she honestly couldn't begin to believe that he'd hurt her like that deliberately.
Feeling nauseous, she reached for the second file. In that were separate photos of three women, they looked alike, maybe sisters, each smiling warmly at the camera. But the next dozen images were of injuries. In each they'd had their clothes slit open and deep welts formed crossed over each naked breast and each side of their faces. Their eyes vacant, but pain still etched on their faces.
She snapped that folder closed quickly and reached for her drink, sipping at it whilst she fought of the need to be sick...violently.
Steadier, her resolve regained. She stood, then exited the room in the way that Maxim had. Ending up back in the brightly lit reception. She felt as though she was drunk, her mind and body felt disconnected, the conflict with Maxim, combined with the images still flooding her brain were causing distance, confusion.
"Are you alright madam?"
She gave a shrug when she spotted the same concierge from earlier, "I'm fine...I think. Could you direct me to Mr Chertov's room?"
Nicole knew that she had to see him, that was imperative, but it didn't make it any easier a thought. And she wasn't expecting them to just tell her his room number. But as he smiled, he took her elbow and led her around the corner to an elevator that required a pass card.
"Top floor, he is expecting you."
"Top floor?" she asked with a sigh. When the concierge nodded, she followed his commands. It took just over a minute to reach the top floor, and allowed her a moment to plan her next move. She was furious that he'd subjected her to those pictures, but she could, kind of, see why they were necessary, after all she had pushed him to explain things.
The doors opened with a ping, and as she expected the room facing her was immaculate, modern...and the ultimate in luxurious. The walls in front of her were floor to ceiling glass and the skyline of London framed in all its beauty. She was mesmerised for a moment, entranced by the beauty, that it was a long moment before she spotted movement in the far corner of the suite. Slowly she moved her eyes to the chair in the darkened corner of the room; she could make out the white of his shirt and the glint of light on the glass in his hands.
"Why?" It was the only question she could ask despite the hundreds running around in her head.
He moved forward, elbows resting on his knees and she could almost make out his eyes, but not quite, "why what?"
Sighing she moved to a sofa opposite him and lowered her burgeoning body to sit down, he moved, and she sensed that he wanted to help her, but as she sat, he sighed and leaned back into the shadows.
"Why did you show me those photos? Why did your dad want to kill me? And what the hell do you mean when you said he deliberately hurt you?"
He gave a deep, throaty laugh, "good questions. You'll go far." He downed the glass in his hand, and stood, it was then she could appreciate how dreadful he looked. His collar was loose, his jacket long since abandoned, his eyes were dark and his hair ruffled, and she could only imagine how many times he'd run his hands through it.
Crossing the room, she noticed a wet bar that she hadn't seen when she'd walked in, and watched as Maxim filled a glass with vodka. Taking another long slug of vodka he let out a hiss almost of relief, then looked at her.
"You want something." When she shook her head, he came back to sit opposite her. "I never wanted to show you those pictures, I never wanted to tell you about the threats that my father made..." He ran a hand over his face then gave a sad smile, "but that was what was sending me around in circles. It's not pretty, and it's not something I'm proud of. But the last six months I've been working for my father, with my father, whilst at the same time gathering information to shop him to the CIA amongst others."
She knew her mouth had fallen open in shock, "you shopped your father?"
Again he ran his hands through his hair, "it was the only way to be free of him, he was going to kill you if I didn't work for him, and there was no way that I wanted to be part of the criminal network he ran."
"Ran? Past tense?"
Looking down he twirled the beaker of liquid in his hands for a long moment, when he looked up he looked defeated, pained, "it wasn't just government agents who wanted him, he had a million different enemies, he had blackmailed or had dirt on so many people..."
"He was killed?" She dreaded asking the words, but there was no other conclusion.
He nodded, then drank again, "he was arrested ten days ago, due to fraud and money laundering charges that I helped bring to light. He and Valentin were killed in police custody." He groaned, "and I'm glad to see the back of them. But..."
She reached across the table and placed a hand over his, "he was still your father."
"Bullshit, I'm not grieving that man...ever."
She looked at him knowingly, this was so much more complicated than she ever imagined.
"He hurt you? Your father?"
Maxim moved his hand from hers, "the accident...in Miami, the one that ruined my career...that was him, he thought that if he closed every door for me, I'd have no choice but to go back to him, to the family."
She gasped out loud, "but I thought it was a drunk driver."
He shrugged, "me too. But it seems that someone owed him."
"How could he be sure you'd be injured and not killed?"
"Yet another million dollar question, it was luck. I was there that night, and I was lucky that I wasn't killed."
They both sat in silence for a moment, and it seemed like an age before Maxim spoke. "You asked me why I didn't speak to you or contact you over the last six months. But it wasn't that easy, he had to believe I was in...That this was what I'd chosen, and he had to believe that his threat was enough, if I contacted you, then he'd never believe that I was buying into him, into the business...and then never share anything with me."
He slid another manila file into the centre of the table. "And for the whole six months, I didn't Google you, search your name, call you, text you, stalk you. Nothing. I couldn't risk what he would do if he found out, but also I couldn't deal with the effect it would have on me. Because seeing you...it would have killed me." He looked to the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before finally having the composure to speak to her, "when I knew he was dead, well I had to sort out a lot of things. That was when I found this file...and I know now that I was right to keep my distance."
She took the file and opened it, then froze; it was chockfull of pictures...of her.
She rifled through them slowly, there were images of her from so many different places, each scrawled with marker pen, dated, times. Her and Kim in the park with Noah, her leaving work...then she gulped, a photo of her leaving the hospital after an antenatal appointment. Tears were filling her eyes, as she looked up at him and saw the same pain and devastation in his eyes.
"He knew...about the baby, even that didn't make him change." He slid a solo piece of paper across the table, "instead, he kept you in his sights...he was ready to use you to hurt me again."
She looked at the paper, it was an email declaration from someone whose name she didn't recognise stating that Aleksi Guryanov's grandchild was under surveillance, and ready to be abducted as soon as it was born.
She threw the paper, as though it had burned her, and slumped back in the chair, tears rolling down her face.
"I'm sorry."
She looked up at Maxim, he genuinely looked as upset as her, but she didn't need this, not now.
"I need some space, some time."
Visibly, his face dropped, "ok."
She gave a half smile, "I don't hate you Maxim, but it is SO much to take in."
Nodding he reached for the phone beside him, "can I have a car please?"
Max watched her climb into the car, his heartbreaking with every step she took. He didn't know when or if he'd see her again, but he'd told her most things...there was a lot HE still didn't know. But Artur was flying in to London with the rest of his father's personal documents, and he was waiting for that with a level of anxiety that managed to keep him focussed as the car headed off into the night. He could have begged her to stay, he wanted to. But seeing those pictures, knowing what his father had planned, it all made him feel sick, and he knew what his father was capable of, he knew that world, to her it was like a movie plot, one that suddenly sucked her into the centre of it. She must be terrified.
Picking up his mobile phone, he called Kim. It was late but she answered immediately.
"She needs you Kim, please look after her."
He could hear her gasp, but he had no time for that, his concern was Nicole and his baby, "I haven't hurt her, not like you are thinking. But she's upset...will you please look after her..."
"That's the doorbell. Sounds like she's here."
He hung up relieved that she had some support, her safety, and the baby's, that was what was important here.
An hour later Artur walked into the suite, rolling his eyes and offering several mutterings of "you are not going to believe this", under his breath. It was going to be a long night.
Nine hours they sat and worked through all the existing 'threats' his father had outstanding. When he'd left Moscow Max had presumed that was it, he'd dealt with everything. But he'd had increasingly alarming emails from Artur who was managing the dissolution of his father's empire, concerned over his findings. When Max had opened the first dossier he'd received and seen images of Nicole in SO many places over the last six months, read the threats, seen his father's plans to abduct his child...he'd felt sick, the night hadn't proved any less difficult.
Aleksi Guryanov had been virtually untouchable; he was blackmailing US senators, government agents in three countries, police chiefs. The list was endless, and the night was filled with calls, emails...ending the torment that some people had been living under. With each call came anxieties that he himself now knew the hidden secrets, so Artur had been drawing up contracts and confidentiality agreements.
He'd opened the dossier on Nicole first and was struggling to open the one similarly labelled with his mother's name, because now he was doubting everything that he knew about every part of his life. There was some hard reading and mental adjustments ahead, but there was only so much he could deal with in one night...
By eight am he was exhausted, Artur asleep in the spare room. Instead of the rest he so gratefully needed, he showered, and then pulled on jeans and a sweater. He hadn't worn anything but a suit since he'd left London six months earlier, and it felt psychologically like a step in the right direction. He should give her time to sleep, to process, but he needed to see her, with a desperation.
Ignoring the offer of a hotel car, he jumped out in the street and took a cab.
Kim's house looked even more imposing in the early morning light. She answered the door in mere seconds; he knew she'd been expecting his call.
He shrugged, "can I see her?"
She shook her head, "she left earlier, gone home. Come in, you look wrecked."
He staggered, after all that she wasn't there, he'd missed her. Defeat threatened to overwhelm him as he shook his head, "I've got to find her."
Kim grabbed his shoulder and hauled him in to the house, "look I don't know what the hell is going on in your world Max, but you look like you're about to collapse. That is no state to go and try to win her back. Get upstairs and have a sleep."