Stephen Leather - The birthday girl

'There are also problems with adoption, Mr Freeman,' Elliott said. 'The authorities here aren't keen to allow their children to be taken away. They feel that their needs are best served among their own people.'

'In concentration camps?'

'You might also find it difficult to get the adoption approved back in the United States.'

Freeman kept his eyes on Elliott. He had only one card left to play, one threat to use against the hard-faced State Department official and his file. 'If you insist on leaving her in that camp, I'll have no choice but to go public,' he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. 'I'll speak to every newspaper and TV correspondent I can find. I'll go to London and hold a press conference there, and then I'll do the same all across the United States.' He slapped the side of his wheelchair. 'I'll sit in this chair and I'll tell the world how a mercenary with blue eyes and a Virginia accent tried to blow away a little girl, and I'll tell them that the State Department wanted her to be kept in a concentration camp because they didn't want the world to know the truth.' – j Elliott studied Freeman, his forehead creased as if he were {v* contemplating a mathematical problem. 'No one will care,' he said. 'Besides, the mercenaries, if indeed they were mercenaries, were acting on your behalf.'

'They'll care,' Freeman replied. 'And you know as well as I do that once it gets into the media, you'll have no choice but to let her into the States. And I don't think it'll be too difficult to prove that they were assisted by the State Department. I'm sure the New York Times would love to know what you and Connors are doing here.' He paused for breath. 'Look, this isn't a poker game. I've no reason to bluff. You allow my wife and me to adopt Mersiha, or I go public. One or the other. Your choice. And don't worry about the adoption. I'll go to the best lawyers in the States, I'll pay whatever it takes.

Whatever.'

Elliott looked across at the Serb. Freeman kept his eyes on Elliott, as if he could get the answer he wanted by sheer force of will. He didn't see how the Serb had reacted, but he heard Connors shift position behind the wheelchair.

'You take her,' Elliott said. 'You take her today. I'll arrange the paperwork at this end, you'll be responsible for all costs.'

Freeman nodded. 'Agreed.'

'I haven't finished,' Elliott said smoothly. 'You are never to come back to this country, Mr Freeman. Neither is the girl. If the girl leaves, she is never to return. And you, Mr Freeman, are never to speak of this again. To anyone.'

Freeman nodded. He couldn't stop himself smiling. He'd won. He'd played his last card and it had been a trump.

'I hope you understand what I'm saying, Mr Freeman,' Elliott said, his voice suddenly hardening. 'You will not talk to anyone about what happened. In the cellar. At the camp. Or within these four walls. It never happened.'

Elliott stared at him, and Freeman knew that there was more that the State Department official wanted to say. He wanted to tell him what would happen if he broke the agreement, and Freeman knew that it would involve a man like Connors, or maybe a man with blue eyes and a Virginia accent, and he was suddenly scared. Before Elliott could continue, Freeman nodded, almost too eagerly. 'I understand,' he said. 'Mersiha's all I want. Nothing else matters.'

Elliott continued to stare at Freeman, and for a moment Freeman feared that he was about to change his mind. 'Thank you,' he said. He looked across at the Serb. 'Thank you,' he repeated.

The Serb and Elliott exchanged glances, then left the room without a word. Freeman turned his chair around to find Connors leaning against the wall with a sly smile on his face, slowly shaking his head. 'You're a lucky man, Freeman,' he said enigmatically.

Freeman opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. He pulled out a carton of orange juice and took it over to the sink.

As he poured himself a glassful he looked through the window and across the lawn to the line of trees that separated his property from that of his neighbour. Mersiha was playing with Buffy, throwing a blue frisbee for the dog and laughing each time she ,* brought it back. It was a game Buffy would happily play for hours " amp;' at a time without getting bored. Mersiha's laughter carried into the kitchen and Freeman smiled. The teenager who was running across the lawn was a far cry from the frightened girl he'd taken from the camp in Serbia almost three years earlier. She was a great deal taller, almofffa* young woman, and her jet-black hair was thick and shiny.

'Go get it, Buffy!' she shouted. There was hardly any trace of a Bosnian accent any more. The all-American girl. Freeman drank his orange juice. Mersiha saw him and ran to the back door. She burst into the kitchen with all the energy of a SWAT team.

'Hiya, Dad,' she said, hugging him around the waist.

'Hiya, pumpkin. Do you want a ride to school?'

'No, thanks. Katherine will take me later.'

Freeman put his glass in the sink and untangled himself from Mersiha's hug. She picked his briefcase up and handed it to him.

'What time are you coming home?' she asked.

'About six,' Freeman said. Mersiha was always asking him where he was going, and when he'd be back. Bearing in mind her background, he wasn't surprised by her insecurity.

In some ways it was reassuring. He had many friends who'd love to have the same degree of concern from their adolescent children.

Buffy stood outside the kitchen door, barking at Mersiha to return to their game, but she ignored her. She looked at Freeman and frowned, deep lines creasing her forehead. 'Is everything okay?' she said.

'Of course. Why?' Freeman was already late but he put his I briefcase back on the table.

Mersiha shrugged. 'You look worried. Like the world was =', ¦?» about to end and only you know.' f Freeman smiled. 'Everything's fine. I have everything I've ever wanted. A home. A family.' Buffy barked, louder and more insistent. 'And a dog. What more could any man want?'

Mersiha looked at him for a few seconds before she smiled.

'A million dollars?' she said.

'Ah, the American Dream,' Freeman sighed.

'America is truly a wonderful country,' Mersiha said, putting on a thick European accent and then collapsing in a fit of giggles.

She picked up his briefcase and carried it out to the car for him.

'Don't forget your seat belt,' she said before he could even reach over his shoulder for it.

'Do I ever?' he asked, buckling himself in. A sudden wave of sadness washed over him and he shivered. He caught himself just in time and managed to keep smiling.

Mersiha saw the change in his face and immediately realised what was going through his mind. She flushed. 'I didn't mean…'

'I know, I know,' he said.

'I just meant I wanted you to drive safely, that's all.'

'Mersiha, there's no need to explain, I know what you meant.'

'Yeah, but I don't want you to think that I…'

Freeman took her hand and squeezed it. 'Shhhh,' he said. 'I promise to drive carefully. Now go and play with your dog.'

He waved goodbye to Mersiha and backed the Chevrolet Lumina out of the driveway into the road. In the driving mirror Freeman saw her stand and watch him drive away. It had been more than five years since Luke had died in the car crash, but the memory of it still brought tears to Freeman's eyes and he blinked several times. He and Katherine had explained to Mersiha what had happened and why they had no children of their own, and it pained Freeman to see how carefully she tried to avoid the subject. He knew she was trying to protect his feelings, and that made it all the worse. If anything it was he who should be trying to help her. He could only imagine what a tangled mess her emotions must be. There were times, usually when she didn't know that he was watching her, when he saw a look of such sadness cross her face that his heart would melt. He knew that she must be thinking about her real mother and father.