“GIVE ME A GUN LICENSE SO I CAN DO SOMETHING WHEN THEY COME FOR me,” I tell our witness protection officer in July. But it’s against the law, so she won’t agree to it. In other words, I should let myself be butchered like a lame lamb.
I tell Sandra, “Then we’ll have to go get a gun license ourselves.”
“You think they’ll admit us to the shooting club?”
“If not, we’ll make trouble. We’re no different than other people. I don’t feel like just being shot. I have reached the point where I will accept what is coming to me without fear or grief, but it’s ridiculous that I have to surrender without a fight. I can’t live with that passivity; it will just give him as much power over me as he ever had, because he doesn’t have to abide by the law and I do. I’m always the loser. So no matter what, I want to be able to do something to take out at least one of them when I see the gunmen. I will not just be butchered.”
“Me neither,” says Sonja.
“Then we’ll do something about it.”
Sandra has researched a way for us to be able to defend ourselves: we’d take SPEAR defense training and shooting lessons. On July 24, we are going to have our first lesson at the shooting club.
Sandra has not listed our surnames, but we’ll have to show our identity cards, so it won’t be long before this will become public. When we walk to the club I say, “They will be scared shitless when they see my surname.”
It always remains to be seen how that will pan out. That’s why I try to postpone giving my last name as long as possible, preferably until I have spoken to the person and they can see for themselves that I’m not scary. That is my plan for today.
We are already in and were chatting with two nice, naïve ladies. We have been connecting well before I need to show my identity card. I think it highly unlikely that they will refuse us after all this, but you never can tell.
The instructor comes over with a serious look on his face. “You’re here for the introduction class?”
“Yes,” we say, as bland as possible.
“Well, let’s get started.”
A few days later, Sandra sends me a message saying that she’ll be at my house at eight fifteen a.m. and asking whether we should take her car or mine. I’d forgotten about it for a minute, but we had a meeting with our SPEAR trainer at nine that morning.
I first want to know what we’re looking at. If I have a bad feeling about the trainer, I’ll say goodbye without telling him who we are and why we want this. If the impression is good, I want to know beforehand if he’d be willing to keep this a secret. Somebody walking around using our names and our situation for their own benefit does not help us: we really need to keep our preparations secret.
We arrange to meet at the Hilton in Amsterdam. Sandra shows him the table where I’m already sitting; he comes up and introduces himself.
My first impression is good. Posture, voice, energy, I like him right away. His short introduction is also good. Not a guy who thinks too much of himself, overestimates himself. I feel no irritation at all. So I decide to open up and tell him who we are and what our goal is. “The reason we are interested in your training is because we are women testifying against Willem Holleeder. We expect to be executed in the short or long term and don’t want to resign ourselves to it.”
The poor guy needs to catch his breath; he was not prepared for this. He’s being treated to an announcement, on a Sunday morning, that he could never have imagined.
“Okay, that’s extreme,” he says, and gets a grip, “but it’s doable. You seem to take the situation quite lightly.”
I smile at him.
“That’s because,” I say, “we accepted it the moment we took this step. We know this will be the end for us. He will never accept this betrayal. The three of us know that the only thing keeping him alive is the thought of revenge. He always told us that if he gets a life sentence, he’ll commit suicide. But he’ll wait until he’s butchered us all.”
“So you know it’s going to happen, just not when?” he asks.
“Yes, and as things are now, we still have time to take your classes. But I won’t take a year’s subscription”—I laugh—“unless you reimburse me for any unused lessons!”
“I think that the lessons will help you, but you should know that if they really want to get you, they’ll always succeed and this training is not going to stop them.”
“We know that. We don’t ask for a money-back guarantee. We are under no illusion that we’ll survive because of your training, but we have to have dignity to be able to fight back. Maybe we can collect evidence—maybe DNA under our fingernails—that will help the police arrest the perpetrators and find a link to Wim. We don’t want to die like lambs, and we can’t bear the idea of him escaping punishment because of a perfect alibi, as happened with Thomas van der Bijl.”
“Still, heavy stuff,” he says, “but let’s just get started next week.”
“Good,” I say, “let’s do it. My sister will be there, too.”
All three of us leave the Hilton, and on my way to the car, I tell Sandra: “Well, that’s all we can do.”
“Yes,” she says, “but maybe it’ll help.”