LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  They were greeted by a jovial, ‘Come on in, come on in, it must be cold standing out there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rafi and went on to introduce Kate.

  They entered the modest-sized home and headed for the sitting room, where they were greeted by a roaring open fire.

  Charlie beckoned Rafi to sit on the sofa next to the fire.

  ‘Your timing is excellent – the kettle has just boiled. Let me look at you first though, young Rafi, it’s been too long since I last laid eyes on you.’ He stood there gazing at him. ‘Thank you for your phone call. It’s a shame that you got caught up in this terrorist mess. I wondered whether you might make contact after I’d had that visit from MI5.’ He paused, as if uncertain what to say next. ‘Why don’t you have a look at some photos whilst Kate and I put the kettle on?’

  Charlie picked up an old leather-bound photo album from the sideboard and handed it to Rafi, then disappeared with Kate into the kitchen.

  Rafi opened it. It contained pictures of the major’s life. There were a couple of photos of him in his early school days at Haileybury: one of him playing cricket, which rekindled memories of Rafi standing in almost the same spot, bowling right arm off breaks. The chapel and the large central courtyard looked just the same.

  He moved on a few pages to see a very handsome, young man dressed in army uniform with a dark brown moustache and closely cropped wavy brown hair. The sparse text under the photos showed that he’d been posted to Palestine and had initially served under Allenby, before being posted to India.

  He turned the page and there was a picture of a beautiful Indian woman in a nurse’s uniform standing in front of a large hospital. This was followed by a series of casual snaps of him and her taken during their outings. Rafi looked carefully at the photos; 1945–46 seemed to have been a very special and happy time for them. Then there was a sun-bleached photo showing the nurse and her family, all dressed up in their finest; looking very splendid in palatial surroundings. In the centre was the person he assumed to be the head of the family; he looked intimidating. A couple of photos of a kindly looking servant carrying a tray laden with glasses, cups and saucers followed.

  ‘What?’ Rafi exclaimed. He recognised the servant. He was his grandpa, Mansur Khan. His gaze fell upon the nurse in the picture. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t believe it – it was Lateefa, his grandmother, in her early twenties. He was confused. Why was Charlie holding hands with his grandmother in many of the pictures? The last photo showed them standing formally next to each other. There was a look of sadness in their faces.

  Rafi turned the page. It contained a short press cutting on the death of Mansur. This was followed by another cutting which showed the mangled car in which his parents had died a few months later. The next page was blank; there were no more pictures, except for the penultimate page, on which there was a photo of Charlie standing next to a young lad, with his arm around his shoulder, a beaming smile across his face. Rafi remembered the occasion. It was taken in the summer near the end of his third year at Haileybury. He had taken four or five wickets in an inter-house cricket match. Charlie, who had been watching, insisted that a photo be taken for posterity. Rafi hadn’t seen the photo until now. He sat deep in thought, and was interrupted by the clattering of a trolley on which the afternoon tea had been placed. Charlie and Kate sat down and passed around the tea.

  Charlie looked carefully at Rafi’s face. ‘I was distraught,’ he said. ‘I really wanted to marry your grandmother. Sadly for both of us, it wasn’t to be. In those days, family honour ranked above individual feelings and sensibilities.’

  ‘Pardon?’ asked Rafi.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ said Charlie. ‘I met Lateefa, your grandmother, in India just before its partitioning with Pakistan. We fell in love and then calamity struck: she told me that our relationship had to end, but she would not tell me why. I didn’t find out until later that she was carrying my child and had been disowned by her family. Had it not been for your grandfather, Mansur, a servant in her household, it would have been a disaster. He sought me out and explained why Lateefa had broken off our relationship.’

  Rafi could see the beginning of tears in Charlie’s eyes.

  ‘I had been transferred to the Green Howards and was being posted to Sudan. I had so wanted to go back and see Lateefa, but there just wasn’t time. And to have become a deserter from the army would only have made things worse. When I told Mansur that I had to go, I had expected him to be angry with me. Instead he smiled and asked if he could help. It transpired that he had been in love with Lateefa since his childhood.’

  Charlie looked sadly at Rafi. ‘The partitioning caused largescale and violent cross-border migration of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs. It was this upheaval and Lateefa being without family support that prompted Mansur to find me. I was impressed – he had it all planned. He asked me to arrange passes for Lateefa and him to get to England. Mansur then found Lateefa and they emigrated there. I helped them with what little money I could.’

  ‘So my father was your son?’ Rafi exclaimed, finally understanding what Charlie was trying to tell him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me before now?’

  ‘I promised your parents that I would not interfere,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Hold on a minute!’ said Rafi. ‘Did you have anything to do with my going to Haileybury and Saara going to a private day school?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘After decommissioning I went back to my studies, became a teacher and then accepted a job at Haileybury. Several years later, I had been visiting a school in Stepney with which Haileybury had long-standing links and, as good fortune would have it, on the way home I stopped off at a local bakery in the East End of London. I unexpectedly met Mansur again. He looked much older, but I recognised him instantly.’

  Charlie poignantly related how he had returned the following weekend and had met Mansur and Lateefa. ‘I had a tear-filled reunion with your grandparents. We talked about Jansher, their only son and decided that the past should remain in the past – it wouldn’t have been fair on them for me to come back into their lives. I asked if I could help them with their finances. They were too proud to accept any help. In the end, they allowed me to help with the education of any grandchildren that they might have.’

  Rafi smiled. ‘That explains why I went from a deprived state school to a smart private boarding school!’ He was overcome by emotion.

  Charlie sat quietly waiting for Rafi’s response.

  ‘Wow,’ replied Rafi. ‘So as of today the number of my close family relatives has doubled…. Let me give you a hug.’ Rafi embraced him warmly and then sat back down. ‘I always knew Mansur as grandpa. Could I call you grandfather?’

  Beaming, Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice.

  ‘Saara will be delighted; I can’t wait to tell her face to face.’

  ‘Unexpectedly, Mansur wrote to me once or twice a year keeping me up to date as to what your father, Jansher, was doing. It was just like him to be so thoughtful,’ said Charlie.

  The conversation drifted back to when Charlie had first met Lateefa, Rafi’s grandmother. ‘She came from an immensely powerful and wealthy family. They commanded respect for tens if not hundreds of miles around,’ said Charlie. He went on to describe the close-knit community in India before independence, the partitioning and painful birth of Pakistan. Charlie talked about the British Army families – the nannies and the family helpers – and about his relationship with Lateefa - ‘it should have progressed to marriage,’ Charlie’s voice faltered. ‘It broke my heart to lose her.’

  ‘Did you meet my mother, Ameena?’ asked Rafi.

  Charlie hesitated. ‘No… I’m sad to say, I did not…’

  ‘Why the hesitation?’ enquired Rafi. ‘Is there something I don’t know…? Please tell me, if there is…’

  ‘OK, then…, your grandpa was approached by your family in Pakistan who sought an arranged marriage
between your father and Ameena, a distant cousin. It transpired that the eldest son of the head of the family had fallen for Ameena, but his parents wanted him to marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Mansur reluctantly agreed to Ameena coming to stay for a couple of months, as a guest, but on the condition that your father was not to know about any suggestion of an arranged marriage.’

  Charlie paused. ‘Your parents enjoyed one another’s company and fortunately it didn’t take long for them to fall in love. They got married seven months later in a small ceremony.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rafi thought for a moment. ‘Could you tell me about my family in Pakistan?’

  ‘Your cousins are very powerful people. Their fiefdom stretches over an area of thousands of square miles. Perhaps you should pay them a visit one day,’ suggested Charlie.

  It was approaching 8 o’clock.

  ‘I’m afraid we should be going soon,’ said Rafi. ‘We’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Would you like to stay for a quick bite of supper?’ asked Charlie hopefully.

  Rafi was about to decline the offer when Kate interjected, ‘That sounds like a lovely idea.’

  The conversation switched to Kate, her family reunion and her teaming up with Rafi to track down the terrorists.

  Rafi talked about Saara and he promised to visit with her. After

  lengthy and fond goodbyes, they finally left at 10 o’clock.

  The journey back into London was slow but straightforward and they arrived at the packed hotel just after midnight.

  Rafi opened the door to their room and found a white envelope lying on the carpet. It contained two messages: one from Kate’s boss and one from Saara.

  Kate picked up the phone and spoke to David. It was a short call. ‘We’ll be picked up from the front of the hotel at 07.30. He wants me at work early.’

  She passed the phone to Rafi who dialled his sister’s number. There was a delay before the phone was answered. He guessed he’d woken her up.

  They spoke briefly and she updated him on the meetings she and Aidan’s economics team had had with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and representatives of the Bank of England.

  ‘They’re playing their cards very close to their chests. Heaven only knows what the Chancellor is going to do and say tomorrow. At least it’s a bank holiday and the markets will have to wait until Tuesday morning to digest things,’ said Saara. ‘I’m going back to Birmingham tomorrow evening. I’ve missed a couple of deadlines and don’t want to let my colleagues down… And I’m missing Steve.’

  ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘Coach of course,’ came the reply. ‘I got the ticket booked for me earlier today by a helpful man at Number 11. I can’t wait to get back to normality. Let’s talk soon when things are calmer. Please give my love and a hug to Kate. Tell her Steve and I look forward to seeing you both in Birmingham. Bye.’ He put the phone down. He felt guilty, as he had not told Saara about their grandfather. He wanted to tell her face to face, but was it fair to keep the news from her?

  Kate meanwhile had slipped into the bathroom. She washed quickly. Back in the bedroom she undressed and slipped under the luxurious duvet. Her thoughts turned to Rafi. She hoped he would not be long…

  Rafi finished his drink, turned the sitting room light out and went to see where Kate had got to. The bedroom lights were on, but she was fast asleep. Moments later he slipped into bed and turned off the light. He lay there thinking back over the day. Unexpectedly, it had been a very good day.

  Chapter 7

  After a good night’s sleep and a quick breakfast, Kate and Rafi were at their desks in Wood Street by 7.45 a.m. on Monday.

  Soon, though, Rafi found himself alone; Kate had disappeared to work with John and the rest of the team downstairs.

  The office felt strange without the pent-up tension of the previous week. Rafi tidied his desk and then browsed the Internet to see how the main overseas markets were trading. He looked at Bloomberg’s news page first. There, at the top of the ‘Breaking News’, was a headline that made him smile: ‘International markets closed - in respect for all those who lost their lives in London’. Rafi clicked on the link to read the story. It explained how the chairmen of the major international banks operating in London had got together and asked their home stock and derivatives exchanges not to open for the day as a mark of respect, and the idea had snowballed. Rafi smiled; the Chancellor had arranged things in a very appropriate manner.

  After forty minutes he’d run out of things to do so decided to see how things were progressing in the Ops Room. There Rafi was greeted as one of the team - basically no one took much notice of him! He looked at the screens and listened to the discussions going on.

  Puddle Jumper had arrived at Safi in the early hours of the morning with its crew of six. They had cleared customs. Golden Sundancer and the sheikh’s plane were some five hours away.

  The atmosphere ratcheted up a notch as Giles and David walked in, accompanied by Len Thunhurst, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, John, Kate and the rest of their teams.

  Rafi noticed that video links had been established with regional police command centres. Those around him spoke of Operation Dry Clean and explained that it would be the largest series of coordinated arrests ever undertaken.

  Giles started the video link briefing. ‘The need for secrecy is absolute. Details of the arrests and the names will not be released until Len Thunhurst is satisfied that it’s safe to do so. The terrorists’ network of contacts should not be underestimated – let us not forget that two members of COBRA have been arrested. Operation Dry Clean will commence as soon as we receive confirmation that the ringleaders have been apprehended. There will be hell to pay if they are tipped off and give us the slip at the last moment. The capture of the terrorists is scheduled for 3.30 p.m. this afternoon, give or take a bit. Until then we must keep our actions under wraps. Len Thunhurst will be in charge of the UK arrests and I shall be overseeing the arrest of Maryam Vynckt in Luxembourg.’

  Len took up the proceedings. He congratulated Giles and his team on their work and turned to Emma. ‘The floor is all yours.’

  Emma looked worn out. She was a little hesitant at first, but soon got into her stride. She pointed to the electronic presentation on a second screen, which was linked to the conference rooms of those listening. Emma explained, using the diagrams on the screen, the relationship between Basel Talal’s venture capital business; Jameel’s Prima Terra; Maryam’s Gulf Trade Bank and the sheikh, who was the chief financier. She also mentioned the raft of public and private companies controlled and manipulated by the terrorist leaders. Jeremy nodded approvingly.

  Emma paused to take questions and then put a new slide up on the screen. This contained a very lengthy list of names and addresses linked, where available, to mugshots of the people involved. She turned to Jeremy. ‘Thanks to the work of MI5, we have so far been able to trace 289 of the 323 people we are interested in. MI5 will be seeking your assistance to find the missing individuals.

  ‘For those on our list,’ she continued, ‘We’ve adopted a colour coding of red, blue and black. The names in red are individuals who have been complicit in the recent terrorist activities and for whom we have more than sufficient evidence for a prosecution. The blues have direct connections with the recent activities, but more evidence has to be gathered before we’ve got a watertight case. The names in black are circumstantially linked: while we believe that they’ve been very much involved in the terrorists’ plans, we need more information before we can confirm their involvement. The red names are our first priority. However, all the names are important as they’ll complete the picture of what the terrorists have been planning and will corroborate the case against those we’re going to prosecute.’

  Emma pointed to the screen. ‘As soon as we have a person in custody, we’ll give their name on our list a yellow background. That way we can quickly see how things are progressing.’

  ‘T
hank you, Emma,’ said Len turning to the video camera. ‘Many of the people you will be arresting are sleepers. Do not feel any sympathy for them – they are all implicated. Once in custody, we need to build a complete picture and identify any loose ends that we may have missed. Emma and her team, with the help of MI5, John and his team, have prepared a dossier on those you’ll be arresting. It will provide you with background details of what these individuals have been doing and how they’ve crossed the line. I do stress that each and every one of them should be treated with caution.’

  Len paused to let his last statement sink in. ‘The resources of this terrorist operation have been likened by MI5 to those of a small to medium-sized country. They have on their payroll some of the most dangerous mercenaries we have ever had the misfortune to deal with. And be warned: some of the people on this list are very well connected. And please be aware that these sleepers or invisibles, who would usually go unnoticed, are extremely valuable to us. The fact that we don’t catch them with a smoking gun should not lessen the gravity of their involvement.’

  The commissioner turned to Jack Fisher, one of John’s team, who blushed as he stood up. His voice started as a quiet squeak. John passed him a glass of water and gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Jack has spent the last couple of days, with the help of MI5, unravelling the terrorists’ network of outsourcing companies working for the public sector. What he and the rest of the team have unearthed makes for unpalatable reading.’

  The commissioner nodded towards Jack, who had recovered his composure. ‘You’ll see there is an extensive list of companies, limited partnerships and businesses, which are controlled by the terrorists. Key individuals in these companies have been listed above. Their paper and electronic records will be needed so that we can identify the internal chains of command and see exactly what they have been doing.’