Latent Hazard

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

‘I’ll come . . . I’d love to. Sorry for being slow, it’s just that my thoughts were with what the PM had just told me.’

  Rafi leant forward and gave Kate a peck on the cheek. ‘Come on, we can’t keep the car waiting. Remember you promised me some TLC and I’m going to enjoy cashing it in . . . with interest!’

  They had been in the Ops Room at Wood Street for less than five minutes when Jeremy appeared. ‘I thought I might update you. The list of very highly paid non-executives on the terrorists’ payroll is quite something. Several of the names are dynamite. For example, we’ve identified six Members of Parliament who have been implicated.’

  Jeremy yawned. ‘Apologies for that – where was I? Yep, we’ve checked through the bank accounts of the two COBRA members caught with their snouts in the terrorists’ trough. It seems that they received their money from our old friend the Gulf Trade Bank. They’ve been bloody naïve and stupid. Thankfully, they weren’t sophisticated enough to use an offshore account. The bungs went straight into Building Society accounts. Those who have been using offshore accounts will be harder to pin down and no doubt they will be the ones really worth catching – c’est la guerre!’ He smiled and added, ‘John and his team have done great work; the fun bit is going to be hauling the culprits in.’

  ‘Have you looked at ESSA and the people they placed in the financial dealing teams, and the people running HFFF?’ Rafi asked.

  Jeremy nodded. ‘We’ve got them on our list. The bosses at MI5 are gobsmacked by how much John and his team have turned up in such a short time. They have people working around the clock going through bank statements and corroborating the evidence. There’s a real buzz down there. One of these days I must show you around!’

  ‘Who do you think ran the UK end of the slush fund?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Maryam, we reckon, looked after the money side of things via bank accounts funded by the sheikh. At the moment we aren’t sure who did the recruiting and management of those in their pay. My hunch is it was someone working for one of their private companies, like SPAD – Security Protection & Defence.’

  ‘When will the arrests take place?’ asked Rafi.

  ‘As soon as the terrorist leaders are in our custody,’ replied Jeremy. ‘Oh – by the way – you remember that a BlueKnite employee turned a blind eye and let the bomber in at Bishopsgate? Well, it also seems that the controller looking after the nuclear trains only joined a year ago and was on the terrorists’ payroll. Last week he received £15,000 from the Gulf Trade Bank; one hell of a coincidence or what? No wonder he took so long to get back to the control room and employed such a plonker to work with him.’

  ‘Thanks for the update; now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few loose ends to tidy up.’ Kate winked at Rafi and added, ‘Do make yourself at home!’

  Rafi’s attention turned to the large screens on the walls. One showed a press conference, describing the full impact of the nuclear sabotage. It included a report on what had happened in the previous twenty-four hours and on the progress being made. All roads into the exclusion zone were now dead ends. The one-way – out only – system was being enforced rigidly at the army-controlled checkpoints.

  Rafi felt a shiver go down his spine as he saw pictures, from the previous day, of masses of people corralled in one of the open air holding areas. The footage followed the process of decontamination; people were stripped of all their belongings and clothes, and taken to a purpose-built shower marquee, next to a prefabricated building. Large signs in many languages had on them: ‘Radiation risk – NOTHING to be taken beyond here.’

  The TV cameras showed heart-rending footage of people arriving at the checkpoint and being forced to give up all their possessions. The pictures included those of a confused little girl being made to give up her favourite teddy – she was crying and couldn’t comprehend what was going on. The scene brought a tear to Rafi’s eye.

  The report contained footage of mobile phones being handed out to each individual or family. The mobile phone companies had literally cleared their warehouses and the stocks in their shops. Free pay-as-you-go phones with credit vouchers for calls were issued to those coming out of the decontamination centres. Those with missing family members were given a phone number they could call to give information about the people they had lost. A number of local sports halls became rendezvous points for the missing people.

  The TV commentator commended the Dunkirk spirit. The attitude wasn’t ‘How much is this going to cost?’, but rather, ‘What can we do to help those who have lost everything?’. The newscaster then announced that there would be a public holiday on the Monday, to respect the loss of life and the suffering.

  Rafi watched a piece on how the National Health Service was holding up. All the hospitals within 200 miles of the disaster area were flooded with people. A number of five star hotels had been requisitioned and turned into specialist cancer treatment units. Those with radiation poisoning were sent on to one of these new specialist hospitals, with instructions from on high that everything should be done to make them feel comfortable. Elsewhere patients were seen on trolleys and makeshift beds. Against the odds, the system held up.

  The armed forces were stretched beyond anything anyone could ever have envisaged. By late Friday afternoon, 10,300 troops and specialist professionals had been brought in to enforce the perimeter of the exclusion zone, to run the decontamination centres and to clear the exclusion zone of people. All military bases remained on full alert.

  The RSPCA worked with the armed forces and Territorial Army’s veterinary teams to deal humanely with those animals found in the exclusion zone. It was a gruesome and gruelling task. The RSPCA gained permission to run their own decontamination units for mildly contaminated pets where the owners could be identified.

  Rafi was enthralled when the bulletin turned to the problems associated with the leaching of the radioactive materials into the water table. In particular the River Lee and its canal were near to the wrecked train. An ingenious solution had come from a company based just south of Newcastle, which made a polymer for – amongst other things – nappies. It rapidly turned liquids into jelly which would remain stable for over a month. They had dispatched eight lorry loads with a police escort and arrived in London late on Friday afternoon. Their cargo was applied to the flowing water in and around the exclusion zone. The main problem related to the River Lee which flowed through it. Short term, a decision had been taken to divert the Lee into the King George reservoir just to the north of the exclusion zone and from there the water was to be pumped straight into the mains as, unfortunately, the large Coppermills water treatment plant, a mile to the south, was now contaminated.

  According to the reporter, decisions were being taken on how the River Lee could be redirected long-term. He listed the few solutions which were being considered – including diverting it into the River Roding – and concluded that drinking water shortages would be a feature for months to come. However, the good news was that the critical problems were being resolved and there were high hopes that radioactive materials would not leach out of the exclusion zone.

  Rafi spotted Colonel Turner and his team looking at a screen showing a large chart. Curious, he went over to investigate. The screen showed the precise location of Golden Sundancer. She was still heading south.

  It was late afternoon. Tiredness was rapidly overcoming Rafi – he felt ready to drop. The pressures and excesses of the last week had caught up with him again. He’d lost track of where Kate was, so he left a message for her and cadged a lift back to the hotel. Once there he grabbed a cold drink, had a quick shower, climbed into bed and turned the lights out. Sleep came quickly.

  He awoke on Sunday morning to find it was almost 9.30 a.m. He had slept for fifteen hours – a welcome relief. Kate was already up and about and dressed.

  ‘Hi there, sleepyhead; your timing is perfect. I’ve ordered breakfast and the hire car is waiting for us downstairs.’

  They enjoyed their breakfast, and
by 10.15 a.m. were on their way.

  Rafi took his trilby and cashmere scarf and a couple of the Sunday newspapers with him.

  The curfew that had been imposed on Friday morning had been lifted at midnight on Saturday. The roads were unduly busy and the exclusion zone severed the usual roads towards East Anglia.

  Their destination was the Suffolk–Essex border, where Kate’s family lived. They talked about her family and about her early childhood years. It became obvious that she’d had a very happy time living in Kenya, where her parents had been farmers.

  ‘Then the carefree days ended,’ Kate recalled with sadness in her voice. ‘When I was twelve my grandfather died. We returned to England so that my father could sort out his affairs. The death duties were far larger than my father had expected and a decision had to be taken. Sell up in England to meet the huge tax bill and return to Kenya, or sell up in Kenya and live in the family home in Suffolk. My father chose the latter and following that decision much of the happiness in my life evaporated. My school changed from a relaxed private school to a large state school. My friends in Kenya loved outdoor activities: riding and hunting for creepy crawlies. Everything was tame in England. The weather was awful for five months of the year and people spent so much time indoors.’

  ‘Was it that bad?’

  ‘I had nothing in common with my new peer group at school,’ she said. ‘I was teased for my strange accent. My parents had promised that I would go to a smart girls’ public school but it wasn’t to be. My brother, Marcus, and I were sent to the local comprehensive school. It was only meant to be for the first year while my father sorted out the family’s finances. However, it soon became apparent that money was very tight due to the size of the Estate Duty tax bill and the large running costs of our house.’

  Kate paused. ‘Mark is fifteen months younger than me. He contracted diphtheria as a child and was on death’s door for over a week. He pulled through, but the illness had made him partially deaf. In Kenya he grew up as if poor hearing was a minor hindrance. He was well catered for at his school and had the full attention of his own nanny to work with him at home. Sadly, in England things were totally different. Marcus didn’t fit into the education system which lacked the flexibility to cater for his special needs.

  ‘I remember,’ continued Kate, ‘my parents discussing our education. Basically, they felt that I needed to stay at the same school as Marcus, as he relied on me to protect him from bullies. So I stayed there for my A levels,’ she sighed. ‘I spent my gap year helping my father, working for the family business. It was then that my relationship with my parents crumbled. They had expected me to go off to university to read business studies or agricultural economics and return to the family business. I didn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I had other ideas. I wanted to become a policewoman. I had a massive row with my parents, left home and joined the police training college. But at last, I had found something I really enjoyed doing. I shouldn’t brag, but I sailed through with flying colours. Like my brother, I have a flair for figures. Whilst I was a young constable I studied part-time at the Open University Business School and five years later graduated with a BSc in Business Studies and Accounting. It was hard work, but in my heart I guessed that one day I’d want to go back to Suffolk and work alongside my brother, helping the family business, so I chose a degree I could use when I returned home.’

  Kate paused. ‘Sadly, things went from bad to worse with my parents. While I was at the police college I became friendly with Maurice. My parents didn’t approve of him as my boyfriend. I refused to back down and after a stormy weekend at home they disowned me.

  ‘I was working long hours. Maurice wanted us to socialise and party more and in the end we went our separate ways. I moved from the Met and joined the City of London police force and focused on my work and studies.

  ‘When I graduated, only my brother Marcus turned up to the ceremony. My relationship with my parents by that stage had dwindled to an exchange of Christmas cards and that was all. Since then I’ve been working for David and my social life has been practically non-existent.’

  They had reached the Suffolk border. ‘Are we getting close?’ Rafi asked.

  ‘Yes, not long now,’ replied Kate, who noticed Rafi was deep in thought. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I was just thinking about family and friends. I was wondering if on our way back into London we could drop in and see an old teacher friend of mine, Major Charlie Staveley. Would you mind doing that? He lives just outside Hertingfordbury, in Great Amwell.’

  ‘Good plan – why don’t you give him a ring now?’ replied Kate.

  His phone call successfully completed, Rafi saw National Trust signs to Leverthorne Hall and Leverthorne Vineyard, which they seemed to be following. Alongside the roadside was a tall brick wall. A large splayed back entrance, with impressive black wrought iron gates appeared. To Rafi’s surprise they drove through the gates up a tree-lined driveway. Leverthorne Hall was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Would you like to see where I grew up?’ enquired Kate with an impish grin, as they turned a corner. In the distance was a large Georgian mansion which could be described as impressive by anyone’s standards.

  ‘Not bad eh?’ said Kate. ‘Marcus and his family live in the west wing. My parents have the coach house and stable block. My brother has let most of the main house to the National Trust on a peppercorn rent. Says it makes life much simpler and lets him get on with the running of the estate and its businesses as a proper commercial venture.’

  Rafi looked at Kate. ‘So, all along, things like the suite at the Savoy were second nature to you!’

  ‘If only! As far back as I can remember, living here was a continuous round of penny-pinching. Just try to imagine: two acres of roof, rising damp, old wiring and cranky central heating . . . To name but a few of the house’s redeeming features – they all cost a fortune.’

  Kate glanced at Rafi; there was sadness in her eyes. ‘This is going to be difficult. I haven’t seen, let alone spoken, to my parents for many years. In the beginning I tried, but they wouldn’t answer my calls. I have kept in touch with Marcus. It was especially difficult when he found a girlfriend and wanted to get married, but my parents refused to let him have the reception here if I attended. In the end, he and Susannah decided not to get married. That, as far as my parents were concerned, was the final straw. The last time I went home was with Maurice. This time it’s with you in tow. Please don’t be surprised if this is a very short and fiery family reunion.’

  ‘I don’t have the luxury of having a family,’ commented Rafi. ‘It’s got to be worth a shot at patching things up between you and your parents. It’s a shame that all you’ve been doing has to be kept quiet until the terrorists are caught.’

  ‘A blaze of publicity might have been useful,’ mused Kate, ‘but this way we’ll see if there’s any real affection left for me.’

  The car stopped.

  ‘Whatever happens, you’ve still added one extra person to your life: me.’

  Kate turned her head and looked at Rafi. He could see the beginnings of tears welling up in her gorgeous eyes. She leant over and kissed him.

  ‘Right, let the charm offensive begin.’ Rafi groaned as he eased himself out of the car seat. His bruised lower back had not liked the prolonged car journey.

  Kate smiled. ‘Be your normal self. They get us warts and all.’ She gave his hand a squeeze and headed for the open front door. Rafi followed, with his trilby tilted over his eyes and the scarf round his neck and lower face.

  He marvelled as he stepped inside. The entrance hall could have contained his flat. They approached the National Trust booth where a kindly woman greeted Kate with a big smile.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hindmarsh; sorry I didn’t recognise you straight away.’

  ‘Don’t worry dear – it’s been over ten years.’

  ‘How’s . . .’ Kate hesitated, ‘Danny?’

&nbs
p; ‘On excellent form, thank you. I have three grandchildren. He works in Sudbury now, has a shop opposite the church. He would be pleased to see you, so do drop by.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hindmarsh, I’ll do that next time I’m up here. Today is a bit of a fleeting visit.’

  Mrs Hindmarsh nodded in a knowing manner and they proceeded on their way.

  They walked into a cavernous central hall. It was devoid of furniture. Its stone floor had small squares of black stone inlay to give it a criss-cross pattern. The main feature in the central hall was the grand sweeping staircase. There was a pair of large double doors to the left which led through to an impressively furnished drawing room. In front of Rafi the open double doors framed a view through what looked like a music room and on to the largest set of French windows he could ever recall seeing, with a vista down to a lake and a gazebo. To the right of the hall was a grand dining room.

  ‘How many could you seat?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I think we had about sixty in there for my twenty-first,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘Come on, enough of the sightseeing; let’s find somewhere more comfortable.’

  Kate took hold of his hand and led Rafi off to the right of the dining room, past a winding, back staircase, past a billiards room, down a long passage and past the kitchens. They climbed up a second set of back stairs and there in front of them was a normal-looking front door.

  ‘Welcome to my brother’s flat,’ said Kate with a broad smile. She rang the doorbell.

  They were greeted by a beaming Marcus. ‘Great to see you, Kate. And if I remember correctly from your phone call, this must be Rafi?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate.

  ‘Susannah will be with us shortly; she’s sorting out the final touches to lunch. Let’s find Mother and Father. I have told them that you’ve a boyfriend with you, but not that it’s Rafi! Sorry, but I thought it might be simpler for you to explain how your boyfriend has gone from being a terrorist to a good guy.’

  They walked down a small corridor, the walls covered in pictures of Africa. Marcus looked at Kate. ‘Happy memories!’