Latent Hazard

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  ‘What are the prospects for tomorrow?’ asked the interviewer.

  ‘It should be business as usual,’ came the reply.

  The cameras panned back to the interviewer in the CNN studio.

  ‘Well, there it is. An extraordinary day on the money markets; the UK currency and its economy seem set to fight another day. Who would have thought it? It’s a big surprise. Tomorrow the world’s eyes will be on the reopening of the UK financial markets. The omens look good, but who knows? Will the London Stock Market hold its nerve or will it be a bloodbath?’

  The timer in the kitchen started bleeping. Rafi switched off the TV. Kate was still in the bathroom.

  ‘The bleeper’s gone, what should I do?’

  ‘Could you see if the pizza is cooked? If it is, could you put it in the top oven to keep it warm?’

  ‘Will do,’ he said as he went back into the kitchen. It was a fifth of the size of his. Small it might be, but nevertheless it worked well – like Kate, he thought to himself.

  The pizza was cooked. He opened a tin of baked beans which he found on the side and poured them into a saucepan. How long had it been since he’d had baked beans? Ages. Probably university, he thought. With his larger than average salary his diet had gone upmarket. He gave the beans a stir.

  Rafi’s mind wandered and he found himself wondering what a young detective inspector might earn. Probably little more than a university research fellow, he guessed. It then dawned on him that, following the events of the last few days, he was effectively unemployed.

  At that moment his thoughts took another turn. He smelt something sweet coming into the room. This was followed by a sexy hug from behind.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just dawned on me than I’m unemployed.’

  ‘That’s good news! Now you can do something worthwhile and not just because it pays handsomely. You know, when I saw your bank statements I could hardly believe what a fund manager was paid. On average, you were earning more in a month than I earn in a year. Though, I suppose that those of us protecting Queen and Country do it for the job satisfaction and to eat baked beans rather than caviar. How’s supper coming along?’

  ‘Pizza is cooked and the beans are hot.’

  ‘Why are we standing around?’ Kate had two trays quickly laid. ‘Water or orange juice? No good offering you wine or a G&T, is it?’

  ‘Orange juice would be great.’

  ‘Do you mind if I have a glass of wine?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  In the sitting room, Kate put her tray on the floor in front of the gas fire and pulled across a small coffee table from alongside the sofa; she then lifted her tray on to the table and sat down cross-legged. He looked down at her; she was wrapped in a fluffy pink cotton dressing gown, with a nondescript towel wrapped around her head – but she looked gorgeous.

  Rafi sat on the sofa and felt the warmth of the fire. He tucked into the food – it tasted good. He watched Kate open a bottle of wine, fill her glass and sip at its contents.

  She caught him watching her. ‘Have you ever drunk alcohol?’

  ‘Not really. My parents, well my mother in particular, were strict Muslims and I grew up in a teetotal household. I suppose it was at university that I decided not to drink. I saw too many people getting smashed for no good reason, which really put me off.’

  The conversation switched to their journey to Cornwall. Kate was amused to find that he didn’t have a car. ‘What about I drive and you pay for the petrol? Deal?’ asked Kate.

  ‘But remember I’m unemployed,’ replied Rafi.

  ‘Yes, but thankfully you have a bank balance which should tide you over for a year or three.’ She yawned. ‘Sorry, I have been surviving on catnaps for the past few days. If I stay up much longer, I won’t be able to see straight driving down to Cornwall tomorrow.’

  There was a lull in the conversation which was soon broken by Rafi. ‘Would you mind if I went and showered?’ he asked.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll clear up. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘More orange juice would be nice, please.’

  ‘I’ve put a spare towel on the chair in the bathroom. Sorry it looks yuk.’

  He saw what she meant. The towel had definitely seen better days. He picked it up and was surprised to find that its shabbiness belied its softness. Definitely fit for purpose, he thought.

  Rafi shed his clothes and looked at himself in the mirror. His wrist still looked puffy and badly bruised. It was an angry purple-blue colour. He’d got rid of the bandage as it had become the object of too much attention. From what he could see, his back boasted some seriously impressive bruises, but thankfully they all looked far worse than they now felt.

  The shower cubicle was compact. At the third attempt he worked out how to get in and turn the water on without wetting the floor or getting dowsed in very hot or very cold water. He stood there, enjoying the warm water splashing over him. He looked around for some shampoo, washed his hair and picked up the bar of soap. It smelt of exotic eastern fragrances – very feminine. He gave himself a good scrub from head to foot, rinsed off the soap suds, turned off the shower and stepped out into a steam-filled room. He dried and walked out into a dark corridor.

  He could see a small strip of light coming from under Kate’s bedroom door and headed for it. Slowly, he opened the door. Kate was sitting in front of her dressing table looking into the mirror. She turned and looked at him. Her tired, freckled face was devoid of make-up – she still looked lovely.

  He walked over to his side of the bed, shed his towel and climbed in.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ she said and with that the light on the dressing table went off. The room was now only lit by the small light on her bedside table. She walked over to the door, turned and unwrapped the towel from around her head, took off her soft pink dressing gown and hung them both on the back of the door.

  Rafi lay in bed spellbound. The curves on her slim body were accentuated by the soft lighting. She turned her head and caught him ogling at her naked behind.

  She slowly stepped backwards, then sideways. He felt his pulse race. She had a great body.

  ‘Oooh! Do you like what you see?’

  He didn’t reply. He was captivated. ‘Yes, you look stunning,’ he eventually commented.

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’

  Rafi watched as she climbed into bed. She turned off the light, disappeared under the duvet and came up for air with her head on his chest. The curtains were drawn but small shafts of dappled light came into the room around the curtains’ edges from the lights outside.

  Kate moved her body next to his and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

  ‘You realise that we have known each other for eight days and have been going to bed with one another for four nights?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it must be a record.’ He couldn’t wait to see where this was going.

  ‘Well, the other nights we were both too tired to do anything . . . I was wondering, could we save our first time until we’re in Cornwall?’

  He felt he was going to burst. He was in an extreme state of arousal and was being asked to wait another twenty-four hours. He hesitated and, trying not to sound too disappointed, said, ‘If you can survive until then, I can too.’

  ‘I so hoped you’d be understanding. I know it may seem selfish, but to me you are the sort of person dreams are made of and I so want to cherish—’

  Rafi gently kissed her mid-sentence and was rewarded with a huge hug and a smouldering kiss.

  ‘Darling, I’m having enough trouble trying not to get any more excited,’ he groaned.

  ‘Sorry, I forget that it’s more difficult for men to be restrained.’

  They laughed, cuddled and swiftly fell asleep in one another’s arms. The last week had been punishing for both of them.

  Rafi awoke to the sound of light-hearted singing coming from the kitchen. Kate’s dressing gown
was no longer hanging from the back of the door. Perhaps a cup of tea would be on its way? He sat up and looked around her bedroom. He had worked hard all his life but it dawned on him that this was the first time he had felt really content and pleased with what he had done. Money had its uses, but couldn’t buy happiness. There was a lesson there for him.

  The door opened quietly. Kate slowly put her head around.

  ‘Oh, good, you’re awake. I wondered when you were going to come around. I have a cup of black coffee for you. Thought you could do with a pick-me-up. Did you sleep well?’

  Rafi smiled and nodded as she came to sit next to him.

  ‘I’ve finished packing. I didn’t know what I’d need so I’m travelling light; a good excuse for some shopping. And I’ve rung the Savoy and they said all our belongings are packed up and ready for collection. I have some good news: MI5 have spoken to the hotel and asked for the bill to be sent to them. They left you a message: “Thank you and sorry we roughed you up.” ’

  Rafi grinned and sipped at his hot coffee. Kate leant over and gave him a kiss.

  ‘How long do you need to get ready?’

  ‘Would fifteen minutes be OK?’

  ‘Great. I thought that we could eat brunch on our way down to Cornwall.’

  Kate’s car was an old-looking, small Volvo. She drove through the London traffic quickly and confidently. They arrived at the Savoy in what seemed like record time and stopped near the front door.

  Rafi walked behind Kate into the crowded hotel foyer.

  At the main desk they were greeted by the manager, who seemed pleased to see them.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re leaving us. I hope you had a pleasant stay.’

  ‘Every bit as good as I hoped,’ Rafi replied.

  ‘Your luggage is being collected as we speak and will be waiting for you at the front door. I hope you will come and visit us again soon; it was a pleasure having you both here. Sorry, I nearly forgot; I have some messages for you.’

  There were messages from Kate’s parents, Emma and Saara sending their best wishes and none needed an immediate reply. The last one, though, was from Jeremy. Kate read it and passed it to Rafi.

  As he read the message, Rafi felt the colour drain out of his face. Their nightmare hadn’t ended. The terrorist from Heysham had escaped from hospital – heaven only knew what he was capable of doing, even with a broken arm and collar bone.

  ‘Doesn’t look good, does it? We’ll speak to Jeremy in the car. Let’s go.’

  They said their goodbyes to the manager and put the luggage, which seemed far more than Rafi could remember, into the Volvo’s boot and across the back seat.

  They turned into the traffic on the Strand and headed west towards the Hogath Roundabout and the M4.

  As they drove along the raised section of the M4, Kate turned on her hands-free phone and called Jeremy. His phone went to voicemail so she left a message. ‘Hi, Kate here. I’m on my mobile. Chat soon.’

  The traffic on the motorway was surprisingly light and they made good progress out of London, past Heathrow and on towards Reading.

  ‘How about brunch?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Great idea,’ replied Rafi.

  ‘There’s a service station coming up shortly – is that alright with you?’

  Rafi nodded. Baked beans and service station food, both in the space of twenty-four hours – how things were changing for him!

  As Kate was filtering towards the service station exit, her phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Kate,’ said Jeremy, ‘sorry to break in on your well-earned holiday, but something has come up. Aslan Popovskaya, the terrorist we captured at Heysham, has escaped from hospital. We haven’t got a clue where he’s heading, but given all that has been going on recently he’s likely to be like a bear with a sore head. Where are you off to?’

  Kate gave Jeremy the hotel details.

  ‘I’ll get a fax sent with his mugshot, just in case.’

  Kate passed the service station, indicating to Rafi that they would stop at the next one.

  There was a stony silence in the car.

  ‘Why would he come after us?’ Kate asked Jeremy.

  ‘Well, I suspect it’s Rafi he’s after. Who’s had their face plastered over the papers recently? Who, according to the news coverage, helped the police and messed up the terrorists’ plans, robbing them of their multibillion payout?’

  ‘OK, I get your line of thinking. But no one knows where we’re going – or do they?’

  ‘No, you’re right, but better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Do you have any leads on where Popovskaya might be?’

  ‘We’ve one long shot which we’re following up. Colonel Matlik and his Russian contacts have sent us details of all the other mercenaries that they have on their most wanted list. We’ve distributed the photos and names to all airports and ports, just in case one of them comes over to help Popovskaya. The new face recognition software at Heathrow airport has picked up a potential match. A brute of a man travelling on a Polish passport arrived there from Budapest an hour and a half ago. He has an uncanny resemblance to a former Chechen army officer, Radu Dranoff, and is on the list we’ve just received. We gave his and several other passengers’ luggage a cursory search, and at the same time picked up his mobile phone number. I have a team tracking his mobile phone calls and his movements. At the moment he’s on a coach heading for Oxford. Sorry, I must go. Do please keep in contact.’

  ‘Will do and thanks for the call.’ Kate flicked off her phone. They sat in silence until they arrived at the service station just after Swindon.

  ‘Well, that’s a hell of a way to spoil the start to our holiday,’ said Rafi who looked across at Kate’s strained face.

  ‘You know what our problem is?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘You and I have become too hot a story. One sniff of us being in Cornwall and the bloody paparazzi will be all over us like locusts. Hey presto, within less than twenty-four hours the terrorists will know where we are.’

  ‘Well, at least Jeremy has a lead and the new Chechen arrival is probably only here to get Popovskaya safely out of the UK,’ replied Rafi.

  ‘I hope you are right. Do you know what I love about you, Rafi? It’s your optimism.’ Kate leant across and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Come on, my tummy is rumbling. I need to keep my energy levels up for all the exercise we’re going to take in Cornwall.’

  They chose their food in the cafeteria. At the till Rafi pulled out his wallet and paid. Then he noticed that in amongst his other banknotes was a damaged £20 note which hadn’t been there when he’d last looked. Attached to it was a Post-It with a scribbled message: ‘You might like to frame this as a memento for when you need a boost!’ It was signed by Jeremy. He smiled to himself.

  Breakfast was far better than he’d imagined. The fresh coffee was good, as were the croissants. Kate enjoyed a full English breakfast. He looked across at her slender frame and wondered where she managed to put all that food. She scowled as she caught him staring at her.

  ‘I wish I had your metabolism,’ he chuckled

  ‘Is that why you were staring? What a disappointment – I thought you were ogling!’

  The journey from Bristol to Exeter was uneventful but then, thirty miles from Newquay, Jeremy phoned again.

  ‘Hi guys!’ He sounded upbeat. ‘I’ve got some news for you. Our Chechen with the Polish passport received a phone call half an hour ago. It was from a mobile phone which we’ve traced to outside Lancaster, which is near where we had Popovskaya in a secure hospital unit. Putting two and two together we think that our two Chechen mercenaries are on their way to meet up. Thought you might like to know. I’ve sent a fax with their details to the hotel. I’ll keep you posted. Goodbye.’

  It had been a one-sided phone call as Kate hadn’t been able to get a word in. Jeremy sounded upbeat, but they both felt it had been an act. Kate put her hand on Rafi’s knee.

  ‘Even if we jump to the c
onclusion that they are after you, at least we’ll have one, maybe two, days before they’ll know where we are. Jeremy and his team will look after us; don’t worry,’ said Kate.

  He sat staring out of the window.

  Kate looked subdued. ‘Rafi, this is no way to start a relationship. We’ve known one another for just over a week and during that time you have endured more than most people have to suffer in a lifetime. Let’s chill out for the next couple of days and I promise you Jeremy will keep an eye on our backs. If you want to start worrying, save it until after the paparazzi have found us. Then we will both be in the frame.’

  Rafi looked into Kate’s eyes and at her lovely face. ‘I’d hoped to leave the nightmares behind. But at least I’ve got you with me. I agree: no worrying until our whereabouts are common knowledge.’

  For the last half-hour of the journey they played a game: guessing what the hotel would be like. They knew it stood on its own headland and overlooked a long, sandy bay.

  ‘You’re a pessimist,’ concluded Rafi.

  ‘Yes, but with low expectations things must get better.’

  ‘Is that why you decided on me as your new boyfriend?’

  ‘Of course, how much worse could it have got? A man locked up as a suspect in a terrorism case, uncooperative and with a useless wrist to boot. Plus, smelly – no, really smelly – unkempt, and that’s just for starters.’

  They laughed and the mood in the car changed and became lighter.

  Outside the weather remained foul.

  They followed the signs to Fistral Beach, past a windswept golf club and into Headland Road. There, in front of them, was the Headland Hotel, an imposing Victorian-style red brick building overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and the surfers’ paradise: Fistral Bay. Its long driveway was flanked by what looked like its own small golf course. The strength of the wind was pushing the rain horizontally. Kate drew her car up near the front door in an unoccupied parking space, where they sat for a while looking at the driving rain.