Latent Hazard

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  ‘It’s so good to have you back,’ she whispered, holding his hand firmly, as if he might leave.

  He saw a nurse bending over him. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

  ‘Sore,’ he replied.

  ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Your leg?’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Your side?’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Your right arm?’

  ‘Bloody painful, thank you.’

  ‘It’s to be expected, I’m afraid. What’s the last thing you can remember?’

  He hesitated, as his mind lurched back to the hotel reception area and the stairs.

  ‘When Kate saw Dranoff . . . Just before I was shot,’ he replied.

  ‘Excellent; that’s good news – no amnesia.’

  Rafi felt his strength ebb away as he was asked a series of further questions. He fell silent.

  ‘Nurse, how is he?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Considering everything, surprisingly well. I’ll fetch the doctor to look him over.’

  The nurse reappeared with a doctor in tow. The doctor carefully checked Rafi and his wounds, then turned to Kate.

  ‘The bang to his head gave him severe concussion. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any long-term damage. The antibiotics are fighting the infection to his wounds. I’ve never known someone add cat excrement to twelve bore cartridges.’

  He paused. ‘There may be some more splinters to be removed; it was difficult to pick them all up on the X-rays. The wounds to the right side of his stomach and chest are mending well. His wrist is badly sprained and his elbow has been relocated and should mend well too.’

  He looked at Kate and Rafi. ‘I’ve never seen such bruising. The initial X-rays appear to show that there are no broken bones, but I’d like to run a few more tests before we remove his neck brace.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘Can I chat to him?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t tire him. No more than a couple of minutes, then let him sleep.’

  Rafi looked up and saw tears in Kate’s eyes.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you!’ She slowly bent over and kissed him.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ he enquired.

  ‘Nearly four days. I’m sorry we let you down.’

  Rafi tried to smile, but his head and face remained immobile. ‘That’s OK. Silly question, but where am I?’

  ‘Plymouth Hospital. You were making an awful mess of the hotel’s carpets. There was a retired doctor on holiday in the hotel. He managed to stem the bleeding and insisted that you were taken to the nearest hospital with a major accident and emergency unit as quickly as humanly possible. He gave you an hour if you didn’t get into a good A&E Department. Luckily, an SAS helicopter was waiting nearby. The retired doctor insisted on staying with you for the journey.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said the surgeon standing by his bed. ‘You lost a large quantity of blood and needed a lot of patching up. Thankfully, underneath the mess you weren’t as badly shot up as we had expected. You should thank Mr Welby for tipping us off about the shotgun cartridges smelling foul and the potential infection problems. You succumbed and ran a high fever for the first couple of days, but we were able to limit the complications. We’ve managed to help your natural defences fight the bacteria with strong antibiotics.’

  Rafi looked at Kate. ‘Have I missed anything while I’ve been out of action?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve kept some newspapers for you to read, just in case.’

  ‘Thank you . . .’ Rafi mumbled and drifted back to sleep.

  He remembered little of the next thirty-six hours. There were fleeting moments of consciousness followed by more sleep. Whenever he awoke, Kate was there beside him, holding his hand. Slowly, he returned to the land of the living.

  One morning his neck brace was gone and he was no longer pinned into position flat on his back. The nurse showed Kate how the electric bed worked and how to adjust the mattress so Rafi could sit up.

  The curtains were opened and daylight streamed in. As he was slowly brought up into a sitting position, Rafi looked down to see his right arm in plaster and his side, from his ribs to his knee, covered in bandages. He felt light-headed and his bottom felt burning hot. Kate smiled at him. Her face was tired but gone were the puffy red eyes.

  ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she said. ‘I shall always remember . . .’ She couldn’t continue as the horror of the gunfight flooded back.

  ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

  ‘There were a few minor cuts from flying glass, but otherwise you were the only casualty other than Dranoff, who was taken out by the SAS soldier following you down the stairs. Popovskaya has been captured and is safely locked away. It was all a bit of a cock-up,’ Kate explained. ‘The two SAS men watching the front entrance of the hotel missed Dranoff. What tipped you off?’

  ‘Hunting and shooting types driving smart Range Rovers in smart shooting kit don’t drape their Barbour coat over their shoulder in the pouring rain and don’t wear scuffed, heavy, black boots. When I couldn’t see his face, which he’d covered with his hat and his Barbour slung over his shoulder, I guessed it might be Dranoff. I picked up the gun and ran to warn you.’

  Rafi stopped speaking for a moment. ‘When he saw you and pulled out the sawn-off shotgun and swung it towards you, I thought I was going to lose you.’ There were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t see Kate’s as she’d turned away.

  Another person had entered the room – it was Colonel Turner. ‘Good to see you in one piece. Sorry we let you down. Thanks to your quick thinking, a real disaster was averted. I hear you got peppered by the sawn-off shotgun. Your dive for cover and the ornate patterns of the heavy wrought iron banisters saved you. The wooden handrail was blown to smithereens. The SAS man behind you was very impressed by your reactions: shooting to attract the attention of the terrorist and diving at the same time. He wondered if you had military training.’

  Rafi grinned. ‘Serendipity. I missed my footing on the steps as I looked for the darn safety catch and for something to shoot at. I couldn’t aim straight for the terrorist – there were too many people I could have hit. I tripped as I aimed at the big glass window.’

  ‘Good work all the same. I’m pleased to see you on the mend. I’ll drop by when you’re up and about for a debriefing.’ The surgeon appeared at the door. The colonel excused himself and left.

  Rafi spent the next half an hour being brought up to speed on his various injuries. ‘There’s quite a list,’ said the surgeon, running through them as if they were on a shopping list. ‘A posterior dislocation of the elbow which has been successfully relocated, fourteen stitches in the head and two drill holes as a result of the emergency surgery to relieve the pressure, six pellets in the thigh and buttocks and several more in the flank which went into your intestines and lung –we’ve patched them up, but I had to remove a small part of you lung.’ The surgeon paused and smiled. ‘With a good convalescence, you’ll soon be right as rain.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rafi weakly.

  Time passed slowly, but Rafi started to feel stronger.

  During a further inspection of his wounds, Rafi asked, ‘Doctor, I have a question. How long am I going to be in here for?’

  ‘If you can find somewhere quiet to convalesce and someone to care for you, you should be able to leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow would be great,’ Rafi replied.

  He spent much of the rest of the day chatting with Kate.

  A kind physiotherapist arrived and went through a gentle exercise regime aimed in particular at his elbow. This was followed by a dietician who talked about what he should eat whilst his intestines and body mended. Late in the afternoon the surgeon and doctor reappeared. They were pleased with his progress. They chatted with Kate and to Rafi’s surprise announced that if he wished he could be discharged immediately and return to the comfort of the hotel.

  Rafi agreed, so Kate was given a serie
s of contact names and numbers, plus a schedule of when he should attend the local surgery.

  ‘Any ideas what we should do for clothes and headgear?’ Kate asked the nurse. After a short discussion, Kate opted for the short journey to the town centre to buy Rafi what he needed. An hour later she reappeared carrying a couple of large bags.

  ‘Sorry to have taken so long.’

  Rafi dressed in comfortable, warm clothes. With Kate’s help he stood up and for the first time in days he looked at himself in the mirror. He was horrified by what he saw. His eye sockets looked skeletal. Two thirds of his hair was missing. A jagged scar with stitches ran from just above his hairline to the top of his head. His scalp was a dark reddish purple because of the bruising.

  His legs felt wobbly and he sat down on the bed more quickly than he’d intended – to the great discomfort of his unhealed wounds.

  Kate spoke to the nurse about the practicalities of getting back to Newquay. They opted for the simplest solution and took a taxi. The journey seemed to go on forever. Rafi didn’t know how to position himself. His body ached and his head throbbed. They drew up in front of the hotel at 8 o’clock.

  The cold wind cut through his clothes. Kate helped him inside and across to the lift. The area at the bottom of the stairs looked very different. There were temporary carpets, boarding covered the plate glass window which separated the reception area from the seating area at the bottom of the stairs and also the stained glass window on the half landing. Builders’ dust sheets were draped all over the banisters.

  Kate had phoned ahead to check with the hotel that they were still welcome. The proprietor and his wife were there to greet them. It transpired that they felt their staff had let Rafi and Kate down, revealing their whereabouts to the tabloid press. The £500 bung that the chambermaid had received had been donated to a local charity. She’d kept her job on the basis that her apology was accepted. She was there waiting at reception with a bunch of flowers. She stepped across and passed them to Rafi. She took one look at him and crumpled, promptly bursting into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry; I just didn’t think. The journalist was very convincing,’ she stuttered through her tears. Kate put an arm around her.

  ‘It isn’t your fault. He would have found us sooner or later. At least this way we’re still in one piece. Your flowers look lovely. Thank you. Perhaps you could help us find a vase?’

  Rafi was exhausted by the time he arrived at their room. He slowly shuffled into the bedroom and sat gingerly on the bed. His backside hurt like hell. He curled up on his left-hand side. Kate cradled his head in her lap.

  For the next two days he remained holed up in the suite. His wounds were healing well and he started to get his energy back. Kate, it seemed, was enjoying her role as nurse.

  On the second day the phone hardly stopped ringing. Saara, the major, Kate’s parents, her brother and Emma all wanted to hear how he was and to pass on their love and best wishes. Jeremy phoned to apologise that he couldn’t drop by to say sorry for the cock-up; he’d been given another assignment, which necessitated a bit of travelling, but he looked forward to seeing them soon.

  In the middle of the afternoon, while Rafi was sound asleep, a call came in from the Prime Minister. Rafi was very groggy. The PM enquired after his health, conveyed his best wishes and hung up. A nice touch for someone so busy, Rafi thought.

  Whilst he recuperated, Rafi went through the newspapers. Post-Stratford, things in the world were slowly returning to normality. In particular, there was one small article by Pete Lockyer that caught his attention: it showed a picture of Maryam in a smart suit sitting in a stately drawing room. Apparently she had not gone to prison, but was helping the police with their enquiries. Strange, he thought, and made a mental note to ask Jeremy what was going on.

  In their little world, the hotel proprietor had been doing his best to protect them from any further unwanted press intrusion, but the situation was becoming untenable. Camped outside was a small village of TV crews and reporters. They needed to do something or they would get no peace and quiet for the rest of their holiday.

  An idea came to Kate and she phoned Jeremy to get Pete Lockyer’s number. She then phoned Pete to ask if he would do an interview. He jumped at the invitation and said he would be there first thing the next morning.

  As dusk was falling, the hotel proprietor arranged for Kate and Rafi to be smuggled out in the back of a builder’s van. The afternoon trip to the doctors was otherwise straightforward. The nurse looked at the notes from the hospital and set about changing Rafi’s dressings and bandages. Fifteen minutes later he only had one dressing left on his side. All the others had been removed as she was pleased with how he had healed. Kate arranged a follow-up session for the last of his stitches to be removed and they returned surreptitiously to the hotel.

  Psychologically Rafi was feeling much better. His headaches had gone and seeing the wounds on his body almost mended had been a real tonic. That evening they went downstairs for dinner. As he passed through the reception, Rafi observed that the repair work was almost complete.

  In the dining room, they were met by the restaurant manager. ‘Excuse me for saying, but everyone is curious to see how you are mending. They’ve seen the mess and, like me, find it incredible that you’re still alive.’

  He beckoned them forward. ‘Your table is at the far end by a window overlooking the sea. It should be quiet, except you’ll have to walk past everyone.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Rafi as he shuffled in. He became aware that the room had fallen silent and dozens of pairs of eyes were staring at them. As they approached the table, Rafi noticed that the two seats were facing the window and out to sea.

  ‘Could you move our places so that we can look into the room? That way we won’t look as if we’re avoiding everyone.’

  Moments later Rafi gingerly sat down. The restaurant manager reappeared with the menus.

  Kate asked, ‘Is the person I noticed as I came in the retired doctor who helped Rafi?’

  ‘Yes, he’s sitting over there with his wife.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The menu was mouth-watering. Kate was in her element. Her healthy appetite had returned, helped by the long runs and swims she had enjoyed whilst Rafi was resting. She made her choice. Rafi was still hesitating and when the waiter returned, Kate passed him a sheet of paper.

  ‘Sorry, darling, you’re still on your limited solids diet; it shouldn’t be long before your tummy is fully mended and you can have grown-up food again!’

  ‘At least I won’t have to cut it up!’ he said, moving his right arm in its sling.

  Her smile was radiant. ‘I’m so pleased to be with you. I honestly thought you mightn’t make it. The helicopter flight down to Plymouth felt like the longest journey of my life.’

  She hesitated. ‘Would you mind if I asked the doctor and his wife to join us for coffee? He was brilliant looking after you on your journey to the hospital.’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’

  Kate got up and walked down to the doctor’s table. They were surprised by the invitation, but like everyone else were keen to find out what had really been going on.

  They joined Kate and Rafi in the sitting room for coffee. Rafi thanked him several times over.

  ‘Just pleased to help,’ replied the doctor, ‘and the helicopter ride was a first.’

  ‘I only found Rafi a few weeks ago – I couldn’t bear to have lost him,’ said Kate.

  The conversation covered a wide range of topics. The doctor chatted about his time working in Manchester and the increase in gun and knife crime he had witnessed. ‘I’m delighted that I had my arm twisted to attend a special training session on street war injuries – I’m pleased it came in useful.’

  After half an hour of talking, tiredness overcame Rafi. He said his goodnights and retired upstairs, leaving Kate chatting to the doctor and his wife.

  Back in the bedroom Rafi undressed with difficulty and surveyed h
is body. In many places, it was hard to see where one bruise ended and another started. His wounds were still sore, but the burning heat had gone out of them.

  He curled up in bed. Next thing he knew it was morning and Kate was sitting at the bottom of the bed, in her running kit, eating breakfast.

  He smelt the hot food. It made him hungry.

  ‘Morning. I hope you don’t mind me starting,’ she said.

  ‘Not at all. What’s on the menu?’

  ‘Scrambled eggs, croissants, fresh orange juice and coffee. By the way, we’ve got Pete Lockyer due here in about an hour.’

  Pete was forty-five minutes early and caught Rafi in his dressing gown. Kate ordered breakfast for him and his cameraman, whilst Rafi slowly got washed and dressed. She explained the ground rules. ‘Please treat Rafi as a close family member. We don’t want anything published that he’ll regret. We’ll chat openly to you, on the understanding that you clear what you write with Jeremy’s boss, Neil Gunton, at MI5.’

  Judging by the size of his frown, Pete was none too happy with that suggestion and Kate picked up on his reluctance.

  ‘It’s quite simple. Much of what Rafi and I will tell you has been kept under wraps. There may be things we tell you that could jeopardise the investigations into this awful affair. Don’t worry; there should be enough to keep you in stories for weeks!’

  Pete gave his word. ‘Having seen today’s newspapers I appreciate your reticence,’ he commented. ‘The photos weren’t very nice.’

  Rafi caught the end of the conversation and glanced across to Kate.

  ‘One of the guests took a series of photos of you at dinner last night and you looked quite awful in them. The proprietor was very upset. He’d asked all the guests to respect your privacy whilst you were convalescing. The culprit was the same reporter who passed the bung to the chambermaid. He got a guest to take the photos using a special hidden camera.’

  ‘Quite how marketable is our story?’ Rafi sighed.