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. ‘And 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.
‘Red-hot,’ replied Pete. He paused. ‘Would you want paying?’
‘What sort of sum would we be talking about?’ asked Rafi, and Kate shot him a glowering glance.
‘The full inside story, handled properly over a number of weeks or even months, would net you a six, maybe even a seven, figure sum for an exclusive. Basically, you could name your price. Is this going to be a very expensive trip for me?’ enquired Pete.
Rafi looked across at Kate. She slowly shook her head.
‘I think it would be churlish not to take the money,’ said Rafi.
‘But…’ interjected Kate. She looked horrified.
‘Seriously. Consider if the money was not for us, but for the hospices helping those with radiation poisoning. They must be overflowing. How about Pete’s paper running an appeal to raise money for the hospices helping those suffering? The appeal could go alongside our story. It would be great publicity for the newspaper and be great for its image,’ argued Rafi.
As he paused to think, Rafi could see Kate visibly relax. ‘If your paper were to start the ball rolling with, say, a £250,000 donation and top it up as more stories were rolled out, I reckon Kate and I would be very happy.’
Pete looked pensive. ‘I reckon my editor would go with that if I got an exclusive.’
‘Where else would we go?’ asked Kate rhetorically with a huge smile.
They chatted for almost an hour and a half. For the photo shoot, the hotel proprietor arranged for them to be slipped out of the back of the hotel in a laundry van down to a nearby beach where the pictures could be taken in the morning sunshine. They returned using the same means of transport.
With the story and the photos in the bag, Pete made arrangements to meet with Neil, said his thanks and slipped off to London with his scoop.
At Kate’s request, the proprietor briefed the journalists and TV crews camped outside that a press conference would be held the following morning, at 11 o’clock, in the dining room.
Kate and Rafi spent the rest of the day chatting and discussing what he might do next and about her career ambitions in the police force. It was settled that he would move in with her for a couple of months before he made any decisions. It was a happy day. He had a future; one which filled him with great expectations.
They ate in their room that evening, turned in early and breakfasted early the next morning. Rafi tentatively tucked into a small English breakfast while reading the newspapers.
They couldn’t miss Pete’s article: it ran to twenty pages! On the front page were a smiling Kate and Rafi walking hand in hand, in the sun, on the golden sands by the sea. The trilby hat and the flowing scarf hid many of the scars and bruises, and all things considered he looked remarkably well. The headline under the photo was: In good hands. The article talked of Pete’s breakthrough in tracking down the terrorists’ getaway vessel, Golden Sundancer, in Iceland and explained Kate’s and Rafi’s roles in unravelling the terrorists’ plots. The article revealed the work that Kate’s team at the City of London police and MI5 had done in finding the locations of the terrorist attacks. It also described the role of the Air Chief Marshal, the Prime Minister, the Defence Secretary and the head of MI5 – and even mentioned Aidan’s team working with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the pulling of the financial rabbits out of the hat. There were photos of the hotel proprietor presenting the doctor and his wife with a large bouquet of flowers, as well as pictures of John, Emma, Giles and David.
The article included one new nugget of information. There was a picture of Miti Lakhani. Despite the best efforts of MI6 and the CIA, he had disappeared and the terrorist training camp run by him was deserted. Also, tucked away in the text, was a paragraph alluding to the fact that one of the terrorists had, at the end, tried to save their skin by doing a deal. Rafi smiled. It was another nice way of playing Maryam and the other terrorists off against each other.
The hotel’s dining room was packed for the 11 o’clock press conference. Pete’s story had whetted their appetites. Before the session Kate received a call from Neil, thanking her for getting Pete to talk to him before going to press. Basically, Neil told them that they could mention practically anything, except for the sleepers, but they should remember that the more they told, the more the journalists would want to know.
Kate and Rafi sat at a long table covered with a smart white tablecloth and flower arrangements at either end. Bright lights were trained on them.
The questions were like cannon fire. First they focused on the recent terrorist shooting and Rafi’s wounds, then the questions backtracked to the lead-up to the Stratford disaster and, finally, they were asked their views on whether politicians, prior to the Stratford tragedy, had pushed the boundaries of spin too far.
‘It takes two to tango,’ Rafi replied. ‘Irresponsible journalism goes hand in hand with spin. I applaud responsible investigative journalism which questions whether the full truth is being revealed by publicity-hungry politicians. More attention to the minutiae and not just to the big glossy picture would be welcomed.’
After a barrage of further questions, Kate stood up. ‘Thank you, you should by now have more than enough! Rafi and I came here for a holiday to recharge our batteries. It’s not turned out as we had hoped. We have only four days left before we go back to London and it would be much appreciated if we could have that time to ourselves.’
Despite calls for more answers to questions, Kate and Rafi had had enough and left through a side door, picking up their coats and heading for the fresh air and the solitude of the windswept beach.
The last four days of Rafi’s convalescence went by far too fast. They chatted and laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It was a happy time. On Sunday, it was with sadness that they packed before their drive back to London. It felt like the end of the long holidays and the impending return to school.
Back in London, Monday morning felt strange. Kate set off for work early and Rafi was left in her flat alone. It was the first time for ages that he hadn’t been with her. He missed her.
It was a sunny day; spring was in the air. On the spur of the moment he decided to look at Stratford and the new wall around the exclusion zone. He took the underground straight through to Old Street station and walked east towards Hackney Road. After about half a mile Rafi came upon a sign by the roadside. He was entering a restricted area. This was, he assumed, the beginning of a buffer zone. Not far ahead of him he could see a military roadblock in front of a fifty-metre strip of cleared derelict ground. Past this were a three-metre high, heavy-duty steel mesh barrier and the beginnings of a brick wall. Beyond that he could see piles of rubble, empty properties and, incongruously, a number of newly planted trees.
As he stood taking in the enormity of the dispossessed area, a soldier came across.
‘This is a restricted area, sir. You should turn around and make your way back to the other side of the buffer zone.’
‘Sorry,’ Rafi said. ‘I was only trying
to fathom out the true size of the exclusion zone.’
‘I understand that if you take the underground to Belsize Park and walk to the top of Parliament Hill, on the south side of Hampstead Heath, you get a good overall view.’
‘Thank you.’
Rafi returned to Old Street underground station and took the tube across to Hampstead. The journey brought back memories of the lead-up to his arrest; it all seemed eons ago.
He was soon back on his old home ground. It felt strange; he was revisiting a chapter of his life that had been closed. He had left the keys to his flat at Kate’s. As he walked down Well Walk, past his building and on towards the Heath, he wondered what his redecorated flat looked like. He shrugged his shoulders – that was for another day, he told himself.
Twenty minutes later he was standing on the top of Parliament Hill, 100 metres above the exclusion zone, the scale of which beggared belief. It was a miracle that the relocation and decontamination process had passed off without any major incidents.
Rafi strolled down to Belsize Park tube station, past the Royal Free Hospital. The sign to the oncology department sent a shiver down his back as he fleetingly envisaged the many people suffering from radiation poisoning.
An hour later he was back in Kate’s flat. Physically exhausted, he settled down, read the papers and had something to eat. Whilst he missed Kate’s company, he had always enjoyed having time to himself.
Over the next couple of weeks he recharged his batteries and enjoyed the freedom of having nothing in particular to do. His hair grew sufficiently to cover the scar on his head and for him to stop wearing a hat in public. All his wounds had healed and he was beginning to wonder what he should do next. Of one thing he was certain: he would not be going back into fund management.
Yes, there had been several phone calls from prospective employers trying to entice him to work for them. The golden hellos on offer were mouth-wateringly large, but his heart was no longer in that line of work.
Rafi decided he was in no hurry and would give himself another month or two before starting to job hunt.
One evening, before Kate had returned from work, the phone rang. It was an ebullient Saara.
‘Rafi, would you believe it? I’ve had a job offer I can’t refuse.’
‘Like what?’
‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer invited me to Number 11 for a working lunch. It was just me, the Chancellor and four of his Treasury suits.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ replied Rafi.
‘They want me to run a team which advises on research and development grants allocated to UK universities. Dealing with renewable energy, hydrogen fuel cells, energy efficiency, clean carbon technology, carbon sequestration, under sea storage and,’
Rafi interrupted her, as the list seemed endless. ‘That sounds right up your street.’
‘I know, isn’t it great? I’d be involved with all the areas that could give the UK economy a competitive edge post nuclear power.’ Saara chuckled. ‘I liked the sound of the job but I told them I had loyalties: my existing research work and Steve. And that I was very happy in Birmingham. You know what? The Chancellor started smiling. He said I made an excellent negotiator. He then floored me. He said that Steve’s research had caught the eye of those at University College London and that they’d be asking him to work with them on secondment. Plus, he can bring his research team with him! The Chancellor has sorted it out with my boss at the university. He thinks it’s an excellent opportunity for us both! Basically, I was well and truly stitched up. But, Rafi, I wasn’t pleased to find you were part of the fit up.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, they told me that Jeremy had spoken to you, and confirmed that Steve and I were most welcome to use your flat on a long-term basis, as you were now living with Kate.’
‘Of course you are welcome to use it, and it explains why Jeremy asked me about you and my flat out of the blue.’
‘Isn’t it fantastic? I’ve talked it through with Steve and, if it’s alright with you, the move is on.’
‘I’m really happy for you. I’ll send you a set of keys,’ said Rafi.
‘Thank you… And I’ll be working at the Treasury. I’ll have a workstation at Number 11. And they’re practically tripling my salary. It’s outrageous; I’m going to get a huge pay increase to do something I love.’
‘It’s about time,’ remarked Rafi.
‘Rafi, are you sure it’s alright for me to use your flat?’
‘Of course!’
‘Steve says he’s looking forward to living somewhere without rising damp. By the way, how much rent should we pay?’
‘How about what you were paying in Birmingham?’
‘Surely that can’t possibly be enough?’ said Saara.
Rafi heard Kate unlocking the front door.
‘Sis, don’t worry. Enjoy the flat and let’s chat again soon. I’ve got to go now - Kate has just got home.’
‘Bye and thanks,’ replied a very happy Saara.
Chapter 10
They’d been back in London for almost four weeks. Thursday had been a quiet day. Rafi had cooked supper, which was being kept warm in the oven, and he was sitting with his feet up reading the evening newspaper. He looked up at the clock. It was almost 9.30 p.m. Kate had rung to say that she would be a bit late, so he was not worried.
There was a clatter downstairs as Kate opened the front door, bounced up the stairs and greeted him with a hug and a lingering kiss.
‘Forgive me for being so late. Supper smells good. Thank you for waiting.’
‘I hope it’s still edible.’
He noticed Kate’s cheerful demeanour. ‘Did you have a good day then?’
‘Yep, it was quite something. It seems I’ve been promoted. You now see before you Detective Chief Inspector Kate Adams!’
Rafi listened to her story of how she’d been dumbstruck when she’d been called into a meeting with the commissioner. ‘Emma is being promoted into my job. Jack Fisher from John’s team downstairs, who did all the work on the terrorist sleepers, is taking on Emma’s role and Peter Ashby is to become their sidekick. According to the commissioner, that left him with a bit of a problem as to what he should do with his newest detective chief inspector! I didn’t follow what he was saying until he said, “Yes, Kate, the appointments board has approved your promotion. It puts you as the youngest DCI in the City of London. Congratulations.” I left feeling light-headed,’ continued Kate. ‘I was only promoted to detective inspector last year. I seem to have missed a large number of rungs on the ladder.’
Rafi leant across and kissed her. ‘Fantastic! This calls for a celebration. It’s what you deserve. I’d love to see your family’s faces when you tell them the good news.’
‘But that’s not all. He asked if you and I would attend a meeting with him, Ewan Thorn and the PM’s permanent secretary tomorrow afternoon at 3 o’clock?’
“So we won’t have to wait long to find out what they have in mind for you.” Rafi gave her another kiss, got up and walked through to the kitchen. From the back of the fridge he pulled out a bottle of sparkling white wine, scooped up two glasses from a cupboard and walked back into the sitting room. Kate had kicked off her shoes and was sitting on the sofa with her feet curled up under her.
‘Look what I found in the fridge.’ He passed the bottle to Kate. ‘You can do the honours.’ There was a loud pop as the cork flew up and made a small dent in the ceiling.
Rafi put a glass out to catch the effervescent wine as it bubbled out of the top.
Kate filled her glass. Rafi stretched his arm out and she poured an inch of the liquid into his glass.
He raised it. ‘A toast: to you, the most talented policewoman in the City!’
Rafi looked into the eyes he loved so much and, out of the ordinary, took a sip of the sparkling wine. It tasted different to what he’d expected. The little bubbles danced on his tongue.
Kate raised her glass and took a long swig. ‘I’ve a
confession to make: this isn’t my first glass of champagne this evening.’ There was a chuckle in her voice.
Rafi smiled. ‘You deserve being made a fuss of. What exactly does your promotion mean?’
‘Heaven only knows! I suppose they want me to move somewhere new, which is why they’ve asked for you to be there.’
They chatted over the well-cooked supper. Kate was buoyed up with the excitement of the news. As to what the future held, all would be revealed tomorrow. They left the dirty plates where they were and retired to bed.
Kate was up and out of the flat early the next morning. Rafi tidied up and spent a leisurely couple of hours reading the papers. He was feeling rested. The terrors of the previous month were a thing of the past. He left in good time, dropped into a florist on the way and headed off for the meeting at Wood Street. He arrived almost fifteen minutes early and went up to the fourth floor office to look for Kate. To his surprise, he found Emma sitting at Kate’s desk and opposite her was Jack Fisher.
‘Hi there, I came to have a last look at where I was imprisoned and to convey my congratulations to the two of you.’ From behind his back Rafi produced a bouquet of spring flowers, which he handed to Emma. ‘Congratulations and well done.’
Rafi turned to leave but Emma stopped him at the door. ‘You can’t get away that easily.’ She placed her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. ‘You look after Kate, or else I’ll come and sort you out. Got that? She’s a very special girl.’
Rafi felt a firm tap on his shoulder. ‘So this is what you get up to when my back is turned: making out with my best friend! I should have guessed that the two of you had a soft spot for each other!’
Kate winked at Emma. ‘Come on, Rafi, we are meant to be elsewhere – if you can tear yourself away from those sexy lips.’
Rafi looked into Emma’s eyes and sensed a real fondness. He kissed her on the cheek and followed Kate down the corridor.
‘Nice to see Emma again?’ asked Kate.
LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge Page 43