Rafi recalled his fervently hoping that he would never have to use the gun. Kate had put hers in her handbag. He’d left his on the table; he didn’t know what else to do with it.
He watched as a pair of bright headlights arced down the windswept drive. They belonged to a silver Range Rover. It parked opposite the hotel and out stepped a well-built man wearing a flat hat, plus fours and a checked sports jacket; he also had a Barbour jacket slung over his left shoulder.
If it had been me in this rain, Rafi thought, I’d have had the Barbour on and not draped over my shoulder. Rafi watched as the man glanced around, turned and strode towards the front door.
Rafi sensed something wasn’t right. The man’s face was obscured by his hat and coat. He was walking straight towards the door; in front of him was a large puddle. He didn’t walk around it but straight through it, and that’s when Rafi noticed his shoes. They were heavy, black, scuffed leather boots – the sort one would associate with a navvy or a soldier. He was thickset and his gait wasn’t that of a well-heeled City gent.
‘Oh my God!’ Rafi gasped and jumped to his feet. He felt certain he had just been looking at Dranoff. He picked up his gun and bolted out of the room, running down the corridor barefooted, with his white bathrobe untied and streaming out behind him. As he passed Brett’s door, he banged on it and shouted, ‘Dranoff’s downstairs and so is Kate!’
At the top of the stairs an elderly couple shrieked as he ran past them. Rafi grabbed the banister rail with his good left hand and swung round and down the wide stairs.
In a couple of bounds he’d reached the half landing. As he headed down the last flight of stairs, the man came into view – he was walking through the reception area. Rafi focused on what little he could see of his face. Yes, it was Dranoff!
Neither of the SAS men from outside was following him. Rafi saw Kate sitting across from the bottom of the stairs, sticking a stamp on to her postcard. Dranoff was just on the other side of the glass divide between her and the reception area.
Her eyes looked up and met Dranoff’s as he pushed through the glass swing door between them. Out from under the Barbour jacket came a sawn-off shotgun.
‘No! It can’t end like this,’ thought Rafi. He let out a bloodcurdling scream, flicked the safety catch off and pointed his pistol towards the terrorist. He couldn’t shoot at him – there were too many people close by and with the gun in his bruised hand he could hit practically anyone within ten feet of what he aimed at. But he had to shoot to distract Dranoff and to draw his fire. Still screaming, Rafi fired at the plate glass window next to Dranoff.
There was a loud bang and a crash of splintering glass.
Dranoff swung his gun round and fired both barrels. The wooden banister rail at Rafi’s side erupted into a swarm of flying splinters, as he fell headlong down the stairs.
For Rafi everything went pitch black.
Chapter 9
Slowly, Rafi opened his eyes. He could see nothing. He couldn’t move; his head was in a vice. Where was he? To his left there was, he thought, a faint red glow and a dull bleeping noise. He tried moving again but nothing happened. His head ached, as did his stomach, right arm and thigh. He picked up the smell of disinfectant. It suddenly dawned on him; he was in hospital.
Rafi felt something warm in his left hand. He squeezed it wondering what it might be. It moved and squeezed him back. A grey shadow moved into his line of sight. His eyes began to focus. There, sitting by him, was Kate.
‘He’s coming round!’ she called out in a croaky voice. Rafi’s head was immobilised. He couldn’t see who else was there. The door opened and light flooded in. He could see Kate’s face out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired; her eyes were red and puffy.
‘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?’
‘Very 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 will 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… Very nasty, indeed.’
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 feel awful that 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 less than an hour if you didn’t get into a good A amp;E Department. Luckily, an SAS helicopter was 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 thought. 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 some 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. Painfully and 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 that Rafi could sit up.