The activist heard raised voices before the door opened violently and the room filled with uniforms. He tensed as the muscular whitecoat threw his magazine on the floor and gesticulated threateningly at a police constable whose cruiserweight sergeant enquired invitingly, “Are you considering assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duty? I’ll have to report that from whatever hospital they take you to, sonny.”
Just then the London plainclothes copper he remembered seeing in Fort William walked up to his bed. “How are you feeling now, sir?” Special Branch was kindly, attentive. He ignored the furious whitecoat and the combative sergeant. Uniformed police milled about.
The activist had no time to think this through, but any intervention had to be welcomed. “Bit of a headache, but I’m fit for the road,” he articulated hoarsely through the swathe of bandages around his head.
Special Branch turned to two constables pushing a hospital trolley into the room. “Get him down to the ambulance. Don’t hang about.”
Whitecoat shouted furiously, “You can’t do that. This man is too ill to be moved!”
“Really?” Special Branch said, “just watch us. By the bye, nurse, is that a gun you’re trying to hide under your armpit?”
“You can’t do this,” whitecoat raged. Policemen stared impassively.
“Don’t be repetitive,” Special Branch said. “I’ve got a warrant. I have a gun, too, so be a good lad and shut up.”
Whitecoat pulled a cellphone from his trouser pocket and made a call, his face tight with anger. As he began to speak, policemen were wheeling the activist out of the room and into the corridor. The burly sergeant lingered behind.
“Don’t do anything silly, there’s a good nurse,” he said to the whitecoat, “I’m a bit out of practice, but it will probably all come back to me.”
Special Branch re-appeared at the door. “Come along, sergeant,” he said. “Save yourself for unruly locals, I believe there are a few hereabouts.”
“Just as you like, sir,” the sergeant answered calmly, and walked out of the private ward.
Special Branch climbed into the ambulance and sat beside the bandaged head. “Listen to me, Chummie,” he said. “You’d better get your memory into top gear before we get to the station, because if you don’t you will be handed back to these terrible people. Surely you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
The activist did not reply, there was no need. The eyes below the bandage said it all.