Windfall

Hardin pondered for a moment. 'I don't know who is on the CIA station here right now. I think I'll go along to the Embassy and see if there's anyone there I know."

'Will they talk to you?'

He shrugged. 'It depends. The CIA is no different than any other outfit; some are bastards, others are right guys.' He grimaced. 'But sometimes it's difficult to tell them apart. Gunnarsson turned out to be a bastard.'

'All right,' Stafford said. 'But don't go to the Embassy until we're sure that Gunnarsson isn't there. I'll see Chip about that.' He smiled. 'He can be helpful in that way as much as he likes. I'll have him check Gunnarsson and let you know."

Stafford went back to his room to find the telephone ringing. It was Chip. 'Where have you been?' he asked. 'You walked into the hotel and then disappeared off the face of the earth."

Stafford looked at his watch. Exchanging information with Hardin had taken most of the afternoon. 'I had things to do,' he said uninformatively.

If silence could be said to have surprise in it then that silence had. At last Chip said, 'Some items have come up. I'd like to see you.'

'Come up.'

When Chip came in he said, 'What have you got?"

'Brice,' said Chip. 'You wanted to know about Brice in Zimbabwe. But it was Rhodesia then. Harry and Mary Brice farmed near Umtali on the Sabi River. They had a son, Charles Brice. When UDI came and Rhodesia became independent Charles Brice had a quarrel with his parents and left the country. Later, when the guerillas became active, the farm was destroyed and Harry and Mary Brice were killed.'

Stafford said, 'That checks out with Brice's story.'

'Exactly,' said Chip.

'Where did you get it?'

'I told you. The brothers in Zimbabwe are co-operative You asked to have Brice checked there. He was checked.'

'And he comes out whiter than white.' Stafford did not spend much time thinking about that expression because he was thinking of this, yet another spectacular example of Chip's efficiency. He said, 'Chip, you must have quite an organization behind you. A while ago you needled; because you said I was withholding information. Now, just who the hell are you?'

'Some questions are better not asked,' Chip said.

'All the same, I'm asking.'

'And some questions are better not answered.'

'That's not good enough.'

'It's all you're going to get,' Chip said bluntly. 'Max, don": stir things up – don't muddy the water. It could cause trouble. Trouble for you, for everybody. Just let it slide and accept the help. We have helped, you know.'

'I know you've helped,' said Stafford. 'But I don't know why. I want to know why.'

'And I'm not going to tell you. Just study Kenyan history since the British left and draw your own conclusions.' He paused. 'I believe you brought up a certain subject with Nair and he told you to keep your mouth shut. It's advice I strongly advise you to follow. Now let's get on with it. Dirk Hendriks flew in from London this morning. He's staying at the New Stanley. Do you still want him watched?'

'Yes. How did you know he came in this morning?'

'As I once said, I have friends at the airport. We check the passenger list of every London flight – every European flight. come to that. That's how we know that your Mr Hardin came in this morning.'

Stafford sat up straight. 'Are you having us watched, too?'

Chip laughed. 'Simmer down. My friend at the airport relayed the information as a matter of course. Is that where you've been all afternoon; talking with Hardin? I ought to have guessed. Did he find out what you wanted to know?'

Two could play at withholding information. Stafford said, 'It was a cold trail, Chip. Hendrykxx was an old man. You can't unravel an eighty-year life all that quickly. Ben is an experienced investigator, I know, but he's not that bloody good.'

'A pity,' said Chip.

'Where is Corliss now?'

'Not far. If you want him we can produce him inside an hour.'

'But you're not going to tell me where he is.'

'Correct. You're learning, Max.' He looked at his watch. 'Gunnarsson will be here before sunset – back in the New Stanley. You know, it's going to be hard to pin him down.'

'What do you mean?'

'Neither he nor Corliss has committed a crime against Kenyan law. Hendrykxx's will was drawn up by a Jersey lawyer and presumably will come under Jersey law. If Gunnarsson puts Corliss in as a substitute for Hendrix that is no crime here; no Kenyan has been defrauded. We can't hold either of them on those grounds. So how are you going to go about it?'

'I don't know,' Stafford said glumly. 'All I know is that you're talking like a lawyer.'

'How do you know I'm not a lawyer?' said Chip.

'I don't. You're a bloody chameleon. If the Kenyan authorities can't hold Gunnarsson then there's nothing to stop him leaving. I don't think he will leave, not until he knows what's happened to Corliss, but he might. It would be nice if something were to stop him.'

'He could always lose his passport,' offered Chip. 'It wouldn't stop him, but it would delay him until he got papers from the American Embassy.'

'And how would he lose his passport?' Stafford asked.

Chip spread his hands. 'People do all the time. Strange, isn't it? It causes considerable work for the consular staffs.' He stood up. 'I must go; I have work to do, arrangements to make. Take it easy, Max; don't work up a sweat.' He turned to go, then dropped some newspapers on the table. 'I thought you might like to read the news.'

He went' and Stafford lay on the bed and lit a cigarette. If Chip was a member of the Kenya People's Union he certainly would not come right out and say so, and he had not. On the other hand, if he was not a member why would he imply that he was? Or had that been the implication? Had Stafford read too much into Chip's equivocations?

But there was more. Whether he was or was not a member of a banned political party why was he being so bloody helpful to Max Stafford to the point of kidnapping Corliss and stealing Gunnarsson's passport, both of which were criminal acts? Stafford was damned sure it was not at the behest of some Indian back in London who liked Curtis.

He picked up the newspapers and scanned the front pages. The kidnapping of the tour group and the disappearance of Hendrix had made headlines in both the Standard and the Nation. Perhaps, if it had not been for Hendrix, the story would have been played down; Stafford suspected that government pressure would suppress anything that made for a bad public image. But Hendrix made it different – no one had vanished before.

An editorial in the Standard called for an immediate and extremely strong note of protest to the Tanzanian government and demanded that Hendrix be returned, dead or alive. Someone from the Nation had tried to interview the American Ambassador but he had not been available for comment. The inevitable unnamed spokesman said the American authorities regarded the matter in the most serious light and that steps were being taken. He did not say in which direction.

In neither newspaper was there a report of the interview Chip and Stafford had given to Eddy Ukiru, the reporter from the Standard, and his companion from the Nation. No mention of Stafford, of Chip, of Nair, of Curtis. No photographs. It was as though their part in this nine day wonder had never happened. Of course, they were pretty small beer compared to Hendrix but it seemed sloppy journalism to Stafford. He tossed the newspapers aside with the thought that perhaps Ukiru and his mate had not met their deadline. It was only when he was on the verge of sleep that night that he realized he had never told Chip at any time that Hendrykxx's will had been drawn up in Jersey. So how did Chip know?