Windfall

'Yeah. Then we heard shots and the guys around us laughed.'

'But you didn't see his body.'

Gunnarsson shook his head. 'No, but there was something funny about that. They herded us downriver, three of them, leaving one guy to guard the loot. We went maybe half a mile and then they got excited, jabbering away to each other.'

'What were they excited about?'

'I wouldn't know. Maybe because they couldn't find Hendrix. Two of them stayed with us and the third, the guy with the sergeant's stripes, went away. After a while he came back and they had a conference, a lot of talk.' Gunnarsson shrugged. 'They shooed us away then. The sergeant pointed up the hill and the others poked at us with their rifles. We were glad to get away.'

Hendrix frowned. 'The two men who took my cousin away; were they around at that time?'

'I didn't see them.'

The waiter brought their drinks. Hendriks picked up his glass and pondered. 'Could Henry have got away?' he asked. 'But if he did why hasn't he come back?'

'I've thought about that,' said Gunnarsson. 'He might have got away and the shooting might have missed. The two Tanzanians would be chasing him, of course. Still, he might have got away.' Gunnarsson certainly hoped so.

'Then why hasn't he come back?'

'Have you been out there?' asked Gunnarsson rhetorically. 'It's the damnedest country, and every bit looks like every other bit. Hank might have got lost like the guys who followed us in. And remember he was stripped like us. He may still come back, though, if the Tanzanians didn't catch up with him.'

'Who followed you in?' asked Hendriks alertly.

'Another tourist crowd found our abandoned truck and tried to find us. They didn't; they got lost and spent a night in the bush.'

Hendriks was pensive. 'I didn't read about that in the newspapers.'

'I talked to one of them when we got back,' said Gunnarsson. 'A guy called Stafford. He said that…'

'Max Stafford!' said Hendriks unbelievingly.

'He didn't tell me his other name.' Gunnarsson stopped, his glass halfway to his lips as he was arrested in thought. The only Max Stafford he had heard of was the boss of Stafford Security Consultants back in London. Now just what the hell was going on?

Hendriks was also thoughtful. Stafford had said he was taking a holiday in Kenya. But was it coincidental that he had been involved in the search for Henry Hendrix? He said, 'Do you know where Stafford is now?'

'No; he left Keekorok and I haven't seen him since. You know the guy?'

Hendriks nodded abstractedly. 'Yes, I think-so.'

'Now isn't that a coincidence,' said Gunnarsson.

'Isn't it?' Hendriks badly needed a telephone. He said, 'Glad to have talked with you, Mr Gunnarsson. Are you staying here at the New Stanley?'

'Yeah.'

'Then perhaps you'll have dinner with me before you leave. I'll give you a ring tomorrow morning. I'd like to know more about my cousin's disappearance but right now I have an appointment. Will you excuse me?'

'Sure.' Gunnarsson watched Hendriks get up and walk away. Something goddamn odd was happening but he was not sure what it was. If the Stafford he had talked to at Keekorok was the Max Stafford of Stafford Security then there was definitely no coincidence. He decided he needed a telephone and hoisted himself laboriously to his feet.

Stafford dined with Curtis at the Norfolk that evening and they were halfway through the meal when Hardin joined them. He said, 'I've just seen Chip. He says that Gunnarsson and Dirk Hendriks had a drink and a chat at the Thorn Tree this afternoon.'

Stafford put down his knife and fork. 'Did they, by God?'

Curtis grunted. 'That's not good for the Colonel.'

'No.' Stafford looked at Hardin. 'Ben, do you remember when you followed Gunnarsson and Corliss to Mandeville's chambers in Lincoln's Inn? Did Gunnarsson meet Dirk there?'

Hardin looked up at the ceiling and gazed into the past. He said slowly, 'Gunnarsson and Corliss went in then Gunnarsson came out.' He snapped his fingers. 'Gunnarsson came out just as Dirk and Alix went in – they passed each other in the entrance.'

'Any sign of recognition?'

'Not a thing.'

'Then how did they get together here?' asked Stafford.

'I talked to Chip about that and maybe it can be explained,' said Hardin. 'Gunnarsson went to the police and then on to the American Embassy to raise some hell about them dragging their heels on the Hendrix case. I saw Mike Pasternak and he told me about it.' Hardin retailed his discussion with Pasternak. 'Chip says that Hendriks and Gunnarsson met in the lobby of the Embassy apparently by chance.'

'It's unlucky for us,' said Stafford. 'If Gunnarsson mentioned my name to Dirk in connection with the disappearance of Hendrix then he's going to be suspicious.'

'Suspicious about what?' demanded Hardin. 'I don't know what you have against Dirk Hendriks – he's just a guy who's inherited a fortune. It's Gunnarsson and Corliss who are trying to put one over on the estate;'

Chapter 20

Stafford was about to reply when 'he was interrupted by a waiter who handed him a note. 'From the gentleman at the corner table, sir.'

Stafford saw a man looking towards him. The man nodded curtly and then addressed himself to his plate. Stafford opened the folded paper and read, 'I would appreciate a moment of your time when you finish dinner.' There was an indecipherable scribble of a signature below.

He looked across the room again and nodded, then passed the note to Hardin. 'Do you know him?'

Hardin paused in the middle of ordering from the menu. 'A stranger to me.' He finished ordering, then said, 'Mike Pasternak phoned half an hour ago. He'd like to meet you. Is four o'clock tomorrow okay?'

'I should think so.'

'He'll meet you here by the swimming pool. Maybe he'll be able to tell you who Chip really is.'

'Perhaps.' Stafford was lost in thought trying to fit together a jigsaw, taking a piece at a time and seeing if it made up a pattern. It was true he had nothing against Dirk beyond an instinctive dislike of the man but suppose… Suppose that Dirk's meeting with Gunnarsson at the Embassy had not been by chance, that they already knew each other. Gunnarsson had been established as a crook so what did that make Dirk? And then there was Brice at Ol Njorowa who had unaccountably lost tens of millions of pounds. If Dirk talked to Brice and found that Stafford had been at Ol Njorowa and Keekorok then he would undoubtedly smell a rat.

Stafford shook his head irritably. All this was moonshine -sheer supposition. He said, 'What else did Dirk do today?'

'He went out to Ol Njorowa, stayed for lunch, then came back to Nairobi where he went to the police and then on to the American Embassy.'

'Where he met Gunnarsson. Did he see anyone at the Embassy?'

'No,' said Hardin. 'He went with Gunnarsson to the Thorn Tree.'

'Could have been pre-arranged,' said Curtis.

'You're a man of few words, Sergeant,' said Stafford, 'but they make sense.'

'But why meet at the Embassy?' persisted Hardin. 'They're both staying at the New Stanley – why not there?'

'I don't know,' said Stafford, tired of beating his brains out. He finished his coffee and nodded towards the corner table. 'I'd better see what that chap wants.'

He walked across the dining room and the man looked up as he approached. 'Abercrombie-Smith,' he said. 'You're Stafford.'

He was a small compact man in his early fifties with a tanned square face and a neatly trimmed moustache. There was a faint and indefinable military air about him which could have been because of the erect way he held himself. He slid a business card from under his napkin and gave it to Stafford. His full name was Anthony Abercrombie-Smith and his card stated that he was from the British High Commission, Bruce House, Standard Street, Nairobi. It did not state what he did there.