Windfall

'Well, Peter Chipende and Nair Singh, to start with. And then there are a couple of ex-CIA agents, Hardin and Gunnarsson. Not to mention Colour Sergeant Curtis, but he's small fry and you did bring him with you.'

'This curry is so good I think I'll have some more.' Stafford helped himself. 'You seem to be taking an inordinate interest in me, too.'

'Colonel Max Stafford,' Abercrombie-Smith said meditatively. 'Late of Military Intelligence.'

'Bloody late,' Stafford observed. 'I left the army ten years ago and, by the way, I don't use my rank.'

'Still, you were a full colonel at the age of thirty-five. You ought to know which end is up.'

'Come to the point. What do you want?'

'I want to know what you're doing here in Kenya.'

'Taking a much needed holiday,' Stafford said. 'I haven't had a holiday for three years.'

'And I know about that one,' said Abercrombie-Smith. "You take holidays in peculiar places. That was when you went to the Sahara and came back with a bullet in your shoulder.'

Stafford put down his fork. 'Now this be damned for a lark.' He was trying to keep his temper. Besides, he wanted to string this joker along for a while. He was silent for a moment. 'What else would you want to know? There's sure to be more.'

'Of course,' Abercrombie-Smith said easily. 'Principally I'd like to know more about Chipende.' Who wouldn't? Stafford thought. 'And, of course, I'd like to know if Hardin and Gunnarsson really are ex-CIA as they claim. And I'd like to know your interest in the Ol Njorowa Foundation.'

Stafford said deliberately, 'And can you give me any reasons why I should do all this?'

Abercrombie-Smith drummed his fingers on the table. "What about patriotism?' he suggested.

'Patriotism is not enough, as Edith Cavell said. And as Sam Johnson added, patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.'

'Samuel Johnson was a self-opinionated old fool,"

'

Abercrombie-Smith snapped. 'And I'm not here to bandy literary criticism.'

Stafford grinned at him. 'I didn't think you were.'

Abercrombie-Smith stared at Stafford. 'So patriotism is not enough. I suppose that means you want money.'

'The labourer is always worthy of his hire,' said Stafford. 'But, as it happens, you're wrong. You know what you can do with your bloody money.'

'Damn it, Stafford,' he said. 'Can't you be reasonable?'

'I can; if there's anything to be reasonable about. As it is I resent you probing into my affairs, as you seem to have done quite thoroughly.'

'Well, I'll try to be reasonable. Don't you recognize that you are in a most sensitive position? Stafford Security Consultants runs security on a dozen defence contractors back home.' He reeled off the names of half-a-dozen. 'Of course we've had you investigated. We'd have been fools not to. Under those circumstances we couldn't take the risk of you being turned. You do see that, don't you?'

Stafford saw. His own dealings with the intelligence establishment had been with the counter-espionage crowd of MI 5 and the police Special Branch. They were thin on the ground and could not possibly undertake the detailed work Stafford guaranteed when he took on a contract. Consequently they were distantly pleased and recognized that Stafford Security was largely on their side. But Stafford could see that they would want to guarantee he was safe. Many a one-time agent has been turned in the past.

Abercrombie-Smith said, 'Well, there you are. I think you'll see the advantage of co-operation now because, if you don't, your firm back in England could get into considerable difficulties."

He paused as the waiter began to clear dishes from the table. Stafford welcomed the interruption because Abercrombie-Smith's eyes were shifting around as plates were swept away, and he did not see the expression on Stafford's face as he contemplated this naked piece of blackmail.

When the waiter had gone Abercrombie-Smith said, 'I recommend something to take away the taste of curry before we have coffee. What do you say to lychees? They're fresh, dear boy; not like those tinned monstrosities you get in England.'

'Yes,' Stafford said mechanically. 'I'll have lychees.'

So they had lychees and then went into the lounge for coffee. On the way there Stafford excused himself and went into the entrance hall where he found the hall porter and asked him to order a taxi. 'How long will it take?'

'Five minutes, sah; no longer.'

'Let me know as soon as it arrives. I'll be in the lounge.'

'Yes, sah. Immediately.'

When he returned Abercrombie-Smith offered him a cigar which he declined. Abercrombie-Smith produced a silver cutter and nipped the end from his cigar and proceeded to light it with great concentration. When he had got it going to his satisfaction he put the cutter away and said, 'Now, my dear boy; I think we can get down to business.'

'I thought you didn't discuss business in your club.'

'Pah!' he said. 'I was referring to commercial business.'

'You mean the sordid business of making money.'

'Precisely. This is different.'

Stafford put some sugar into his coffee and stirred. 'Sam Johnson, whom you seem to despise, had something to say about that. He said that there are few ways in which a man can be more innocently employed than in getting money. Is the proposition you have just made to me in your club any less sordid than commerce?"

Abercrombie-Smith raised his eyebrows. 'My dear chap; I see your are a moralist. Scruples? I would have thought scruples to be undesirable in your profession; positively a hindrance.' His voice sharpened. 'I suggest you address yourself to self preservation and the protection of your – er -business interests since you seem to have such a high regard for money getting.' He was openly contemptuous.

His contempt Stafford could survive. 'I'm Max. Do you mind if I call you Anthony?' He sipped the coffee.

The switch took Abercrombie-Smith by surprise. 'If you must,' he said stiffly. He came from the formal world of English public schools and London Clubland in which the informality of the use of Christian names is looked down upon.

Stafford said, 'Well, Tony; you're nothing but a cheap blackmailer – a common criminal. If the security of the United Kingdom has to depend on you, or the likes of you, then God help us all. I have nothing against blackmail, of course, but clumsiness is intolerable. Your approach to me had all the subtlety of a Soho whore.'

Abercrombie-Smith was taken aback as though he had been attacked and bitten by a newborn lamb. He reddened and said, 'Don't talk to me in those terms.'

'I'll talk to you in any way I damn well like.'

'So you won't co-operate. That could be dangerous as I have pointed out.'

Stafford put down the coffee cup and leaned back. 'I like your idea of co-operation, but I doubt if it's an acceptable dictionary definition. Do what I say or else – is that it?' He leaned forward. 'I've built up quite an organization in the last ten years. Stafford Security Consultants is primarily a defensive organization but it can be used for attack. If I find any change for the worse in the way I do my business I have the capability of finding the reason. If you are the reason I'll smash you. Not your department or whatever idiot employs you but you, personally. Personal ruin. Do I make myself quite clear?'

Abercrombie-Smith was apoplectic. He gobbled for a moment then said breathily, 'This is outrageous. I've never been spoken to like that before; not by anyone.'

'A pity,' Stafford said, and stood up as the hall porter came into the lounge. 'You might have made a half-way decent man if someone had taken you in hand earlier.' He held up his hand. 'Don't get up. I'll find my own way back.'

By the time the taxi deposited him in front of the Norfolk he had cooled down somewhat. As he paid off the driver he wondered if he had made a rod for his own back. Stafford had always deemed it a virtue not to make unnecessary enemies and he had been hard on Abercrombie-Smith. Still, the man had been nauseating with his casual assumption that he had but to crook a finger and Stafford would come to heel. Stafford reflected that he had better look to his defences.