Windfall

'Neat,' said Hardin admiringly and looked at the turban with interest. The folds of cloth over Nair's ears even concealed the earphone he must be wearing.

Nair held up his hand for silence and cocked his head on one side. 'He's leaving now – getting into a taxi. We'll see him on his way before we check at the reception desk.'

'I wonder how Gunnarsson got on to Stafford,' mused Hardin.

'Could have been through Dirk Hendriks,' said Nair. 'It doesn't really matter. He's out of Harry Thuku Road now. Let's find out what he wanted."

They went into the lobby to interrogate the man at the desk. Nair said, 'The man who was here just now…'

'Mr Andrews? The American?'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'Mr Andrews. Was he looking for someone?"

'He wanted to see Mr Stafford. He's a friend of yours, isn't he? I've seen you together.'

Hardin nodded. 'What did you tell Andrews?'

I told him where to find Mr Stafford." The clerk looked at the expression on Hardin's face nervously. 'Did I do wrong?'

'I guess not," said Hardin, thinking otherwise. 'Where did you tell him to go?'

'Ol Njorowa College. Mr Stafford mentioned it before he left. He said he'd be away for a couple of days but wanted to seep his room here.'

Hardin looked at Nair blankly. 'Thanks,' he said. As they moved away he said, 'That was pretty foolish of Max.'

'He wasn't to know Gunnarsson would come looking for aim.' Nair stopped with an intent look on his face as he listened to his inner voice. He said, 'Gunnarsson is getting out of his taxi in Muindi Mbingu street.' He paused. 'He's going into the United Touring Company office. The UTC is a car hire firm among other things.'

There was no discussion. 'I'll pack a bag," said Hardin. 'Ready in fifteen minutes.' As he walked out of the lobby he saw Nair already reaching for a telephone.

Again Stafford suffered the ritual of inspection before the gates of Ol Njorowa College opened for him. He drove to the Administration Block, parked the Nissan, and went inside where he gave his name to the black Kenyan behind the counter in the hall. He looked around and saw what he had not noticed on his first visit. Chip was right; security was tighter than one would expect in such an innocent organization.

No one could penetrate anywhere into the building without passing the wicket gate, and he was willing to bet that every time it opened it would send out a signal; at least it would if he had been responsible for security. He looked around with a keen professional eye and detected a soft gleam of glass high in a corner of the hall where two walls and a ceiling met, and guessed it was the wide-angle lens of a TV camera. It was unnoticeable and only to be detected by someone actively looking for it. He wondered where they kept the monitor screen.

The man behind the counter put down the telephone. 'Mr Hendriks will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.'

Stafford sat on a comfortable settee, picked up a magazine from the low table in front of him, and nipped through the pages. It was a scientific journal devoted to tropical crop production and of no particular interest. Presently Hendriks appeared and came through the wicket, his arm outstretched. 'Max! Good to see you.'

Stafford doubted that statement but he got up and they shook hands. 'Nice of Brice to have me here,' he said. 'I could just as easily have stayed at the hotel. It's not far down the road.'

'Charles wouldn't hear of it,' said Hendriks. 'As soon as he knew we were friends. Why didn't you mention it when you were here last?'

'I didn't have all that much time with Brice, and I was with another party – the Hunts, Alan and Judy. Do you know them?'

'No; but I haven't been here all that long. I've just got back from England.'

'And how are Alix and young Max?' asked Stafford politely.

'Motherhood agrees with her,' said Hendriks, and took Stafford's arm. 'Come and see Charles.' He led Stafford through the wicket gate and along a corridor where he opened a door. 'Max is here,' he said.

Brice greeted Stafford genially. 'So you've come to be an intrepid birdman with Alan Hunt. Rather you than me; I don't trust that contraption – it looks much too flimsy.' He waved Stafford to a chair.

As he sat down Hendriks said, 'Bad news about cousin Henry. You've heard, of course?'

Stafford was ready for that one and had already formulated his reply. 'More than heard,' he said. 'I was there. Not with the kidnapped party but with a group who charged off somewhat blunderingly to the rescue. I didn't know that Henry Hendrix was involved, though, and when we got back to Keekorok I got a shock when I heard the name. In fact, at first I thought it might have been you.'

Brice said, 'Odd that your adventure wasn't reported in the press.'

Stafford shrugged. 'Bloody bad journalism. Have there been any developments?'

'Nothing,' said Dirk. 'I've been to the police and the American Embassy but no one seems to know anything or, if they do, they aren't saying.'

'It hasn't done diplomatic relations between Kenya and Tanzania any good,' remarked Brice. 'Not that they were so sparkling in the first place.' He changed the subject. 'I suspect you'll want to clean up. We have some bedrooms upstairs for VIPs – the Trustees visit us from time to time and sometimes the odd government official. You can have one of those while you're here.'

'It's very good of you.'

'No problem at all. You know, we're a rather ingrown community here – something like a monastery but for the few women among us like Judy Hunt. It will do us good to see a new face and have fresh conversation and ideas. Dirk will show you to your room and then… er… hunt up Hunt, if you'll pardon the phrase.'

'Right,' said Dirk. 'I'll take you up. You have the room next to mine.'

'And you'll join us for dinner,' said Brice.

As they went upstairs Stafford said to Hendriks, 'You're the real VIP here, of course. What do you think of the place?'

'I haven't seen much of it yet. I've been too busy trying to get some action on my cousin. But what I've seen has impressed me. Here's your room.'

The 'monks' in Brice's monastery lived well, thought Stafford as he surveyed the bedroom which would not have disgraced a three-star hotel. Dirk indicated a door. 'That's the bathroom. If you'll give me your car keys I'll have someone bring up your bags.'

'It's not locked.'

'Right. The staff room is at the far end of the corridor. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes with Hunt. We'll have a drink together.'

'I know where the staff room is.'

'Oh, yes,' said Dirk. 'I'd forgotten you've been here before.'

He departed and Stafford did not doubt that the Nissan would be thoroughly searched, as would his suitcase. He did not mind; there was nothing unusual to be found. He inspected the room with a experienced eye, looking not for comfort but for bugs, the electronic kind. He had no doubt that the room would be bugged; Brice would be interested in the private conversations of the Trustees and government officials.

The table lamp was clean as was the reading lamp over the bed. There were no strange objects attached beneath the coffee table, the dressing table or the bed. He looked at the telephone doubtfully. It would probably be tapped but that did not matter; any conversation he used it for would definitely be innocuous. However, it might have been gimmicked in another way. He unscrewed the mouthpiece and shook out the carbon button to inspect it. It looked all right so he put it back and replaced the mouthpiece. It had taken him fifteen seconds.

As he put down the telephone there was a knock at the door and the Kenyan who had been at the counter in the hall downstairs came in bearing Stafford's suitcase. He put it next to the dressing table, and said, 'Mr Hunt is in the staff room, sah.'