Windfall ms-2

by Desmond Bagley

  Abercrombie-Smith started to laugh. He laughed so much that he was speechless. He choked on his curry and it was quite a time before he recovered. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said, still chuckling, 'Oh, my dear chap; that's rich – rich, indeed.' He put down the napkin. 'Didn't you know that Mr Peter Chipende entered the East African Safari Rally three years in succession? He didn't win but he finished every time and that is an achievement in itself.'

  Stafford had heard of the East African Safari Rally; it was supposed to be the most gruelling long-distance motor race in the world and, judging by the condition of the road between Narok and Keekorok, he could very well believe it. He cursed Chip for putting him in such an intenable position and said, 'I wouldn't know about that; I'm a stranger in these parts.'

  'So that's what Chipende told you, is it? Well, well.'

  Stafford decided to give him back some of the malarkey he had been handing out. 'This curry is really very good; thanks for recommending it. Do you think I could get the recipe from the chef? I pride myself on being a good cook.'

  Abercrombie-Smith's eyes went flinty. He knew when someone was taking the mickey as well as the next man. However, he held himself in. 'I would think it's the chef's family secret, dear boy.' He riddled with his napkin. 'You haven't been here long, Stafford; but you've mixed with some very interesting people. Interesting to me, that is.'

  Stafford thought it would be rather more interesting to MI6 or whatever funny number they gave to foreign espionage these days. He said, 'Who, for instance?'

  '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 b
y 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.

  He picked up his key at the desk and found a message from Hardin saying he was at the hotel pool. He walked through the courtyard, past the aviaries with their twittering and chirping birds, and through the archway to the pool. There he found Hardin who said, 'Where have you been? Pasternak rang again, and said he'd have to make it earlier. He'll be here any minute.'

  'I've been having my brains washed,' Stafford said sourly. 'Pasternak wouldn't be boss of the Kenya CIA station by any chance?'

  ' He might be,' said Hardin with a grin. 'But he's not saying.'

  'Tell me more,' Stafford said.

  'I didn't know Pasternak when I was here but I knew him from Langley. We weren't really buddy-buddy in those days but we had a drink together from time to time. It's useful that he's here.'

  'Where's Curtis?'

  'He went downtown.' Hardin looked over Stafford's shoulder. 'Here's Pasternak now.'

  Pasternak was a lean, rangy man with a closed look about his face. As they shook hands he said, 'Mike Pasternak. Good of you to see me, Mr Stafford.'

  'It's no trouble,' he said. 'But I don't know that I can tell you much. I'm a security man and it's my job to keep secrets. Care for a drink?'

  'I'll get them,' said Hardin. 'Beer, Mike?'

  Pasternak nodded and Hardin went to the poolside bar. Pasternak said, 'Ben tells me you're interested in Pete Chipende.'

  'That's right.' Stafford gestured. 'Let's sit.'

  They sat face to face across a table and Pasternak looked at Stafford thoughtfully. 'I'd give a whole lot to know why you're running with Pete Chipende.'

  'Didn't Ben tell you?'

  'Yeah.' Pasternak smiled wryly. 'I didn't believe him. I'm hoping you'll tell me.'

  'I'm afraid it's my business, Mr Pasternak.' said Stafford.

  'I thought you'd take that attitude. I'm sorry. I hope you know what you're getting into.' Pasternak lit a cigarette. 'Ben tells me you're in the same line as Gunnarsson, but in Europe. He also told me you were in British army intelligence at one time.'

  'That's correct. It's a matter of record. And you are CIA but you won't admit it outright.'

  Pasternak smiled. 'Would you expect me to?' The smile faded. 'Now, here's a funny thing. Hendrix, a newly hatched millionaire, and Gunnarsson, ex-CIA, are in a party kidnapped into Tanzania. Along comes Stafford, again an ex-intelligence guy, and he chases after the kidnappers together with Chipende and Nair Singh. Then I see Ben, also ex-CIA. Don't you think it's strange, Mr Stafford?'

  Stafford said, 'Do you know a man called Abercrombie-Smith from the British High Commission?'

  Pasternak straightened. 'Don't tell me he's in on this? Whatever it is.'

  'I had lunch with him. And now you are here. Perhaps we'd better hire the Kenyatta Conference Centre for a secret service congress,' Stafford said dryly. 'But what's jour interest in Chipende?'

  Pasternak gave Stafford a strange look. 'Are you kidding?'

  'I never kid about serious matters, Mr Pasternak. I really would like to know.'

  'It seems as though I'm wasting my time after all,' he said. 'And probably wasting yours. Here's Ben with the beer. Let me put it on my expense account.'

  'Don't bother,' Stafford said. 'Just tell me about Chipende.

  Abercrombie-Smith wants to know, too. He tried to twist my arm this afternoon.'

  'Successfully?'

  'He got a flea in his ear.'

  'I don't want to get the same treatment, Mr Stafford," said Pasternak. 'So just let's concentrate on the beer.'

  Hardin came up with a tray which he placed on the table. They drank beer and chatted about inconsequential subjects such as the necessity for adjusting the carburettor of a car when driving from Mombasa at sea level to Eldoret which is at an altitude of nearly 10,000 feet. Hardin was baffled, as Stafford could see by the odd looks he received.

  Pasternak drained his glass. 'I must be going,' he said, and stood up. 'Nice to have met you, Mr Stafford.'

  'Come again,' said Stafford ironically.

  He walked with Pasternak through the courtyard. Pasternak stopped by one of the aviaries and said, 'Have you noticed that there are no songbirds in Africa? They cheep and chirp but don't sing.' He paused. 'Do you mind if I give you some advice?'

  Stafford smiled. 'Not at all. The great thing about advice is that you needn't follow it.'

  'Watch Gunnarsson. I got a report on him this morning. That guy is bad news.'

  'That's the most superfluous advice I've ever been given,' said Stafford chuckling. 'But thanks, anyway.' They shook hands and Pasternak went on his way.

  Stafford turned to go to his room and met Hardin who said, 'Were you two talking in code or something? That meeting was supposed to be about Chip.'

  'Ben, I know where I am now.' Stafford clapped him on the back. 'Bismarck was reputed to be silent in seven languages, but I'll bet his silence told more than his speeches. It was what Pasternak didn't say that interested me.'

  'Nuts!' said Hardin disgustedly.

  Chapter 21

  Next morning after breakfast Stafford said to Hardin, 'Ben I'm tired of this pussyfooting around; we're going to do some pushing.'

  'Who are you going to push?'

  'We'll start with Chip. Sergeant?'

  Curtis stiffened. 'Yes, sir.'

  'You've been liaising with Chip. I want him in my room by ten o'clock.'

  'Yes, sir.' Curtis pushed back his chair from the breakfast table and left the room.

  Hardin said, 'Why Chip? He's on our side.'

  'Is he?' Stafford shook his head. 'Pete Chipende is on no side other than his own. What's more, he has Corliss hidden somewhere and that gives him leverage should he want to use it. You uncovered Corliss but Chip has got him and I don't like that one little bit.'

  'You have a point,' acknowledged Hardin. 'But I don't think he'll push easy.'

  'We'll see,' said Stafford.

  At nine-thirty Curtis reported back. 'Chip will see the Colonel at ten as requested. He asked what the Colonel wanted. I said I wasn't in the Colonel's confidence.'

  'You are now,' said Stafford, and told Curtis what he wanted him to do.

  Hardin said, 'Max; are you sure about this?'

  'Yes, Pasternak told me.', 'I didn't hear him.'

  'He didn't say anything,' said Stafford, leaving Hardin baffled.

  He spent the next half hour guarding his back.

>   He wrote a letter to Jack Ellis in London asking that the resources of Stafford Security Consultants be put to investigating thoroughly one Anthony Abercrombie-Smith from the time of his birth. to the present day; his schools, clubs, work, friends if any, investments and anything else that might occur to him.

  As he put the sheet of notepaper into an envelope Stafford reflected on Cardinal Richelieu who had said, 'If you give me six lines written by the most honest man, I will find something in them to hang him." That surely would apply to Abercrombie-Smith should he have to be leaned on.

  He had just sealed the envelope when Chip arrived. 'You want me?'

  Stafford glanced at Hardin and Curtis. 'Yes. Where's Corliss?'

  'He's quite safe,' assured Chip. 'No doubt. But where is he?'

  Chip sat down. 'Don't worry, Max. If you want Corliss at any time he can be produced within half an hour.'

  Stafford smiled gently. 'You keep telling me not to worry and that worries the hell out of me.' He apparently changed the subject. 'By the way, Abercrombie-Smith sends his regards.'

  Chip paused in the act of lighting a cigarette, just a minute hesitation. He 'continued the action and blew out a plume of smoke. 'When did you see him?'

  'We had lunch in the Muthaiga Club yesterday.'

  'What did he want?'

  'Ostensibly he wanted to know why I hadn't reported in to the High Commissioner's office after the kidnapping. He really wanted to know about you.'

  Chip's eyebrows lifted. 'Did he? What did you tell him?'

  'What could I tell him? I know nothing about you.'

  Hardin stirred. 'True enough.'

  Chip said, 'Do you know who he is?'

  Stafford smiled. 'He'll be listed as a trade advisor or something like that, but really he's the MI6 man in Nairobi, serving the same function that Mike Pasternak does for the CIA.'

  Chip sat on the bed. 'You've been getting around. Have you talked to him, too?'

  'We had a chat over a beer. Nothing important.'

  'For a stranger in the country you get to know the most interesting people.'

  'I didn't go out of my way to find them,' said Stafford. 'I attracted them as wasps to a honeypot. We seem to be stirring up some interest, Chip. When can we expect the KGB?'