'It's not a matter for joking,' he said soberly. 'I don't know that I like this.'
'Oh, come on,' said Stafford. 'It's not that bad. They approached me openly enough. Hardin knew Pasternak years ago so Pasternak couldn't deny he's a CIA man. As for Abercrombie-Smith, he's a bad joke.'
'Don't be fooled by Abercrombie-Smith,' warned Chip. 'You may think all that "dear boy" stuff is funny but underneath he's as cold as ice. Max, why should you attract the attention of the foreign intelligence services of two countries?'
'I don't know that I have,' said Stafford. 'They didn't seem to be all that interested in me. I think you are attracting the attention. They both wanted to know what you are doing.'
Chip smiled sourly. 'And all I'm doing is what you tell me to do. Did you tell them that?'
'i forgot to,' said Stafford apologetically. 'It slipped my mind.'
'Very funny.'
'I'm noted for my sense of humour,' agreed Stafford. 'Here's another sample. Which branch of Kenyan Intelligence are you in, Chip?'
Chip stared at him. 'Are you joking?'
'Not two intelligence services, Chip – three. And maybe another to make four.'
Hardin said, 'You're losing me fast, Max.'
Chip said, 'He's already lost me.' He laughed.
Stafford ticked off points on his fingers. 'One; you could get us rooms at the drop of a hat in any hotel or game lodge I might suggest at the height of the tourist season. That takes pull. Two; you got the information on Brice from Zimbabwe too fast. Three; you could put Adam Muliro into Corliss's party as courier and driver at short notice. Four; in the Masai Mara you could whistle up support to take Corliss into custody at equally short notice. Five; you're too well aware of the identities of foreign agents operating in Kenya to be my ordinary man. Six; when I was talking to Pasternak he rattled off a string of names, all in intelligence, and your name and Nair's were included. I made a crack that we hold a secret service congress and Pasternak didn't disagree. Seven; we were interviewed and photographed by journalists but nothing appeared in the press, and that takes pull too. I'm not surprised you didn't want your picture in the paper – the well-known secret service agent is a contradiction in terms. Eight…' Stafford broke off. 'Chip, as you said in the Mara -i man can run out of fingers this way.'
'I didn't say I had no organization,' said Chip. 'The Kenya People's Union…" He stopped. 'But I'm not going to talk about that.'
'You'd better not,' said Stafford grimly. 'Because you'd be telling me a pack of lies. I'm saving the best until last. Eight; when we entered the Masai Mara you didn't pay; a little bit of economy which was a dead giveaway. You showed some kind of identification which you probably have on you now. Sergeant!'
Before Chip knew it Curtis had stepped from behind and pinioned him and, although he struggled, he was no match for Curtis who had mastered many an obstreperous sailor in his day. 'Okay, Ben,' said Stafford. 'Search him.'
Hardin swiftly went through Chip's pockets, tossing the contents on to the bed where Stafford checked them. He searched Chip's wallet and found nothing, nor did he find any form of identification, except for a driving licence, among the scattering of items on the bed. 'Damn!' he said. 'Try again, Ben.'
Hardin found it in a hidden pocket in Chip's trousers – a plastic card which might have been mistaken for any credit card except that it had Chip's photograph on it. 'All right, Sergeant,' he said mildly. 'You can let him go.'
Curtis released Chip who brushed himself down, straightening his safari suit. Stafford clicked his finger nail against the card and said, 'A colonel, no less,' then added dryly, 'I probably have seniority. Military Intelligence?'
'Yes,' said Chip. 'You shouldn't have done that. I could get you tossed out of the country.'
'You could,' agreed Stafford. 'But you won't. You still need us.' He frowned. 'What puzzles me is why you were interested in us in the first place. Why did you latch on to us?'
Chip shrugged. 'There was a KPU connection. The address Curtis got in London was a KPU safe house. It wasn't as safe as all that because we'd infiltrated and we intercepted Curtis. Naturally we were most interested in why you, a one-time British intelligence agent, were investigating something with the help of the Kenya People's Union. At least you seemed to think you were working with the KPU. As time went on it became even more interesting. Complicated, too.'
Hardin snorted. 'Complicated, he says! Nothing makes any goddamn sense.'
'Tell me,' said Stafford. 'Who were those two men you conjured up in the Masai Mara to take care of Corliss?'
Chip smiled slightly. 'I borrowed a couple of men from the Police Post on the Mara and put them into civilian clothes.'
'And where is Corliss now?'
'About two hundred yards from here,' said Chip calmly. 'In a cell in police headquarters on the corner of Harry Thuku Road. I told you he was quite safe.' He lit another cigarette. 'All right, Max; where do we go from here?'
'Where do you want to go?'
'I'm quite prepared to go on as before.'
'With me picking your chestnuts out of the fire,' said Stafford sarcastically. 'Not as before, Chip. There'll be no secrets and we share information. I'm tired of being blindfolded. You know, there's more to this than Gunnarsson trying to push in with a fake Hendrix. There's a hell of a lot at stake.'
'And what is at stake?' asked Chip.
Stafford stared at him. 'You're not stupid. Suppose you tell me.'
'About twenty-seven million pounds,' he said easily. 'The money Brice didn't declare from the Hendrykxx estate.'
'Balls!' snapped Stafford. 'It's not the money and you know it. But how did you get on to that?'
'Because you were inquisitive about the Ol Njorowa Foundation so was I,' said Chip. 'I rang the Kenya High Commission in London and had someone look at the will. Quite simple, really. But tell me more.'
Stafford said, 'I could kick myself. It's been staring me in the face ever since Ben, here, came back from investigating old Hendrykxx and said there was no Kenya connection. That really stumped me. But then I saw it.'
'Saw what?'
'The bloody South African connection,' said Stafford.
'Bull's eye!' said Chip softly. 'But tell me more.'
'Everywhere I've looked in the case the South African connection has popped up. Old Hendrykxx lived there. Dirk Hendriks is a South African. Mandeville, the English QC, is a right-winger who takes holidays in South Africa. He's there now. I think Farrar, the Jersey lawyer, is a cat's paw and I'll bet it was Mandeville who drew up the will.' Stafford drew a deep breath. 'Brice made a mistake in underestimating the size of the Hendrykxx estate – he was greedy. Are you sure he's in the clear, Chip? Because I'm betting he's another South African.'
For the next hour they hammered at the problem trying to fit the bits and pieces of their knowledge together without a great deal of success. At last Chip said, 'All right; we've got a consensus of opinion; we think that Dirk Hendriks might be a South African intelligence agent, and the same could apply to Brice. What we can't see is where Gunnarsson fits in and who has been trying to kill Corliss."
'Not Corliss,' said Hardin suddenly. 'Hank Hendrix. Someone took a shot at Hank in Los Angeles and that was before Gunnarsson made the substitution.'
'So you think whoever is trying to kill him is unaware that Gunnarsson made the switch?' queried Stafford. 'It could be.' He looked at Chip, 'That business on the Tanzanian border seemed authentic in the sense that such kidnappings have happened before. What do you think, Chip? How easy is it to lay hands on Tanzanian uniforms and Kalashnikovs?'
Chip smiled thinly. 'Given enough money you can buy anything on the Tanzanian border. As for Kalashnikovs, Kenya is surrounded by the damn things – Tanzania, Somalia, Ethiopia, Uganda. There'd be no problem there. You think the kidnapping was a put-up job to lay the blame on the Tanzanians?' He nodded thoughtfully. 'That could very well be.'
'Then Brice would have organized it,' said Hardin. 'Dirk Hendr
iks was in England at that time.'
'But all this is supposition,' said Stafford. 'We're not sure of a damned thing. What move will you make now, Chip? It's your country, after all.'
'We can't move openly against the Foundation,' said Chip. 'That would make waves. Newspaper stories and too much publicity. I'll have to take this to my superior officer.' He held up his hand. 'And don't ask who he is.'
Curtis stirred. 'Would the Colonel mind a suggestion?'
'Trot it out, Sergeant,' said Stafford. 'We could do with some good ideas.'
'Give Corliss back to Gunnarsson. Then stand back and see what happens.'
'You've got a nasty mind,' said Hardin. 'That would be like setting him up in a shooting gallery.'
'But we'd stand a chance of seeing who's doing the shooting.' Stafford looked at Chip. 'What do you think? He'd need a good cover story.'
'No cover story would stand up,' said Chip. 'We've had him too long. In any case he's a bad liar; we'd be blowing our own cover.' He thought for a moment. 'No; we've got to get someone inside Ol Njorowa to have a look around.'
'And maybe not find anything,' said Hardin morosely.
'I think there's something to be found,' Chip stubbed out a cigarette. 'Since you drew my attention to Ol Njorowa I've been looking at it carefully. The security precautions are far beyond what's needed for an agricultural college.'
'The Hunts explained that away,' said Stafford. 'Judy said things were being stolen; she said mostly small agricultural tools which didn't matter very much, but when it came to experimental seed it was different. And Alan Hunt; came up with a story of a leopard.' He thought about the Hunts. 'Chip, the whole damned staff can't be in South African intelligence. The Hunts are white Kenyans and Dr Odhiambo is an unlikely agent.'
'There's probably just a cell,' agreed Chip. 'Coming back to Hendriks – how long has he lived in England?'
'I don't know,' said Stafford. 'He came into my life two years ago when he married Alix.'
'If he is in South African intelligence he'd be a sleeper planted in England and the Brits wouldn't like that. I think some liaison with London is indicated; and on a high level.' Chip stood up. 'And I'll see if I can get a man into Ol Njorowa.'
'Wait a minute,' said Stafford. 'Dirk knows I'm in Kenya -I told him I'd be taking a holiday here and that I might see him. I think I'll invite myself to Ol Njorowa. Besides, I have an invitation from the Hunts to go ballooning.'
'Going alone?' asked Hardin.
'No, I'll take the Sergeant.' Stafford smiled at Curtis. 'How would you like to go ballooning, Sergeant?'
The expression of disgust on Curtis's face was an eloquent answer.
The air of tension in Brice's office was electric as Hendriks said, 'Why the hell didn't you tell me that Stafford was mixed up in this?'
'Because I didn't know," snapped Brice.
'Christ, he'd been here! You'd met him, damn it!'
'So how would I know who he was?' Brice asked plaintively. 'You'd never mentioned him. All I knew then was that he was a friend of the Hunts; they were dining together at the Lake Naivasha Hotel with an Indian, a Sikh called Nair Singh.'
'Who is he?'
'A friend of Alan Hunt. They were at University together.'
'And then Stafford turned up in the Masai Mara chasing after Hendriks. Couldn't you put two and two together?'
'I didn't hear about it. It wasn't reported in the press. Who is Stafford, anyway?'
'A friend of Alix,' said Dirk broodingly. 'And he's sharp, Brice; damned sharp.' He told Brice exactly who and what Stafford was. 'It's not coincidence that he's popping up here and there at critical times and places. Did he mention me when he was here?'
'No.'
'Why not?' demanded Dirk. 'He knew I was coming.' His mind was busy with possible implications, then he said explosively, 'Good God!'
'What's the matter now?' said Brice tiredly.
'He's seen the bloody will, that's what's the matter,' said Dirk viciously. 'A man called Hardin came to see Alix when I was in South Africa.' He told Brice about it, then said, 'I never met Hardin. Alix said he'd gone back to the States.'
'And you never thought to tell me about this?' said Brice acidly.
'I was too busy thinking about what to do with Hendrix. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that Stafford knows the Foundation has inherited a hell of a lot more than seven million.'
Brice shrugged. 'We've got a cover for that. I told you about it. I'll just have to report the full extent of our windfall. A pity, but there it is.' He stood up and began to pace. 'This is a damn funny tale you're telling me. Hardin, an American, tells your wife that you had an unknown cousin. Further, Hardin has taken the trouble to get a copy of the will. Why should he do that?'
'He said he was suspicious of the man he was working for according to Alix. I told you I never met the man.'
'And who was he working for?'
'A private detective agency in New York.'
'The name?'
'I don't know. Alix didn't say.'
'Who employed the detective agency?'
'Farrar, the Jersey lawyer.'
Brice Stopped his pacing and faced Hendriks. 'Now tell me something,' he said coldly. 'How did Farrar know there was an American heir?' Dirk was silent. Brice said, 'How many people knew there was an American heir?'
'Pretoria knew,' said Dirk. 'I knew, but I didn't go near Farrar. Mandeville knew, of course.' He stopped.
'Mandeville knew,' repeated Brice. 'The eminent Queen's Counsel knew. Do you know what happened, Hendriks? While Pretoria was chasing Hendrix in Los Angeles he was also being chased by American detectives employed by Farrar at the instigation of Mandeville. Pretoria nearly got Hendrix but he was rescued by Mandeville's crowd. What a balls-up! Hasn't anyone heard of co-ordination and liaison? We've been fighting ourselves, you damned fool.' His tone was cutting. 'What made Mandeville go off half-cocked like that?'
'He always said Pretoria was slow off the mark,' said Dirk. His voice was sullen.
'I think you'd better talk to Mandeville. Find out if our reasoning is correct. If it is, you tell him never to do anything without orders again.' He picked up the telephone. 'Find out the delay on London calls, please.' As he put down the telephone he said, 'And you might ask him for the name of the American detective agency.'
'Why? It doesn't matter any more.'
'How do you know that? Have you got crystal balls?' Brice slammed his hand on the desk with a noise like a pistol shot. There's been too much going wrong on this operation. I haven't been sweating blood here to see it torpedoed by inefficiency.' He sat down. 'Now tell me more about Stafford? How did he come to see the will?'
'Hardin had a copy and took it to Alix. I was in South Africa so Alix asked Stafford for his advice. Hardin showed him the will.'
'So he knows the extent of the will, he's been prowling about here, and he was in the Masai Mara when Hendrix was snatched. This man you met… er…?' Brice snapped his fingers impatiently.
'Gunnarsson.'
'Gunnarsson told you that Stafford had followed the raiders. Is that it?'
'That's right. Afterwards Stafford told him that his party got lost in the bush.'
'Got lost, did they? I wonder.' Brice cocked a raised eyebrow at Hendriks. 'I lost two men and your cousin is still missing. We discussed it before but we didn't know about Stafford then.' He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. 'I can see we'll have to find out more about Stafford.' The telephone rang and he picked it up. 'Oh!' He covered the mouthpiece. 'Someone for you. Who knows you're here?'
'No one,' said Hendriks. 'After I talked to Gunnarsson I went to the American Embassy but I told no one where I was going after that.'
'Someone knows.' Brice held out the telephone. 'You'd better find out who it is.'
Hendriks took it. 'Dirk Hendriks speaking.'
'Hello, Dirk; so. I've tracked you down at last,' said Stafford, and Hendriks nearly dropped the phone. 'Max here. I thought I'd
phone Ol Njorowa on the off chance you'd be there. How are you doing?'
'Fine,' said Dirk. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said in a low voice, 'It's Stafford.'
'Have you been ballooning yet?" asked Stafford. 'What?' said Dirk stupidly.
'Ballooning with the Hunts. They've extended an invitation for me to go ballooning with them tomorrow. I've just been talking to Alan. I'll be staying at the Lake Naivasha Hotel. We must have dinner.'
'Yes, we must,' said Dirk mechanically. 'Hang on a minute.' Again he covered the mouthpiece. 'He's coming here. Some crazy talk about ballooning with someone called Hunt. He'll be at the hotel.'
Brice began to smile. 'Give me the phone.' He took -it, and said, 'Hello, Mr Stafford; Charles Brice here. I hear Alan Hunt is taking you up tomorrow. Now, there's no question of your staying at the hotel, we can put you up here. Apart from anything else it will be more convenient for Alan. Yes, I insist. What time shall we expect you? All right, we'll see you then.'
His smile broadened as he cradled the telephone. 'I'd just as soon have him here where I can keep an eye on him. "'Walk into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly".'
Chapter 22
Gunnarsson lay on the bed in his room at the New Stanley reading a paperback novel in which he had no interest. Several times he had lost the drift of the plot and had to turn back several pages and he was bored and irritable. True, being on his back helped his feet which were still sore, and the doctor had recommended bed rest, but what he was really doing was waiting for a telephone call from London.
The telephone rang and he reached for it. 'Gunnarsson.'
'Mr Gunnarsson, this is George Barbour of Peacemore, Willis and Franks in London. I understand that you want to know the present location of Max Stafford of Stafford Security Consultants.'
'Yeah.'
'To the best of our knowledge Mr Stafford is now in Kenya on holiday. He left London on the eighteenth.'
So the bastard had been waiting in Nairobi, thought Gunnarsson. He said, 'You didn't tip off Stafford Security, I hope.'
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