Flyaway / Windfall (56 page)

It was an odd way of defining civilization, but Stafford thought he could very well be right.

Once Nair stopped and pointed to the ground, ahead of them but to one side. ‘Look!’

Stafford saw nothing, but then an ear twitched and he saw a beady eye. ‘A rabbit!’ he said in astonishment. ‘I didn’t know you had those in Africa.’

‘Not many,’ said Nair. ‘Too many predators. That’s a Bunyoro rabbit.’ He moved and the rabbit took fright and bounded away, changing direction with every hop. Nair slanted his eyes at Stafford. ‘Too many predators in all of Africa.’

And most of them human, agreed Stafford, but to himself.

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Hardin caught up with them. ‘Alan Hunt just landed from a boat,’ he reported. ‘The Sergeant has gone down to meet him.’

‘He might have brought news,’ said Stafford. ‘Let’s go see.’

Hunt, however, had no news. He had been to the service station in Naivasha to replenish the butane bottles for the balloon and to have a pipe welded on the burner and had then decided to see if Stafford knew what was happening. ‘We’re marking bloody time, that’s all,’ said Stafford. ‘Waiting for the top brass to make up its collective mind—if any.’

‘You were right,’ said Hunt.

‘What about?’

‘The TV camera in the entrance hall of the Admin Block. I checked on it.’

Stafford grunted. ‘I hope you didn’t poke your eye right into it.’

‘And your friend, Gunnarsson, stayed over last night. He and Brice seemed quite pally.’

Stafford thought of the directed conversation he had with Gunnarsson in the bedroom. He said, ‘Brice is probably measuring him up; assessing the opposition, no doubt.’

Hardin laughed. ‘Measuring him up is right. For a coffin, probably.’

Stafford disagreed. ‘I doubt it. It’s a bad operation that leaves too many corpses around. I don’t think Brice is as stupid as that.’

‘He wasn’t too worried about leaving a corpse on the Tanzanian border,’ objected Hardin.

‘That was different. There’s still no direct connection between Brice and that episode. He’s still pretty well covered. I think…’

What Stafford thought was lost because a piercing whistle came from the ridge and he looked up to see Curtis
waving in a beckoning motion. ‘Something’s up,’ he said, and began to run.

He was out of breath when he cast himself down next to Curtis and thought that this was a job for a younger man. Nair and Hunt were with him, but Hardin was still trailing behind. Curtis pointed to a boat half way across the narrow strait between the island and the mainland, and passed the binoculars to Stafford, ‘If the Colonel would care to take a look? It’s coming from the Lake Naivasha Hotel.’

Stafford put the glasses to his eyes and focused. In the stern was a young black Kenyan, his hand on the tiller of the outboard motor. And Gunnarsson sat amidships, staring at the island and apparently right into Stafford’s eyes.

Stafford withdrew from the crest of the ridge as Hardin flopped down beside him. ‘What is it?’ Hardin asked. He was short of breath.

‘Gunnarsson. He’s coming straight here as though pulled by a magnet. Now, how the hell does he know where we are?’ No one answered him, so Stafford said, ‘Ben, you get lost. You, too, Nair; but stay close and available. Curtis and I will form a welcoming committee. Come on, Sergeant.’

‘What about me?’ said Hunt.

Stafford considered the matter and shrugged. ‘That depends on whether you want to get involved. Come if you like.’ He peered over the ridge. Gunnarsson’s boat was heading straight as an arrow to the roughly-made jetty which formed the landing place.

‘I’ll come,’ said Hunt.

The three of them traversed the ridge heading north and keeping below the crest, then went over at a place where the jetty was screened from view by trees. They moved fast because Stafford wanted to intercept Gunnarsson at the jetty before he set out to explore the island. A water-buck exploded out of a thicket, panicked by their sudden presence, and went galloping across a glade ahead of them. As they went by it stopped and stared and then, reassured, resumed its browsing.

Stafford slowed his pace as he neared the jetty close enough to hear the puttering of an outboard engine. The jetty came into view, half hidden by a leafy screen. He stopped and moved a branch and saw Gunnarsson getting out of the boat. There was a distant mutter of voices and then the raised note of the motor as the boat pulled away. Gunnarsson stood on the jetty and looked at the boats moored there: the one in which Nair had brought the camp supplies and the other in which Hunt had arrived.

Stafford whispered to Hunt, ‘Did you come from the Lake Naivasha Hotel?’

‘No—from Safariland.’

Stafford frowned. That made it unlikely that Gunnarsson had been following Hunt, so what had brought him? He watched Gunnarsson inspecting the boats. He got into each and appeared to be searching them thoroughly. Not that there was anything to find.

Gunnarsson climbed back on to the jetty, and Stafford said, ‘Let’s ask him what he wants.’ They left cover and walked along the shoreline.

Gunnarsson had his back to them but, as he heard their approach, he turned. A grim smile appeared on his face and he put his hands on his hips and stood with arms akimbo. They got close enough for conversation and Stafford said pleasantly, ‘Good morning, Mr Gunnarsson. How are your feet today?’

‘By Christ!’ said Gunnarsson. ‘Stafford, you are one magnificent liar. You had me fooled, you really did. So you were pulling out and going back to London? And I believed you.’

Stafford was comforted by that. If he had fooled Gunnarsson then he might have also fooled Brice and Hendriks. He said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m looking for a guy in a turban, but I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about him.’ He raised his hand before Stafford could speak. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t
know anything about him. I wouldn’t believe you now if you told me that the thing shining in the sky is the sun.’

Stafford shrugged. ‘That sounds like Nair Singh, our guide.’

Gunnarsson looked at Hunt. ‘You’re from Ol Njorowa. I saw you at breakfast this morning. So you’re in this, too.’

‘My name is Hunt. What am I supposed to be in, Mr Gunnarsson?’

Gunnarsson looked frustrated. If I knew that I wouldn’t be screwing around here in this half-assed manner.’ He glanced at Curtis. ‘Who are you?’

The reply was characteristically brief and brought Gunnarsson no joy. ‘Curtis.’

Gunnarsson’s attention returned to Stafford. ‘This Hindu guy you say is your guide. Where is he?’

‘I wouldn’t call him a Hindu; he might take umbrage because he’s a Sikh.’ Stafford waved his arm. ‘He’s back there. Do you want to talk to him?’

‘Yeah, I want to ask him if he usually drives a phoney taxi equipped to track a beeper bug,’ said Gunnarsson with heavy irony. ‘It’s standing in the hotel parking lot right now. I suppose you don’t know anything about that, either.’

‘I know now.’ Stafford smiled. ‘You’ve just told me.’ Gunnarsson snorted. ‘So what is a tourist guide doing with triple antennas and a signal strength meter? Why was he trailing me?’

‘Let’s ask him,’ Stafford proposed. ‘I’ll lead the way.’ He walked away from the jetty and Gunnarsson fell into step beside him. Curtis and Hunt tagged along behind. ‘What led you to Crescent Island?’

‘That goddamn taxi was in the parking lot when I got back to the hotel this morning,’ said Gunnarsson. ‘I asked at the desk where the owner was and I was told he’d come here.’

So it had been as easy as that, thought Stafford. Nair had made mistakes; first with the beeper and then not getting rid of the Mercedes. Still, no harm had been done.

They climbed the ridge and went down the other side to the camp site. Stafford shouted, ‘Nair!’, and Nair got up from where he was unobtrusively lying in the shade of a tree. ‘A man here wants to talk to you.’

Nair approached them. ‘What about?’ he asked innocently.

‘Jesus; you know what about!’ said Gunnarsson belligerently. ‘Why are you so goddamn interested in me?’

‘Do you have something to hide?’

Gunnarsson’s eyes nickered. ‘What’s with the doubletalk?’

‘I think he
has
something to hide,’ said Stafford. ‘For instance, I’d like to know what happened to Henry Hendrix.’

‘We’ve been through all that before.’ Gunnarsson took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow and his neck. ‘I’m tired of telling the story.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean Corliss,’ said Stafford casually. ‘I know what happened to him. But what happened to Hendrix?’

‘Hendrix is…’ Gunnarsson began, and stopped as the meaning of what Stafford had said sank in. He moistened his lips and swallowed before saying, ‘Who is Corliss?’

‘Your friend who disappeared in Tanzania.’

‘You’re crazy! That was Hendrix.’

Stafford shook his head. ‘Gunnarsson; you’re a bigger liar than I am. The Hendrix you took to London was not the Hendrix found in Los Angeles.’

‘Not Hendrix!’ said Gunnarsson numbly. ‘You must be kidding.’ He forced a smile.

‘Definitely not Hendrix,’ said Stafford. ‘And proveable.’

‘Look, the guy was brought to me in my office. He had everything right; a pat hand. Everything checked out.’ He paused in thought. ‘I sent an operative to pick him up in Los Angeles. Could he have pulled a fast one on me?’

‘What was his name? This operative?’

‘A guy called Hardin. Something of a dead beat. I had to fire him.’ Gunnarsson was sweating as he extemporized his story. ‘If anyone pulled a fast one it must have been Hardin. He’s a…’

Stafford cut him short by raising his voice, ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’ As Gunnarsson gazed at him in astonishment Stafford said coolly, ‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s just behind you.’

Gunnarsson whirled and his eyes bulged as he saw Hardin who smiled and said, ‘Hello, you lousy cheapskate.’

‘You’ve been under a microscope,’ said Stafford. ‘Every move you’ve made has been noted ever since you pitched up in London with Corliss and palmed him off as Hendrix. I won’t say we’ve recorded every time you went to the loo, but damned nearly. And Corliss has been singing as sweetly as any nightingale. The jig’s up, Gunnarsson.’

Gunnarsson looked defeated, rather as Stafford had seen him when he hobbled into the game lodge at Keekorok. He mumbled, ‘Where is Corliss?’

‘Where you’d expect him to be—in a police cell. And that’s where you’re going.’

To Stafford’s surprise Nair stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs. ‘You’re under arrest, Mr Gunnarsson. I’m a police officer.’

Gunnarsson whipped round and began to run. Unfortunately Curtis happened to be in the way and it was like running into a brick wall. Hardin collared him from behind and brought him down. Then Nair manacled him,
right wrist to left ankle. ‘Best way of immobilizing a man,’ said Nair. ‘He can’t run. His only way of getting around is to roll like a hoop.’

Curtis interrupted the steady flow of obscenities from Gunnarsson. ‘If the Colonel doesn’t mind I’ll get back up there.’ He indicated the ridge.

‘Very well, Sergeant.’ Stafford watched Curtis walk away in his stolid fashion and turned to Nair. ‘Are you really a police officer?’

Nair grinned. ‘Police reserve. I always carry a spare warrant card. Do you want to see it?’

Stafford shook his head. ‘I’ll take it on trust.’

Gunnarsson looked up at Hardin malevolently. ‘You lousy bastard! I’ll have your balls.’

‘Talk to me like that again and I’ll kick your teeth in,’ said Hardin sharply. ‘Any injuries can be put down to resisting arrest.’

‘Yes,’ said Nair. ‘I would advise a still tongue.’

Gunnarsson twisted around to face him. ‘What’s the charge? I’ve committed no crime in Kenya.’

‘Oh, we can always think of something,’ said Nair cheerfully.

Hunt wore a baffled expression. ‘I don’t understand all this. Who is this man, and what has he to do with Ol Njorowa?’

‘His name is Gunnarsson and he has nothing whatever to do with Ol Njorowa,’ said Stafford. ‘He tried to get some easy money but didn’t know what he was getting into. Still, he
did
lead us to the funny business at the College. Hardin will tell you all about it.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hardin. ‘Over a beer. We’ve got some sixpacks cooling in the lake; let’s go get them.’

As they walked away Stafford called, ‘Take a beer to the Sergeant,’ then said to Nair, ‘So what do we do about him?’ He indicated Gunnarsson.

‘Not much. He’ll keep until Chip comes back. Of course, we’ll have to feed him.’

‘Yeah,’ said Gunnarsson. ‘If there’s any beer going I’d like a can. And what’s this about Ol Njorowa? I figured the place wasn’t kosher but I couldn’t put my finger on what’s wrong about it.’

‘Hardin always said you were smart,’ admitted Stafford. ‘But not, I think, smart enough. You got in over your head, Gunnarsson. One of my associates described it elegantly as the clash of nations.’

Gunnarsson looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

One of the nations was preparing for its part in the clash.

Brice looked at Patterson stonily. ‘So Gunnarsson went out to Crescent Island. Why?’

‘I couldn’t ask him; he wasn’t within shouting distance,’ said Patterson acidly. ‘But I think he’s chasing after some Indian—a Sikh. He was making enquiries about the driver of a Kenatco taxi in the hotel car park and then hired the hotel boat to take him to the island. The boatman wouldn’t wait for him because someone wanted to go fishing. He promised Gunnarsson he’d pick him up in a couple of hours.’ He looked at his watch. ‘That was nearly an hour ago. I left Joe Baiya on watch and came back here to report. You said not to use the telephone in this business.’

‘So I did.’ Brice tapped a ballpoint pen on the desk and stared unseeingly at Dirk Hendriks. ‘A Sikh in a Kenatco taxi. That’s something new.’

‘And interesting,’ said Hendriks.

‘It gets more interesting,’ said Patterson. ‘I had another look at the taxi—a Mercedes just like Kenatco uses, but I don’t think it’s theirs. It had three antennas and a signal strength meter on the dashboard. A professional trailing job.’

Brice sat straighter in his chair. ‘Gunnarsson told us about that. I didn’t know whether or not to believe him.’ He stood up and paced the room. ‘If it isn’t one damn thing it’s another. We get rid of Stafford and now we’ve got this man Gunnarsson pushing in. I’d like to know why.’

‘Are we sure Stafford has gone?’ asked Patterson.

Hendriks nodded. ‘Our man in Nairobi reported in person fifteen minutes ago. Stafford left on the morning flight. He checked out of the Norfolk early and changed his Kenyan money at the airport bank like a good boy. Our man saw the record—he has good contacts at the airport. Both Stafford and his man, Curtis, are on the passenger list.’

‘But did anyone
see
them leave?’ persisted Patterson.

‘Forget Stafford,’ snapped Brice. ‘Our immediate concern is Gunnarsson and, more important, with whoever is following him. I don’t like it.’ He stood up. ‘Since they’re both conveniently to hand on Crescent Island I propose that we find out what they’re doing there. Come on.’

The three of them left the office and, on the way through the entrance hall, Brice collected the black who presided behind the reception desk.

Hunt said, ‘That’s the damnedest story I’ve ever heard.’

Hardin chuckled. ‘Isn’t it, though? Not long ago Max asked me if I thought that running down Biggie and Hank would lead to what’s happening here in Kenya. Really weird. If Gunnarsson hadn’t tried to pull a switch then the Ol Njorowa crowd might have got away with it. Brice and Hendriks are damned unlucky.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘There’s one person I’m really sorry for.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Mrs Hendriks back in London. I liked her—a real nice lady.’

‘Perhaps she’s in it up to her neck just as much as her husband.’

Hardin drained his beer can and then crushed it flat. ‘Max says not, and he’s known her for a long time. He knew her before she married Hendriks. Apparently he got her out of a jam once before; some trouble her brother was in. That’s why she went to him when I appeared with my story and Hendriks was away in South Africa. If she was in cahoots with Dirk she’d have kept her mouth shut. No, I think this is going to hurt her bad when the news gets out.’

Hunt looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

‘Okay.’ Hardin picked up a beer can and tossed it to Hunt. ‘Give that to Curtis on your way. It must be as hot as Hades up there. Tell him I’ll relieve him for the afternoon watch. And check with Max before you go. He might want you to do something at Ol Njorowa.’

‘Right.’ Hunt looked up at the ridge. ‘Funny chap, Curtis. Never says much, does he?’

Hardin grinned. ‘The Sergeant is the only guy I know who only talks when he has something to say. Everybody else goes yacketty-yack all the time. But when he does say something, for Christ’s sake, take notice.’

Hunt reported to Stafford that he was leaving. Stafford said, ‘Alan, is there a way into Ol Njorowa other than the front gate?’