Windfall

Chapter 25

Stafford spent the rest of the morning wandering over the grounds of Ol Njorowa, at first with Hunt and then with Dirk Hendriks. He was shown the propagation sheds, the soil testing laboratory, the fertilizer testing laboratory, the this laboratory and the that laboratory, and the scientific terms were pumped remorselessly into one ear only to escape from the other. However, he managed to keep his end up by showing a halfway intelligent interest while keeping his eyes open.

He came to a few conclusions, the first of which was that Hunt was probably not in Brice's pocket. All the time he was in Hunt's company he noted that they were under discreet surveillance by three men, two blacks and a white, who apparently had nothing better to do than potter about in the middle distance. When Hunt excused himself to go about his business they vanished, too, and Hendriks took over the guided tour. The conclusion was that Hunt was not trusted to steer Stafford away from dangerous areas but that Hendriks was.

A second conclusion was that he was being conned and, had it not been for the bugged picture frame in his bedroom, he might have fallen for it. It was being demonstrated to him with some assiduity that Ol Njorowa was an open book in which he might read from any scientific page. The trouble was that science was a foreign language to him and he could have done with a translator.

At last Dirk looked at his watch. 'Well, that's about it, Max. It's nearly lunchtime. I think you've seen about everything.' He laughed. 'Not that I'm qualified to show you. I don't know all that much about the place myself. Brice was going to give you the tour himself but something came up.'

'Yes,' said Stafford. 'He must be a busy man.' He looked around. 'How big is this place?'

'About six hundred hectares.' Hendriks paused to figure it out. 'A little over two square miles.'

Stafford smiled. 'I couldn't have worked it out so quickly.'

'We have the metric system in South Africa now. It makes you bilingual in mathematics.'

As they strolled in the direction of the Admin Block which was about a quarter of a mile away Stafford thought glumly that one could hide a hell of a lot in two square miles. But could one? Assuming that Ol Njorowa was a going concern as a genuine agricultural college then most of the staff would be genuine agricultural specialists. They would be wandering all over the place and could quite easily stumble across something illicit and wonder what it was. No, thought Stafford; hiding something at Ol Njorowa would not be as easy as all that.

They went into the dining room and threaded their way among the tables to where Brice sat. Judy Hunt was sitting with her brother and waved to him as he passed. He waved back as Dr Odhiambo caught his arm. 'Are you enjoying yourself, Mr Stafford?'

'Very much so,' Stafford assured him.

They sat at Brice's table and Stafford looked around the room which was noisy with animated conversation. Brice said, 'Did you enjoy your flight with Hunt?'

'It was great.' Stafford tasted the soup which was placed before him. 'Alan says hot air ballooning is becoming popular m England. I might take it up when I get back."

Brice grimaced. 'I don't think I'd like a sport where every landing is a crash landing. And when are you going back to England?'

'Any day now. As it is I've been away too long. I have a business to take care of, you know.'

'Yes.' Brice buttered a slice of bread. 'Dirk has been telling me something of what you do. It must be interesting and adventurous.'

'You mean cloak and dagger?' Stafford laughed. 'Not much adventure behind a City desk, Mr Brice.'

'Oh, please call me Charles.' Brice looked up as a waiter came to the table and gave a card to Hendriks who glanced at it and passed it to Brice. They had a brief conversation in murmurs and Hendriks excused himself and left the table. 'An… er… acquaintance of yours has just arrived,' said Brice casually. 'Perhaps he'll join us for lunch.'

'Oh?' Stafford raised his eyebrows. 'Who can that be? I know few people in Kenya.'

'I believe you met him in the Masai Mara at Keekorok. An American called Gunnarsson. I wonder what he wants. Never mind; no doubt we'll find out. And what do you think of Ol Njorowa after your morning's exploration?'

Stafford managed to convey a spoonful of soup to his mouth without spilling a drop. 'A truly remarkable place,' he said. 'You're doing good work here." As he pushed away his soup plate he thought that the next few minutes would probably prove interesting.

'We'll be able to really push it now we have the Hendrykxx inheritance. It's been a hard slog up to now.' Brice looked up as Hendriks and Gunnarsson came into the dining room. 'Would that be Mr Gunnarsson?'

'Yes.' Stafford watched Gunnarsson's face intently and caught the instant change of expression as Gunnarsson saw him sitting next to Brice; from blankness it changed to apprehension and then suspicion.

He and Brice stood up and Hendriks introduced them. 'This is Mr Brice, the Director of the Foundation, and Max Stafford I think you already know.'

'I sure do,' said Gunnarsson as Brice ordered another place set at the table. 'We met at Keekorok.' There was something of a baffled look in his eyes as he stared at Stafford.

'That's right,' said Stafford. 'How are your feet, Mr Gunnarsson?'

Gunnarsson grunted as he sat down. 'Better.' He looked around the table: at Hendriks who was finishing his soup; at Brice who, with bottle poised, was asking blandly if he would like wine; at Stafford who was leaning back to allow a plate to be put before him. Here they all were and what the hell was going on?

Hendriks said, 'I went to the American Embassy and did no better than you, Mr Gunnarsson; a complete blank wall. Have you heard any further news of my cousin?'

'No,' said Gunnarsson briefly. He started on his soup. 'What are you doing in Kenya, Mr Stafford?'

'I'm on holiday,' said Stafford easily.

Gunnarsson grunted. 'If you're like me you don't take vacations.' He looked at Dirk. 'Do you know who he is?'

Hendriks looked surprised. 'Yes; he's Max Stafford."

'But do you know what he does?'

'We were discussing it before you came in,' said Brice. He sipped his wine. 'Must be very interesting work.'

'Mr Gunnarsson is in the same line of business,' observed Stafford. 'But in the United States. You might say that we're competitors, in a way. Or will be.' He smiled at Gunnarsson. 'I'm thinking of expanding my operations.'

'Thinking of moving into the States?' asked Gunnarsson. His smile had no humour in it. 'It's tough going.'

'It can't be worse than Europe,' said Stafford equably.

'Or Kenya.' Gunnarsson finished his soup. 'Funny things happen here, apart from people going missing. The latest is that my car was bugged. A bumper beeper.'

Stafford raised his eyebrows. 'Now who'd do that?'

Gunnarsson shrugged. 'You have the know-how.'

Stafford put down his knife and fork. 'Now look here. I told you I was in Kenya on holiday. Apart from that I'm a friend of the Hendriks family. You would say that, wouldn't you, Dirk?'

'Of course." Hendriks smiled. 'Especially since my wife named our son after you.' His tone was a fraction sour.

Brice said coolly, 'We know all about Mr Stafford. What we don't know is why you are in Kenya, Mr Gunnarsson. You found Henry Hendrix in Los Angeles and delivered him to London. Why should you then accompany him to Kenya where he mysteriously disappears?' He tented his fingers. 'It would appear that you have to make the explanations rather than Max Stafford.'

Gunnarsson looked at him. 'I don't know that I'm required to give an explanation, Mr Brice, but, since you ask, Hendrix wanted me to come with him.' He smiled. 'He's a nice, young guy and we got on well together when I found him. You might say we became friends and I came with him to Kenya at his request.'

Brice shrugged and turned to Stafford. 'Will you really take up ballooning, Max?' He was obviously changing the subject.

'I might. It seems a great sport.'

The conversation became general with Brice holding forth enthusiastically on the future of the Ol Njorowa Foundation now that it was in funds. Gunnarsson made the odd comment from time to time but his main attention seemed to be on his plate. He was aware of an interplay of tensions about the table but was unable to identify the cause. However, it was enough for him to make up his mind that there was something odd about Ol Njorowa. As he put it to himself, it was 'something phoney'. It was not what was said that drew his attention – it was what was not said. For instance, Brice and Hendriks had not said much about the disappearance of Hank Hendrix.

As Stafford sipped his coffee he had a sudden thought. He could put the picture frame bug to some use – a use that Brice could not have foreseen. He put down his cup, and said, 'Mr Gunnarsson; I'd like to have a few words with you.'

'What about?'

'Well, you know that Stafford Security is broadening its activities. I'd like to discuss a few… er… ground rules with you.'

Gunnarsson snorted. 'Ground rules!' He smiled grimly. 'I'm willing to talk, sure.'

'After lunch, in my room?' suggested Stafford.

Gunnarsson drained his coffee cup. 'After lunch is now.'

Stafford said to Brice. 'I hope you'll excuse us. It's not my usual policy to talk business in these circumstances, but since Mr Gunnarsson is here and I have the unexpected opportunity…" His voice tailed off.

'Of course,' said Brice. 'One must always take opportunity by the forelock.'

Stafford rose and left the table followed by Gunnarsson. There was a moment's silence before Brice said, 'I'd like to hear that conversation. Let's go.' They both stood up.

At the door Stafford cast a glance backwards. He saw Gunnarsson following and, beyond, Hendriks and Brice were just rising from the table. He-smiled slightly as he went up the stairs two at a time towards his room. He went in and stood aside to let Gunnarsson enter, then he closed the door. Gunnarsson swung around. 'Stafford; what are you trying to pull?'

'Sit down," said Stafford. 'Take the weight off your feet.' He looked thoughtfully at the Shepherd print on the wall and thought he had better give Hendriks and Brice time to get settled in their listening post so he took out a packet of cigarettes. 'Smoke?'

Gunnarsson took a cigarette and Stafford snapped on his lighter. He lit the cigarettes, taking his time, blew out a plume of smoke, and said, 'Is it true what Brice said? That you delivered Henry Hendrix from the States to London?'

Gunnarsson glowered. 'What's it to you?'

'Not a damn thing. But if it is true then you have some explaining to do.' He held up his hand. 'Not to me, but questions will certainly be asked. Dirk Hendriks will probably go to the police and they'll be asking the questions. They'll want to know why you came to Kenya after delivering the heir. You'd better have some good answers. I don't believe the yarn you spun to Brice.'

'I'm not here to talk about me,' said Gunnarsson. 'What about you? What ate you doing in Kenya? You were in the Masai Mara when Hank was kidnapped, and now you're here. It's too goddamn coincidental.'

'You heard about that downstairs,' said Stafford tiredly. 'I'm a family friend of the Hendriks's.' He paused. 'Well, not really. I'm more of a friend of Alix Hendriks. I might have married her at one time, and Dirk knows it. I don't think he likes me much.'

'Is it true his wife named the baby after you?' When Stafford nodded Gunnarsson said, 'Yeah, I guess he could be sore about that.' He pulled on his cigarette. 'But you were at Keekorok at the right time and pulling heroics. And now someone is trailing me.'

'When did you discover that?'

'Yesterday – about midday at the Lake Naivasha Hotel.'

Stafford spread his hands. 'Then it wasn't me. I was already here talking to Alan Hunt about a balloon trip. You can go down and ask him; he's in the dining room.' He flicked ash into the ashtray. 'I have no interest in you, Gunnarsson. But you must have been doing something for someone to take notice of you, and it's my guess that it's connected with your coming to Kenya with young Hendrix.'

'Aw, hell!' said Gunnarsson. 'It's like this. Here's this young guy still wet behind the ears who's just inherited six million bucks. He talked to me about it. He was worried, see? Hank wasn't exactly stupid; just inexperienced. He talked me into coming along as protection.'

'As a bodyguard?'

'Yeah; something like that.'

Stafford laughed. 'Gunnarsson, this is Max Stafford you're talking to. Better men than you have tried to con me. The boss of Gunnarsson Associates wouldn't take on that job himself; you'd assign it to one of your goons. Now let's have the real story.'

Gunnarsson sighed. 'Okay, why not? The truth is that I was standing right next to six million bucks and I was trying to figure a way to cut me a slice. I talked Hank into letting me come along with him to Kenya.'

'You were going to con him into something,' said Stafford flatly.

'I guess I was. I just didn't know exactly how. I was trying to work out a scam when he was kidnapped and maybe killed. How do you like that?'

Stafford got up and walked to the window. Gunnarsson sounded properly aggrieved and his story was cleverly near the truth. All that Gunnarsson had left out was that he had substituted Corliss for Hendrix in the United States. Stafford hoped that Brice and Hendriks were absorbing all this.

He looked out over the grounds of Ol Njorowa and stiffened when he saw the sheet of newspaper caught against the acacia on the other side of the fence. Nair had wasted no time in getting the prints developed and that meant they were ready to hold the conference.

He turned and said, 'Well, all this has nothing to do with me.' He picked up his suitcase, put it on the bed, and opened it. He took his toilet kit and began to put away his shaving tackle.

Gunnarsson said, 'What are you doing?'

Stafford zipped the leather case closed and dropped it into his suitcase. 'What does it look as though I'm doing? I'm packing. I came here for the sole reason of having a balloon flight with Alan Hunt. I had the balloon flight this morning so that's it. When I've got this suitcase packed I'll be going down to say goodbye to Brice, Dirk and the Hunts. Then I'm going back to Nairobi. If you want a lift you're welcome.'

'I have my own car.'

Stafford became sarcastic. 'And if you want notice of my further movements I'll be leaving for London on the flight tomorrow morning or the day after, depending on whether I can get a seat. Does that satisfy you?'

Gunnarsson watched him folding a shirt. 'Why should you want to satisfy me?'

'I wouldn't know,' said Stafford. 'But this was intended to be a holiday, the first I've had for three years, and it hasn't really turned out that way. I became involved, quite accidentally, in the kidnapping of a group of tourists, and since then everyone has been questioning my motives. Even Charles Brice has been asking pointed questions. Well, I've had enough. I'm going home.' He opened drawers to make sure he had packed everything, then closed his suitcase hoping that Brice was taking it all in.

He said, 'Gunnarsson; what do you think happened to young Henry Hendrix? You were there.'

'I don't know what to think. How about you?'

'I think the group was kidnapped by Tanzanians. It's happened before. I think Hendrix was killed, probably accidentally, and buried. Probably not even buried – the scavengers would take care of him. And I think you're wasting your time, Gunnarsson. You've lost out on your con game. Why don't you go home as I'm doing?'

Gunnarsson regarded Stafford sardonically. 'It'll be a long, long day before I take advice from you. There's something goddamn phoney going on here, and if you can't see it then I can. I'm sticking around to do some probing.'

Stafford shrugged and picked up his case. 'Suit yourself.' He walked to the door. 'I suppose we'll meet again, probably in New York. Brace yourself for a fight.'

'I fight rough,' warned Gunnarsson.

'I don't mind that." Stafford stood at the door, his hand on the handle. 'Are you coming down or do you think you've inherited this bedroom?'

'Go to hell!' said Gunnarsson, but he stood up and followed Stafford down the stairs. On the ground floor they parted, Gunnarsson going back into the dining room and Stafford to the Nissan to deposit his suitcase. As he walked back to the entrance of the Admin Block he was well satisfied. The conversation he had had with Gunnarsson had been really aimed at Brice and Hendriks and he hoped the picture frame bug had been in working condition.

On his return to the dining room he saw Brice and Hen driks at their table talking to Gunnarsson. As he sat down Brice said, 'Mr Gunnarsson tells us you're leaving.'

'That's right. I'm here to say goodbye and to thank you for your hospitality.' Stafford looked at Hendriks. 'Sorry about your cousin, Dirk. Keep in touch and let me know what happens. I might be moving around when I get home but letters addressed to the office will find me.'

'I'll do that.'

Brice said, 'Did you and Mr Gunnarsson resolve your differences? I hope so.'

Stafford laughed. 'We have no differences – not here.' A waiter put down a cup before him and filled it with coffee. 'Those will begin in New York.' Gunnarsson snorted, and Stafford said evenly, 'That's why I told Dirk I'd be moving around.'

'You think you can muscle in while I'm away?' Gunnarsson chuckled. 'Not a chance, buster.'

Stafford drank his coffee, then turned to Brice and held out his hand. 'Nice to have known you, Mr Brice – Charles. I hope your plans for Ol Njorowa turn out well.' They shook' hands and Stafford got up and went around the table. He clapped Hendriks on the shoulder. 'When do you expect to be back in London, Dirk?'

'I don't know. I seem to have my hands full here.'

'You don't mind if I pop in to see Alix and my godson, do you?'

'Of course not. She'll be glad to see you.'

Stafford looked across the room. 'I'd better catch Alan Hunt before he leaves. Goodbye, and thanks for everything.'

With a wave he went striding across the room to intercept Hunt at the doorway of the dining room. 'Alan, I'm going now. Thanks for the balloon flight.'

'I only did it for the champagne,' said Hunt with a grin.

Stafford put a hand on Hunt's elbow and steered him towards the entrance hall. 'I'd like to have a word with you. You were born in Kenya, weren't you?'

'That's right.'

'So it's your native country. What do you think of the way it's run.'

'On the whole not bad. The government makes mistakes, but what government doesn't.' Hunt frowned. 'What are you getting at, Max?' lt; They walked down the steps into the sunlight and towards Stafford's Nissan. He said, 'Would you consider yourself a patriot?'

'That's a hell of a question,' said Hunt. 'You mean dying for my country and all that?'

'I'd rather you lived for it,' said Stafford. 'Look, Alan; a problem has come up. Do you know where Safariland is?'

'Of course.'

Stafford checked the time. 'Could you meet me there in half an hour. There's a few people I want you to meet."

'I suppose so,' said Hunt uncertainly. 'What's this all about?'

'You'll be told when you get there.' Stafford opened the door of the Nissan and got in. 'I'd rather you didn't tell anyone where you were going. Maybe you'd better invent a shopping errand in Naivasha.'

Hunt smiled faintly. 'It sounds very mysterious – but all right.'

'I'll see you there.' Stafford reversed out of the parking slot, waved, and drove towards the gates of Ol Njorowa very slowly because of the sleeping policemen. He looked in the mirror and saw Brice walking from the Admin Block to meet Hunt. He hoped Hunt had sense enough to keep his mouth shut as he had been told.