Windfall

Nair said, 'Non-citizens cannot hold controlling interests in businesses in Kenya. There was a brisk trade in front men -Kenyans who would apparently own shares but who did not actually do so. Pure legal fakery. It was Mzee Kenyatta who coined the phrase, "business prostitute", wasn't it?'

'That's right,' said Chip. 'He made it illegal. Colonel Lovejoy is okay, though; he's been in Kenya forever. An old man now. Peacock is a missionary.'

Stafford was baffled. It was a curious mixture. 'How in hell did three crooks get made Trustees of the Ol Njorowa Foundation?'

'It is odd,' agreed Chip. 'What is your interest in the Foundation, Max?'

'I don't know that I have any interest in the Foundation itself. The Foundation is peripheral to my investigation.'

'I wonder…' mused Nair.

Chip said, 'You wonder what?'

'If the Foundation is really peripheral to Max's investigation.'

'Since we don't know what Max is investigating that's hard to say,' observed Chip judiciously.

Stafford sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'All right, boys; suppose we stop talking with forked tongues.'

Chip said, 'Well, if we knew what we were doing it would help. Wouldn't it, Nair?'

'I should think so.'

Stafford said, 'I'll think about it. Meanwhile, if you cross-talk comedians will allow me, 'I'll get on with this.' He turned pages. There were plans of the College which appeared to be quite extensive, involving lecture rooms, laboratories, studies, a library and a residential area. There were sports facilities including a swimming pool, tennis courts and a football field. There was also a large area devoted to experimental plots, something like British garden allotments but more scientific.

Stafford flipped a few pages and found a list of the faculty and caught the name of Alan Hunt. He tapped the name at the top of the page. 'This man, Brice, the Director. Your friend, Hunt, seems to think he's a good man, good for the Foundation. Would you agree?'

'Yes, I would. He's built up the place since he's been there.

He works in well with the agronomists at the University, too.' Nair shrugged. 'I think the University – and the Government – are pleased that the Foundation can take up some of the financial load. Research is expensive.'

But Hunt had said that cash was tight. Stafford ignored that for the moment and flipped back the pages to the beginning – to the Trustees. 'How long have these three jokers been on the Board of Trustees?'

'. 'I don't know,' said Chip. 'But we can find out. Can't we, Nair?'

'I should think so,' said Nair. 'Not much difficulty there.'

The telephone rang and Stafford picked it up, then held it out to Chip. 'For you.'

He listened, answering in monosyllables and not speaking English. Then he put down the phone, and said, 'Gunnarsson is up and about. He's at the New Stanley, having a coffee at the Thorn Tree.' He stood up. 'I'll be about his business. Coming, Nair?'

'Might as well. Nothing to do here except drink Max's beer, and I can't.' He joined Chip at the door.

Chip turned, and said softly, 'I hope you'll make up your mind about telling us what this is about, Max. It would be better for all of us.' The door closed behind them.

Stafford seriously doubted that. If Hardin was right and a proscribed political party was looking for loot to replenish its war chest there was too much of it about floating relatively loose for him to take chances. He spent the rest of the afternoon concocting a suitable story which would satisfy Chip and Nair, and then went to see Hardin who was in his room packing.

Hardin went back to London. Farrar duly arrived and wasted no time. He whisked the two heirs down to Naivasha. Unknown to him Gunnarsson went, too, and they all stayed at the Lake Naivasha Hotel. And, unknown to any of them, Chip and Nair were there. A real cosy gathering. Stafford stayed in Nairobi digging a little deeper into the curious matter of the Trustees, although he would dearly have liked to be a fly on the wall when Farrar, Hendrix, Hendriks and Brice got together in Brice's office.

They stayed in Naivasha for a total of three days and then returned to Nairobi. Farrar and Dirk took the night flight to London, and Stafford wired Hardin to expect them. Gunnarsson moved into the New Stanley with Hendrix, and Stafford sat back wondering what was to happen next. Sooner or later he would have to make a move, but he didn't know the move to make. It was like playing chess blindfold, but he knew he would have to do something before distribution of the estate was made and Gunnarsson and Hendrix departed over the horizon, disappearing with three million pounds. Stafford badly needed ammunition – bullets to shoot – and he hoped Hardin would find something.

Chip came to see him. 'You wanted to know when the various Trustees of the Foundation were appointed.'

'I could bear to know.'

Chip grinned. 'Lovejoy and Peacock are founder Trustees; they've been on the Board since 1950. The others all came on at the same time in 1975.'