Windfall

'Not until we pass the Police Post.'

'Then there are more animals in the Reserve than here?'

'More?' Chip laughed. 'Two million wildebeest make the migration from the Serengeti to the Mara every year.' Stafford thought that was a lot of venison on the hoof. Chip rummaged around and found a map. 'Here's a map of the Mara. I thought you'd like to see what you're getting into.'

At first glance Stafford thought he was not getting into much. He checked the scale and found there were large chunks of damn-all cut through by what were described as 'motorable tracks.' Since the horrible road from Narok had been described as a main road he regarded that with reservation. There were two lodges, Keekorok and Mara Serena, and Governor's Camp; also about a dozen camp sites scattered mainly in the north. Streams and rivers abounded, there were a couple of swamps thrown in and, as Chip had said, a couple of million wildebeest and an unknown number of other animals, some of which were illustrated on the map.

He said, 'Is there really a bird called a drongo? I thought that was an Australian epithet.'

They arrived at the Police Post at the Olemelepo Gate and Nair drew to a halt. Chip said, 'I'll see to it. Be my guest.' He got out and strolled across to the police officer who sat at a table outside the Post.

Stafford got out to stretch his legs and when he slapped his jacket a cloud of dust arose. Curtis joined him. 'Enjoying yourself, Sergeant?'

Curtis brushed himself down and said ironically, 'Not so dusty.'

'People pay thousands for what you're going through.'

'If I have a beer it'll hiss going down.'

Stafford unfolded the map and checked the distance to Keekorok Lodge. 'Not long to go – only eight miles to your beer.'

Chip came back and they started off again and well within the hour the beer was hissing in the Sergeant's throat.

Chapter 13

Keekorok was 105 miles south of the Equator and at an altitude of 5,258 feet; there was a sign at the front of the Lodge which said so. It was a pleasant sprawling place with an unbuttoned air about it, a place to relax and be comfortable. There was a patio with a bar overlooking a wide lawn and that evening Stafford and Chip sat over drinks chatting desultorily while watching vervet monkeys scamper about in the fading light of sunset.

'We might as well do the tourist bit tomorrow,' said Chip. 'We'll go and look at animals. I'll be courier – I know the Mara well.'

Stafford said, 'I want to be here when Gunnarsson and Hendrix arrive.'

'They won't be here until six in the evening.'

'How do you know?'

'Because that's what the courier has been told,' said Chip patiently.

Stafford sat up straight. 'What do you mean by that?'

'I mean that Adam Muliro, the driver, has been told when to deliver the party. I told him.' Chip paused and added with a grin, 'He's my brother-in-law.'

'Another?' said Stafford sceptically.

'You know us Third World people – we believe in the extended family. Now take it easy, Max.' He spread out a map on the table. 'I'll show you hippo here, at Mara New Bridge.' He tapped his finger on the map.

The River Mara ran a twisting course north to south and the place where it was bridged was close to the Tanzanian border. If the scale of the map was anything to go by the road ran within three hundred yards of the border. Stafford thought of the different political philosophies of the two countries; the Marxist state of Tanzania and Kenya with its mixed economy. He had heard there was no love lost between them. 'Does Kenya have problems with Tanzania?"

Chip shrugged. 'The border is closed from time to time. There's a bit of friction; nothing much. Some poaching. There's an anti-poaching post here at Ngiro Are.' He spoke of the collapse of the East African Federation; the attempt of the three ex-British African nations to work in unison. 'It couldn't work – the ideas were too different. Tanzania went socialist -. a totally different political philosophy from ours. As for Uganda…" He made a dismissive gesture. 'With Amin in power it was impossible.' He tapped the map again. 'You see the problem?'

Stafford frowned. 'Not really.'

'I have my finger on it,' Chip said. 'South of the border is Tanzania. Until 1918 it was German East Africa, then it was British Tanganyika, and now Tanzania. But look at the border – a line drawn straight with a ruler by nineteenth-century European bureaucrats. The country is the same on both sides and so are the people. Here they are Masai.' His finger moved south to Tanzania. 'And there they are Masai. A people separated by nineteenth-century politics.' He sounded bitter. 'That's why we have the Shifta trouble in the north.'

'What's the Shifta trouble?'