Windfall

They talked some more and then Nair moved restlessly. 'Still no sign of them. A long time even for lion.'

'Perhaps there's a track leading off the road just over the hill,' said Stafford.

'No track,' said Nair positively.

He said, 'Then he's gone off the road, track or no track.'

'Adam wouldn't do that; not without giving us a signal.' Chip stubbed out his cigarette. 'Let's move it, Nair. Just to the top there.'

Nair turned the key in the ignition and they moved off. At the top of the rise they stopped and looked down into the little valley. The Nissan was standing in the centre of the road below them about 400 yards away. There was nothing unusual about that; tour buses stood stationary like that all over the Reserve and it was normally the sign that something unusual had been spotted a kill, perhaps.

Chip took binoculars and scanned the vehicle. 'Get down there, Nair,' he said quietly.

They coasted down the hill and came to a halt next to the Nissan. There was not a living soul in it.

***

The first bizarre thought that came into Stafford's head was the story of the Mary Celeste. Chip shot a spate of words to Nair in a language he did not understand, probably Swahili, and they both got out, ignoring the deserted vehicle and looking about at the landscape. There must have been a watercourse in the valley, now dried up, because there was a small culvert to take water under the road, and the bush was particularly thick and green.

Stafford and Curtis got out to join them, and Chip said sharply, 'Don't come closer.'

Stafford said, 'Where the hell have they all gone?' It was an offence to get out of a car in the Reserve; you could lose tourists that way, and that would be bad for business.

Chip stooped and picked up something which glittered in the sun – a pair of dark glasses with one lens broken. 'They didn't go voluntarily.'

'Kidnapped!' Stafford said incredulously. 'Who'd want to do that?'

'The Jeshi la Mgambo' said Nair. 'Right, Chip?'

'I'd say so.' Chip opened the door of the Nissan and looked inside. 'It's stripped,' he said. 'No cameras, binoculars or anything else. Everything gone.'

Nair looked back along the road. 'They'll have had a man up there watching us.' He turned and pointed. 'Up there, too. They could still be around.'

'Too damned right,' said Chip. He moved quickly to their own Nissan and opened the door at the back. Stafford had inspected the vehicle so he did not know where he got them but when he turned around Chip was holding two rifles. He tossed one to Nair and said to Stafford, 'Can you use one of these?'

'I have been known to,' Stafford said dryly. 'Now will you kindly tell me what's happening?'

'Later,' Chip said, and gave him the rifle.

'I can use one of those, too,' said Curtis.

'You're going to Keekorok as fast as you can drive,' said Chip. He took a notebook and pen from his pocket and scribbled rapidly. 'Give this to the manager of the Lodge; he'll radio the Police Post at Mara New Bridge.' Going to the driver's seat he fished out the map of Masai Mara and marked it. 'That's where we are now. Okay, Sergeant; move!'

Curtis looked at Stafford, who nodded. 'Which truck?' he asked.

'Ours,' said Chip. 'But wait.' He went to the back again and when he straightened he was holding a sub-machine-gun, one of the little Israeli Uzis which are supposed to be one of the best designs in the world. He also had two packs of rifle ammunition and a spare magazine for the Uzi. 'On your way,' he said. 'Don't stop for anyone. If anyone tries, keep your head down and run them over.'

The crackle of authority in Chip's voice brought an automatic, 'Yes, sir,' from Curtis. He climbed behind the driver's seat, the wheels spun, and he was away in a cloud of dust.

Stafford checked the rifle. A sporting and not a military weapon, it was bolt action with a five round magazine. The magazine was full so he put a round up the spout, set the safety catch, took out the magazine to put another round in, then put the rest of the ammunition into his pockets. Chip watched and nodded approvingly. 'You've been there before,' he said.

Nair was kneeling by the Nissan looked at the dusty road. 'Six of them,' he said. 'Six, I think.'

'Six of who?' Stafford demanded irascibly.

'Jeshi la Mgambo,' said Chip. 'Tanzanians. The so-called Tanzanian Police Reserve. A paramilitary force with bad discipline. This has happened three or four times before. They come across the border, pick up a busload of tourists, and hustle them across the border. Then they're picked clean of everything they've got and left to walk back to Keekorok. The government has sent several protest notes to the Tanzanians.' He shrugged. 'It stops for a while but then they start again.'

'And they're armed?'

His reply was brief and chilling. 'Kalashnikovs.'