Windfall

'They were expecting to hear shots,' said Chip. 'Let's hope they can't tell the difference between an Uzi and a Kalashnikov. But they're pretty far away.' He bent down and began going through the pockets of the dead man.

Stafford walked to the river bank which here was about six feet high. The river moved sluggishly and the body of the man he had shot had not drifted far. He was the first man Stafford had ever killed as far as he knew and he felt a little sick. His soldiering had been mostly in peacetime and even in those faraway days in Korea it was surprising how rarely you saw the enemy you were shooting at. And later they did not go too much for bodies in Military Intelligence.

Chip said, 'No identification; just this.' He held up a wad of currency. 'Kenya twenty-shilling notes.' He put them into his pocket. 'Help me get his clothes off.'

'Why strip him?'

Chip nodded towards Hendrix. 'He's not going to move far or fast without clothes and boots. And we don't have much time; not more than a few minutes. These men will be expected back and when they don't show someone will come looking.'

While Stafford was unlacing the Tanzanian's boots Chip stripped him of his bloody and bullet-ripped jacket and, together, they took off his trousers. Undressing a dead man is peculiarly difficult. He does not co-operate. Then they rolled the body to the edge of the bank and dropped it over the side. It fell with a splash into the muddy water. The other body had gone.

'No one will find them now,' said Chip. 'This looks like a likely pool for crocodiles. The crocs will take them and wedge them under water until they ripen enough to eat.' It was a gruesome thought.

They dressed Hendrix and he did not co-operate, either. He was almost in a state of catatonia. Stafford noted that Hendrix had no scar on either shoulder, a scar which ought to have been there. He said nothing, and looked up when Chip said, 'One of your problems is solved; you've separated Hendrix from Gunnarsson. How long do you want to keep it that way?'

That hadn't occurred to Stafford. He said, 'We'll discuss it later. Let's get the hell out of here.'

They hoisted Hendrix to his feet and Stafford slapped his face hard twice with an open palm. Hendrix shook his head and put up his hand to rub his cheek. 'What did you do that for?' he asked, but the imbecilic vacuous look in his eyes was fading.

'To pound some sense into you,' Stafford said. 'If you don't want to die you've got to move.'

A slow comprehension came to him. 'Christ, yes!' he said.

Chip was brushing the ground with a leafy branch, scattering dust over the few bloodstains and eliminating all signs of their presence. He walked over to where he had fired the submachine-gun and picked up all the cartridge cases he could find, then he tossed them and the two Kalashnikovs into the river. 'Let's get Nair,' he said, so Stafford picked up his rifle and they went from that place.

They struck away from the river and headed north-east for the border, going up the narrow gully they had come down until they got to the comparative safety of the other side of the ridge where they rested a while and had a brief council of war. At a gesture from Chip Nair stood guard on Hendrix and he and Stafford withdrew from earshot. 'What now?' said Chip.

Up to that moment Stafford had had no opportunity for constructive thinking; all his efforts had been bent on staying alive and out of trouble and he had not considered the implications of what he had seen. Those people stripped to trek back to Keekorok troubled him. If they travelled when the sun was up they would get terribly sun-burned, and Chip had indicated that travel at night could be dangerous. He said, 'How far is it to Keekorok from here?'

'About eleven or twelve miles – in a straight line. But no one travels in a straight line in the bush. Say fifteen miles.'

That was a long way; a day's march. Stafford was not worried about Gunnarsson or Kosters. Gunnarsson was tough enough and the young Dutchman looked fit. Michele '

Roche could probably take it, too, but her parents were something else. A sedentary wine merchant who looked as though he liked to sample his own product freely and his elderly wife were going to have a hell of a tough time. He said, 'This is a funny one, Chip. These border raids: has anyone been killed previously?'

Chip shook his head. 'Just robbery. No deaths and not even a rape. They took three Nissans full of Germans about a year ago but they all came back safely.'

'Then why this time?' asked Stafford. 'That was nearly a deliberate murder. It looked almost like a bloody execution.'

'I don't know,' Chip said. 'It beats me.'

'That charming scene in the clearing when Gunnarsson wanted his shoes. Did you notice anything about Hendrix?"

'Yes, he was separated from the others.'