Windfall

Stafford sighed. 'You took a bullet in your shoulder back in Los Angeles. Hardin bound it up. You should have a hole in you so where is it?'

'I heal real good,' said Hendrix sullenly.

'You're the biggest liar since Ananias,' said Stafford. 'You ought to have your mouth washed out with soap. You're not Hendrix, so who are you?'

He hesitated, and Nair said, 'Why did someone want you dead? Is it because your name is Hendrix?'

'That's it,' said Chip. He laughed. 'There's an open season on Hendrixes. Of course, it's illegal; game shooting is prohibited in Kenya.'

'But not in Tanzania,' said Nair. 'It's legal there. They could get away with it.'

'Maybe someone wants a stuffed Hendrix head on his wall,' said Chip. 'A trophy.'

'The eyes would have to be glass,' said Nair. 'Could they match the colour?'

'I believe they're using plastic these days,' said Chip. 'They can do anything with plastic.'

The crazy crosstalk got to Hendrix. 'Shut up, you nigger bastard!' he shouted.

There was a dead silence before Chip said coldly, 'You don't talk that way to the man with the gun.' In the distance there was a coughing roar and Hendrix jerked. 'A lion,' said Chip. 'Maybe we should leave him to the lions. Maybe they want a trophy.'

A choked sob came from Hendrix. Stafford said, 'You've been under observation ever since you left the States. We know you're not Hendrix. Tell us who you are and we'll leave you alone.'

'Dear Jesus!' he said. 'Gunnarsson'll kill me.'

'Gunnarsson won't get near you,' said Stafford. 'Leave him to us. And what the devil do you think nearly happened by the river? You stay being Hendrix and you're a dead man.'

The night noises in the bush were growing in intensity. The lion roared again in the distance and, from quite close, something snarled and something else squealed appallingly. The squalling noise was cut off sharply and Chip put another tree branch on the fire. 'A leopard caught a baboon,' he said. Nair picked up his rifle and stood up, staring into the darkness.

It got to Hendrix; his eyes rolled and he shivered violently. He'd had a hard time that day. He'd been kidnapped, nearly murdered, and now he was being interrogated by armed strangers who apparently knew everything about him except his name and in a place where animals were murdering each other. No wonder he cracked.

'You'll keep me safe from Gunnarsson. You guarantee it?'

Stafford glanced at Chip who nodded. He said, 'We'll put you in a safe place where no one will know where you are. But you'll have to co-operate. Tell us.'

Hendrix still hesitated. 'Anyone got a cigarette?' Chip took a packet from his pocket and shook one out, and Hendrix lit it with a burning twig from the fire. He took a long draught of smoke into his lungs and it seemed to calm him. 'All right. My name's Jack Corliss and Gunnarsson propositioned me a few weeks ago. Christ; I wish he'd never come near me.'

The story was moderately simple. Corliss worked in a bank in New York. He was a computer buff and had found a way to fiddle the electronic books and Gunnarsson had caught him at it. From then on it was straight blackmail. Stafford did not think Gunnarsson had to try too hard because Corliss, was bent already.

'I had to read a lot of stuff about Hendrix,' said Corliss. 'About his family. Then there were tape recordings – a lot of them. Hendrix talking with Gunnarsson. I don't think Hendrix knew he was being taped. Gunnarsson got him to talk a lot about himself; it was real friendly. Gunnarsson got him drunk a couple of times and some good stuff came out.'

'Good for anyone wanting to impersonate Hendrix,' said Chip.

Corliss nodded. 'It looked great. Hendrix was a loner; he had no family. Gunnarsson said it would be dead easy.'

'Dead being the operative word,' said Stafford. 'What else was he offering you, apart from the chance of staying out of jail?' Corliss avoided his eyes. 'Let's have it all.'

'A quarter of a million bucks,' he mumbled. 'Gunnarsson said I'd have to have a hunk of dough to make it look good afterwards.'

'One twelfth of the take,' Stafford said. 'You taking the risk and Gunnarsson taking the cream. What a patsy you were, Corliss. Do you think you'd have lived to enjoy it?'

'For Christ's sake! I had no goddamn choice. Gunnarsson had me by the balls.'

'Where is Hendrix now?'

'How would I know?' demanded Corliss. 'I never even met the guy.'

'Terminated with extreme prejudice,' said Chip. 'That's the CIA expression isn't it?'

Stafford nodded. 'No one knew he was in New York except Hardin. I think that's why Hardin was fired, and I think Hardin was bloody lucky – it could have happened to him. But Gunnarsson underestimated Hardin; he never thought resentment would push Hardin into going to England.'

'What happens to me now?' asked Corliss apathetically.

'Chip and Nair will take you away and put you in a safe place. You'll have clothing and food but no freedom until this is all over. After that we'll get you back to the States where you'd better get lost. Agreed, Chip?'