Windfall

Stafford said sarcastically, 'I'm mixing with a real egg-head crowd. First Chip with Latin, now you with Greek.'

Hardin scratched the angle of his jaw. 'You've had a funny feeling about Hendriks all along, haven't you? Mind me why?"

'I'm suspicious about everyone in this case,' Stafford said. 'The more I know about it the stranger it becomes.' He shrugged. 'As for Dirk I suppose it's a gut feeling. I've never really liked him even before you came along and blew the whistle on Gunnarsson.'

Hardin looked at him shrewdly. 'Something to do with his wife?'

'Good God, no! At least, not in the way you're thinking. Alix means nothing to me apart from the fact that we're friends. But you don't like to see friends get hurt. She's a wealthy woman and Dirk is battening on her, or was until this Hendrykxx thing blew up. He's too much the playboy type for my liking.' Stafford changed the subject. 'When you were with the CIA how long did you spend in Kenya?'

'A couple of years.'

'Would you know your way around now?'

'Sure. It hasn't changed much.'

'Do you still have contacts?'

'A few, I guess. It depends on what you want.'

'What I want is to find out more about Pete Chipende and Nair Singh, particularly Chip. I've noticed that he tends to give the orders and Nair jumps.'

Hardin frowned. 'What's the point? They're helping plenty judging by your account.'

'That's just it,' said Stafford. 'They're helping too damn much, and they're too efficient. When we wanted Corliss taken off our hands Chip just pushed off into the bush in the middle of nowhere and turned up two of his friends very conveniently. And there are a few other things. One is that they know soldiering – they're no amateurs at that. In fact, they're thorough all-round professionals. There's also some-thing you said just before you went to England.'

'What was that?'

'You said there'd be others behind Chip and Nair. You said they might not show but they'd be there. I think you're right, and I also think there's an organization, a complex organization, and I want to know what it is before we get into this thing over our heads. Chip is helpful all right, but I'd like to be sure he doesn't help us right into a jail – or a coffin. I don't want to get into any political trouble here.'

Hardin pondered for a moment. 'I don't know who is on the CIA station here right now. I think I'll go along to the Embassy and see if there's anyone there I know."

'Will they talk to you?'

He shrugged. 'It depends. The CIA is no different than any other outfit; some are bastards, others are right guys.' He grimaced. 'But sometimes it's difficult to tell them apart. Gunnarsson turned out to be a bastard.'

'All right,' Stafford said. 'But don't go to the Embassy until we're sure that Gunnarsson isn't there. I'll see Chip about that.' He smiled. 'He can be helpful in that way as much as he likes. I'll have him check Gunnarsson and let you know."

Stafford went back to his room to find the telephone ringing. It was Chip. 'Where have you been?' he asked. 'You walked into the hotel and then disappeared off the face of the earth."

Stafford looked at his watch. Exchanging information with Hardin had taken most of the afternoon. 'I had things to do,' he said uninformatively.

If silence could be said to have surprise in it then that silence had. At last Chip said, 'Some items have come up. I'd like to see you.'

'Come up.'

When Chip came in he said, 'What have you got?"

'Brice,' said Chip. 'You wanted to know about Brice in Zimbabwe. But it was Rhodesia then. Harry and Mary Brice farmed near Umtali on the Sabi River. They had a son, Charles Brice. When UDI came and Rhodesia became independent Charles Brice had a quarrel with his parents and left the country. Later, when the guerillas became active, the farm was destroyed and Harry and Mary Brice were killed.'

Stafford said, 'That checks out with Brice's story.'

'Exactly,' said Chip.

'Where did you get it?'

'I told you. The brothers in Zimbabwe are co-operative You asked to have Brice checked there. He was checked.'

'And he comes out whiter than white.' Stafford did not spend much time thinking about that expression because he was thinking of this, yet another spectacular example of Chip's efficiency. He said, 'Chip, you must have quite an organization behind you. A while ago you needled; because you said I was withholding information. Now, just who the hell are you?'

'Some questions are better not asked,' Chip said.

'All the same, I'm asking.'

'And some questions are better not answered.'

'That's not good enough.'

'It's all you're going to get,' Chip said bluntly. 'Max, don": stir things up – don't muddy the water. It could cause trouble. Trouble for you, for everybody. Just let it slide and accept the help. We have helped, you know.'

'I know you've helped,' said Stafford. 'But I don't know why. I want to know why.'