Windfall

The facts in Pasternak's mind rearranged themselves into a different pattern. Another security crowd! 'You said "a working vacation." How much is work and how much vacation?'

'About fifty-fifty,' said Hardin. 'Max Stafford, my boss, is in Nairobi too. We're giving Kenya the once-over to see if it's ripe for us to move in.' He thought for a moment. 'Damn it; I'll bet that's why Gunnarsson is here. I'll tell Stafford.' He sipped his coffee. 'Getting any action around here?'

Pasternak smiled genially. 'You know better than to ask that, Ben. You're not in the Company any more and, even if you were, I wouldn't tell you i damned thing and you know it.' He leaned forward. 'I've got the idea you aren't here just to talk about old times, so why don't you spill it?'

'You always were sharp,' said Hardin with a grin. 'It's like this. Stafford has Europe pretty much tied up. Our clients are the multinational corporations and a couple of them aren't happy about their security out here, so they want Stafford to set up shop in Kenya. Well, he's not going to do it blind, and he'll need more than two clients to make it profitable, so he's here to see for himself. Follow me so far?"

'You're doing fine,' said Pasternak dryly. 'Come to the point.'

'We ran across a couple of guys who seem to be the cat's whiskers in our line, very smooth and efficient. Trouble is that Stafford thinks they're connected with the Kenya People's Union and that's bad. If Stafford is thinking of setting up a permanent office here he can't afford to be mixed up with a banned political party.'

'It would be the kiss of death if it came out,' agreed Pasternak soberly. He reached for a pen. 'Who are these guys?'

'A black Kenyan called Pete Chipende and a Sikh, Nair Singh. Know them?'

Pasternak was so taken by surprise that his pen made a scrawled line on the pad. He controlled himself and wrote down the names. 'No, but I guess I can find out, given time.' His mind was busy with the implications of what he had just heard. 'What kind of a guy is Stafford?'

'Not bad – so far,' said Hardin judiciously. 'He hasn't cut any corners yet, not that I know of.'

'Maybe I'll meet him some time,' said Pasternak. 'What about a drink together?'

'Why not? We're staying at the Norfolk.'

'I'm busy today, but maybe I'll give you a ring tomorrow. Okay?'

'That's fine. Stafford's an interesting guy; he was in British army intelligence – a colonel.'

'Was he? I look forward to meeting him.'

Hardin took his leave and Pasternak seated himself before the typewriter again and composed another request for information. This time the subject was Max Stafford and the telex was to be sent, after coding, to the American Embassy in London. After a moment's thought he wrote another request for information on Hardin and addressed it to Langley.

Kenya was becoming livelier, thought Pasternak.

***

Gunnarsson was in the Thorn Tree cafe at the New Stanley hotel having drinks with Dirk Hendriks. As he had been leaving the American Embassy he had heard a man saying to the marine guard, 'My name is Dirk Hendriks. Where do I go to find out about Henry Hendrix, the man who was kidnapped into Tanzania?'

The marine pointed. 'Ask at the desk, sir.'

Gunnarsson touched Hendriks on the arm. 'Are you Hank Hendrix's cousin?'

Hendriks turned and looked at Gunnarsson in surprise. 'Yes, I am.'

'I'm John Gunnarsson. I was there.'

'You were where?'

'With your cousin when he was kidnapped." Gunnarsson jerked his thumb towards the inquiry desk. 'You'd better talk with me before you butt your head against that brick wall.'

Dirk looked at him interestedly. 'You mean you were kidnapped, too?"

'Yeah. That's why I'm not too sharp on my feet. They made us walk out and I was stuck full of thorns.'

'I've got my car here,' said Hendriks. 'No need to walk. Where shall we go?'

'I'm staying at the New Stanley,' said Gunnarsson. 'We can have a drink at the Thorn Tree.'

The Thorn Tree was a Nairobi institution, being an open air cafe serving light refreshments. In the centre grew a large acacia, tall and spreading wide to give pleasant shade and which gave the Thorn Tree its name. The peculiarity which made the Thorn Tree different was the notice board which surrounded the trunk of the tree. Here it was the custom to leave messages for friends and it was a commonplace to say, 'If you want to find out where I am I'll leave a message on the thorn tree.' A local beer company even provided message pads, and it certainly did no harm to the profits of the cafe.

They sat down at one of the few available tables and Hendriks caught a waiter on the fly and ordered drinks. He resumed the conversation they had been having in the car. 'And that was the last you saw of my cousin?'

'Yeah. Then we heard shots and the guys around us laughed.'

'But you didn't see his body.'