Windfall

Stafford ticked off points on his fingers. 'One; you could get us rooms at the drop of a hat in any hotel or game lodge I might suggest at the height of the tourist season. That takes pull. Two; you got the information on Brice from Zimbabwe too fast. Three; you could put Adam Muliro into Corliss's party as courier and driver at short notice. Four; in the Masai Mara you could whistle up support to take Corliss into custody at equally short notice. Five; you're too well aware of the identities of foreign agents operating in Kenya to be my ordinary man. Six; when I was talking to Pasternak he rattled off a string of names, all in intelligence, and your name and Nair's were included. I made a crack that we hold a secret service congress and Pasternak didn't disagree. Seven; we were interviewed and photographed by journalists but nothing appeared in the press, and that takes pull too. I'm not surprised you didn't want your picture in the paper – the well-known secret service agent is a contradiction in terms. Eight…' Stafford broke off. 'Chip, as you said in the Mara -i man can run out of fingers this way.'

'I didn't say I had no organization,' said Chip. 'The Kenya People's Union…" He stopped. 'But I'm not going to talk about that.'

'You'd better not,' said Stafford grimly. 'Because you'd be telling me a pack of lies. I'm saving the best until last. Eight; when we entered the Masai Mara you didn't pay; a little bit of economy which was a dead giveaway. You showed some kind of identification which you probably have on you now. Sergeant!'

Before Chip knew it Curtis had stepped from behind and pinioned him and, although he struggled, he was no match for Curtis who had mastered many an obstreperous sailor in his day. 'Okay, Ben,' said Stafford. 'Search him.'

Hardin swiftly went through Chip's pockets, tossing the contents on to the bed where Stafford checked them. He searched Chip's wallet and found nothing, nor did he find any form of identification, except for a driving licence, among the scattering of items on the bed. 'Damn!' he said. 'Try again, Ben.'

Hardin found it in a hidden pocket in Chip's trousers – a plastic card which might have been mistaken for any credit card except that it had Chip's photograph on it. 'All right, Sergeant,' he said mildly. 'You can let him go.'

Curtis released Chip who brushed himself down, straightening his safari suit. Stafford clicked his finger nail against the card and said, 'A colonel, no less,' then added dryly, 'I probably have seniority. Military Intelligence?'

'Yes,' said Chip. 'You shouldn't have done that. I could get you tossed out of the country.'

'You could,' agreed Stafford. 'But you won't. You still need us.' He frowned. 'What puzzles me is why you were interested in us in the first place. Why did you latch on to us?'

Chip shrugged. 'There was a KPU connection. The address Curtis got in London was a KPU safe house. It wasn't as safe as all that because we'd infiltrated and we intercepted Curtis. Naturally we were most interested in why you, a one-time British intelligence agent, were investigating something with the help of the Kenya People's Union. At least you seemed to think you were working with the KPU. As time went on it became even more interesting. Complicated, too.'

Hardin snorted. 'Complicated, he says! Nothing makes any goddamn sense.'

'Tell me,' said Stafford. 'Who were those two men you conjured up in the Masai Mara to take care of Corliss?'

Chip smiled slightly. 'I borrowed a couple of men from the Police Post on the Mara and put them into civilian clothes.'

'And where is Corliss now?'

'About two hundred yards from here,' said Chip calmly. 'In a cell in police headquarters on the corner of Harry Thuku Road. I told you he was quite safe.' He lit another cigarette. 'All right, Max; where do we go from here?'

'Where do you want to go?'

'I'm quite prepared to go on as before.'

'With me picking your chestnuts out of the fire,' said Stafford sarcastically. 'Not as before, Chip. There'll be no secrets and we share information. I'm tired of being blindfolded. You know, there's more to this than Gunnarsson trying to push in with a fake Hendrix. There's a hell of a lot at stake.'

'And what is at stake?' asked Chip.

Stafford stared at him. 'You're not stupid. Suppose you tell me.'

'About twenty-seven million pounds,' he said easily. 'The money Brice didn't declare from the Hendrykxx estate.'

'Balls!' snapped Stafford. 'It's not the money and you know it. But how did you get on to that?'

'Because you were inquisitive about the Ol Njorowa Foundation so was I,' said Chip. 'I rang the Kenya High Commission in London and had someone look at the will. Quite simple, really. But tell me more.'

Stafford said, 'I could kick myself. It's been staring me in the face ever since Ben, here, came back from investigating old Hendrykxx and said there was no Kenya connection. That really stumped me. But then I saw it.'

'Saw what?'

'The bloody South African connection,' said Stafford.