Windfall

He lay there for an hour soaking in the sun, then swain ten lengths of the pool before rubbing himself down and changing into street clothes in the change room. He walked through the bird-noisy courtyard towards the rear entrance of the hotel lobby but, as he entered the lobby, he did a smart about turn and retreated into the courtyard. Gunnarsson was at the reception desk talking to the clerk.

He was about to return to his room when Nair Singh walked into the courtyard from the lobby, his eyes half closed protectively against the -sudden blast of sunlight. As he put on sunglasses Hardin tapped him on the shoulder. 'Damn it!' he said. 'I nearly walked straight into Gunnarsson. I should have had warning.'

'I phoned your room on the house phone,' said Nair. 'You weren't there.'

'I was at the pool. What the hell is Gunnarsson doing here?'

'I'd say he's trying to find Stafford,' said Nair. 'He knows who Stafford is. He took the trouble to ring London to establish that the Stafford he met at Keekorok is the same Stafford of Stafford Security Consultants.'

'How do you know that?'

'We put a tap on his phone.' Nair smiled. 'Standard procedure. He rang New York an hour ago requesting reinforcements. He's bringing in three men.'

'Who?' demanded Hardin. 'Did he give names?'

Nair nodded. 'Walters, Gottschalk and Rudinsky.'

'Gottschalk I don't know,' said Hardin. 'But Walters is a pretty good man and Rudinsky has worked in Africa before. He's an ex-Company man, too. The pace is hotting up. When are they expected?'

'The day after tomorrow, on the morning flight. Plenty of time to decide what to do. I'll talk it over with Chip; he might have them barred as undesirable aliens.'

Hardin jerked his head towards the lobby. 'You'd better get on with the job. Gunnarsson might give you the slip.'

'He won't. I have three men out there and there's a radio transmitter in the car. He's still at the reception desk.' Nair regarded Hardin blandly. 'I have a radio in my turban; they miniaturize them these days.'

'Neat,' said Hardin admiringly and looked at the turban with interest. The folds of cloth over Nair's ears even concealed the earphone he must be wearing.

Nair held up his hand for silence and cocked his head on one side. 'He's leaving now – getting into a taxi. We'll see him on his way before we check at the reception desk.'

'I wonder how Gunnarsson got on to Stafford,' mused Hardin.

'Could have been through Dirk Hendriks,' said Nair. 'It doesn't really matter. He's out of Harry Thuku Road now. Let's find out what he wanted."

They went into the lobby to interrogate the man at the desk. Nair said, 'The man who was here just now…'

'Mr Andrews? The American?'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'Mr Andrews. Was he looking for someone?"

'He wanted to see Mr Stafford. He's a friend of yours, isn't he? I've seen you together.'

Hardin nodded. 'What did you tell Andrews?'

I told him where to find Mr Stafford." The clerk looked at the expression on Hardin's face nervously. 'Did I do wrong?'

'I guess not," said Hardin, thinking otherwise. 'Where did you tell him to go?'

'Ol Njorowa College. Mr Stafford mentioned it before he left. He said he'd be away for a couple of days but wanted to seep his room here.'

Hardin looked at Nair blankly. 'Thanks,' he said. As they moved away he said, 'That was pretty foolish of Max.'

'He wasn't to know Gunnarsson would come looking for aim.' Nair stopped with an intent look on his face as he listened to his inner voice. He said, 'Gunnarsson is getting out of his taxi in Muindi Mbingu street.' He paused. 'He's going into the United Touring Company office. The UTC is a car hire firm among other things.'

There was no discussion. 'I'll pack a bag," said Hardin. 'Ready in fifteen minutes.' As he walked out of the lobby he saw Nair already reaching for a telephone.

Again Stafford suffered the ritual of inspection before the gates of Ol Njorowa College opened for him. He drove to the Administration Block, parked the Nissan, and went inside where he gave his name to the black Kenyan behind the counter in the hall. He looked around and saw what he had not noticed on his first visit. Chip was right; security was tighter than one would expect in such an innocent organization.

No one could penetrate anywhere into the building without passing the wicket gate, and he was willing to bet that every time it opened it would send out a signal; at least it would if he had been responsible for security. He looked around with a keen professional eye and detected a soft gleam of glass high in a corner of the hall where two walls and a ceiling met, and guessed it was the wide-angle lens of a TV camera. It was unnoticeable and only to be detected by someone actively looking for it. He wondered where they kept the monitor screen.

The man behind the counter put down the telephone. 'Mr Hendriks will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.'