Windfall

Gunnarsson grunted as he sat down. 'Better.' He looked around the table: at Hendriks who was finishing his soup; at Brice who, with bottle poised, was asking blandly if he would like wine; at Stafford who was leaning back to allow a plate to be put before him. Here they all were and what the hell was going on?

Hendriks said, 'I went to the American Embassy and did no better than you, Mr Gunnarsson; a complete blank wall. Have you heard any further news of my cousin?'

'No,' said Gunnarsson briefly. He started on his soup. 'What are you doing in Kenya, Mr Stafford?'

'I'm on holiday,' said Stafford easily.

Gunnarsson grunted. 'If you're like me you don't take vacations.' He looked at Dirk. 'Do you know who he is?'

Hendriks looked surprised. 'Yes; he's Max Stafford."

'But do you know what he does?'

'We were discussing it before you came in,' said Brice. He sipped his wine. 'Must be very interesting work.'

'Mr Gunnarsson is in the same line of business,' observed Stafford. 'But in the United States. You might say that we're competitors, in a way. Or will be.' He smiled at Gunnarsson. 'I'm thinking of expanding my operations.'

'Thinking of moving into the States?' asked Gunnarsson. His smile had no humour in it. 'It's tough going.'

'It can't be worse than Europe,' said Stafford equably.

'Or Kenya.' Gunnarsson finished his soup. 'Funny things happen here, apart from people going missing. The latest is that my car was bugged. A bumper beeper.'

Stafford raised his eyebrows. 'Now who'd do that?'

Gunnarsson shrugged. 'You have the know-how.'

Stafford put down his knife and fork. 'Now look here. I told you I was in Kenya on holiday. Apart from that I'm a friend of the Hendriks family. You would say that, wouldn't you, Dirk?'

'Of course." Hendriks smiled. 'Especially since my wife named our son after you.' His tone was a fraction sour.

Brice said coolly, 'We know all about Mr Stafford. What we don't know is why you are in Kenya, Mr Gunnarsson. You found Henry Hendrix in Los Angeles and delivered him to London. Why should you then accompany him to Kenya where he mysteriously disappears?' He tented his fingers. 'It would appear that you have to make the explanations rather than Max Stafford.'

Gunnarsson looked at him. 'I don't know that I'm required to give an explanation, Mr Brice, but, since you ask, Hendrix wanted me to come with him.' He smiled. 'He's a nice, young guy and we got on well together when I found him. You might say we became friends and I came with him to Kenya at his request.'

Brice shrugged and turned to Stafford. 'Will you really take up ballooning, Max?' He was obviously changing the subject.

'I might. It seems a great sport.'

The conversation became general with Brice holding forth enthusiastically on the future of the Ol Njorowa Foundation now that it was in funds. Gunnarsson made the odd comment from time to time but his main attention seemed to be on his plate. He was aware of an interplay of tensions about the table but was unable to identify the cause. However, it was enough for him to make up his mind that there was something odd about Ol Njorowa. As he put it to himself, it was 'something phoney'. It was not what was said that drew his attention – it was what was not said. For instance, Brice and Hendriks had not said much about the disappearance of Hank Hendrix.

As Stafford sipped his coffee he had a sudden thought. He could put the picture frame bug to some use – a use that Brice could not have foreseen. He put down his cup, and said, 'Mr Gunnarsson; I'd like to have a few words with you.'

'What about?'

'Well, you know that Stafford Security is broadening its activities. I'd like to discuss a few… er… ground rules with you.'

Gunnarsson snorted. 'Ground rules!' He smiled grimly. 'I'm willing to talk, sure.'

'After lunch, in my room?' suggested Stafford.

Gunnarsson drained his coffee cup. 'After lunch is now.'

Stafford said to Brice. 'I hope you'll excuse us. It's not my usual policy to talk business in these circumstances, but since Mr Gunnarsson is here and I have the unexpected opportunity…" His voice tailed off.

'Of course,' said Brice. 'One must always take opportunity by the forelock.'

Stafford rose and left the table followed by Gunnarsson. There was a moment's silence before Brice said, 'I'd like to hear that conversation. Let's go.' They both stood up.

At the door Stafford cast a glance backwards. He saw Gunnarsson following and, beyond, Hendriks and Brice were just rising from the table. He-smiled slightly as he went up the stairs two at a time towards his room. He went in and stood aside to let Gunnarsson enter, then he closed the door. Gunnarsson swung around. 'Stafford; what are you trying to pull?'

'Sit down," said Stafford. 'Take the weight off your feet.' He looked thoughtfully at the Shepherd print on the wall and thought he had better give Hendriks and Brice time to get settled in their listening post so he took out a packet of cigarettes. 'Smoke?'