Flyaway / Windfall

by Desmond Bagley

  Hastily Stafford brought up his own rifle but it was then that Chip cut loose with the Uzi. The burst of fire caught the man in the back and he was flung forward. The young Tanzanian whirled around and Stafford shot him in the head. He grew a third eye in the middle of his forehead and staggered back and fell into the river with a splash. After that sudden outburst of noise there was a silence broken only by insect noises and the whimpering of Hendrix who was on his knees staring unbelievingly at the sprawling body before him.

  Chip came into sight, gun first and cautiously, and then Nair. Stafford went to join them. He said, ‘The bastard was going to shoot Hendrix,’ and heard the incredulity in his own voice. He snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that.’

  Chip stirred the body with his foot, then bent down to check the pulse at the side of the neck. He straightened up. ‘They’ve gone crazy,’ he said blankly. ‘They’ve never tried anything like this before.’ He turned to Nair. ‘Get back there—about a hundred yards—and keep watch.’

  Stafford went over to Hendrix. Tears streaked his face and he was making gagging noises at the back of his throat. Stafford tried to help him to his feet but he went limp and lay down in a foetal position. ‘For God’s sake, man,’ said Stafford. ‘Get up. Do you want to be killed?’

  ‘He’s been nearly frightened to death,’ said Chip.

  ‘He’ll be the death of us if he doesn’t move,’ Stafford said grimly. ‘They’ll have heard those shots.’

  ‘They were expecting to hear shots,’ said Chip. ‘Let’s hope they can’t tell the difference between an Uzi and a Kalashnikov. But they’re pretty far away.’ He bent down and began going through the pockets of the dead man.

  Stafford walked to the river bank which here was about six feet high. The river moved sluggishly and the body of the man he had shot had not drifted far. He was the first man Stafford had ever killed as far as he knew and he felt a little sick. His soldiering had been mostly in peacetime and even in those faraway days in Korea it was surprising how rarely you saw the enemy you were shooting at. And later they did not go too much for bodies in Military Intelligence.

  Chip said, ‘No identification; just this.’ He held up a wad of currency. ‘Kenya twenty-shilling notes.’ He put them into his pocket. ‘Help me get his clothes off.’

  ‘Why strip him?’

  Chip nodded towards Hendrix. ‘He’s not going to move far or fast without clothes and boots. And we don’t have much time; not more than a few minutes. These men will be expected back and when they don’t show someone will come looking.’

  While Stafford was unlacing the Tanzanian’s boots Chip stripped him of his bloody and bullet-ripped jacket and, together, they took off his trousers. Undressing a dead man is peculiarly difficult. He does not co-operate. Then they rolled the body to the edge of the bank and dropped it over the side. It fell with a splash into the muddy water. The other body had gone.

  ‘No one will find them now,’ said Chip. ‘This looks like a likely pool for crocodiles. The crocs will take them and wedge them under water until they ripen enough to eat.’ It was a gruesome thought.

  They dressed Hendrix and he did not co-operate, either. He was almost in a state of catatonia. Stafford noted that Hendrix had no scar on either shoulder, a scar which ought to have been there. He said nothing, and looked up when Chip said, ‘One of your problems is solved; you’ve separated Hendrix from Gunnarsson. How long do you want to keep it that way?’

  That hadn’t occurred to Stafford. He said, ‘We’ll discuss it later. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  They hoisted Hendrix to his feet and Stafford slapped his face hard twice with an open palm. Hendrix shook his head and put up his hand to rub his cheek. ‘What did you do that for?’ he asked, but the imbecile vacuous look in his eyes was fading.

  ‘To pound some sense into you,’ Stafford said, if you don’t want to die you’ve got to move.’

  A slow comprehension came to him. ‘Christ, yes!’ he said.

  Chip was brushing the ground with a leafy branch, scattering dust over the few bloodstains and eliminating all signs of their presence. He walked over to where he had fired the sub-machine-gun and picked up all the cartridge cases he could find, then he tossed them and the two Kalashnikovs into the river. ‘Let’s get Nair,’ he said, so Stafford picked up his rifle and they went from that place.

  They struck away from the river and headed north-east for the border, going up the narrow gully they had come down until they got to the comparative safety of the other side of the ridge where they rested a while and had a brief council of war. At a gesture from Chip Nair stood guard on Hendrix and he and Stafford withdrew from earshot. ‘What now?’ said Chip.

  Up to that moment Stafford had had no opportunity for constructive thinking; all his efforts had been bent on staying alive and out of trouble and he had not considered the implications of what he had seen. Those people stripped to trek back to Keekorok troubled him. If they travelled when the sun was up they would get terribly sunburned, and Chip had indicated that travel at night could be dangerous. He said, ‘How far is it to Keekorok from here?’

  ‘About eleven or twelve miles—in a straight line. But no one travels in a straight line in the bush. Say fifteen miles.’

  That was a long way; a day’s march. Stafford was not worried about Gunnarsson or Kosters. Gunnarsson was tough enough and the young Dutchman looked fit. Michele Roche could probably take it, too, but her parents were something else. A sedentary wine merchant who looked as though he liked to sample his own product freely and his elderly wife were going to have a hell of a tough time. He said, ‘This is a funny one, Chip. These border raids: has anyone been killed previously?’

  Chip shook his head. ‘Just robbery. No deaths and not even a rape. They took three Nissans full of Germans about a year ago but they all came back safely.’

  ‘Then why this time?’ asked Stafford. ‘That was nearly a deliberate murder. It looked almost like a bloody execution.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chip said. ‘It beats me.’

  ‘That charming scene in the clearing when Gunnarsson wanted his shoes. Did you notice anything about Hendrix?’

  ‘Yes, he was separated from the others.’

  ‘And under guard. Now, why should Tanzanians want to cut Hendrix from the herd to kill him? If you could give me the answer to that I’d be very happy because I think it would give us an answer to this whole mess.’

  ‘I don’t have an answer,’ Chip said frankly.

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Stafford, and brooded for a while.

  ‘Well; you’ve got Hendrix now,’ said Chip. ‘If you want to question him now’s the time to do it before he joins the others.’

  ‘Whoever wanted Hendrix out of the way wanted it to be bloody permanent,’ Stafford said ruminatively. ‘And it wasn’t a matter of secrecy, either. Chip, supposing you were in that tour group and you saw Hendrix marched away. A little later you hear shots, and then the Tanzanians who took Hendrix away return wearing broad grins. What would you think?’

  ‘I’d think Hendrix had been shot, probably trying to escape.’

  ‘So would I,’ said Stafford. ‘And that’s probably what the rest of the group think right now, except that Hendrix’s guards didn’t return. But they’ll have heard the shots. Does that sound reasonable?’

  ‘It could be.’

  Nair gave a peculiar warbling whistle and beckoned. They went back to the crest of the ridge and Nair pointed to the belt of trees by the Losemai. ‘They’re coming out.’

  Minute figures were emerging on to the open plain. Chip, his binoculars to his eyes, counted them. ‘…four…five…six.’

  ‘No more.’

  ‘No more. Just the group minus Hendrix. The Tanzanians have sent them home.’ He looked at the setting sun. ‘They won’t make good time, not without shoes. They’ll be spending a night in the bush.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not if they’re c
areful; just scary. But Adam will look after them if they have the sense to let him. We’ll wait for them up here.’

  Stafford said, ‘Let’s have a chat.’

  Hendrix stirred at Nair’s side. ‘Say, who are you guys?’

  ‘Lifesavers,’ said Stafford. ‘Your life. Now shut up.’ He looked at Nair. ‘Keep him quiet. If he doesn’t want to be quiet then quieten him.’ He did not want Hendrix to get any wrong ideas about his rescuers. He wanted him softened up and it was best that Hendrix should think he’d jumped out of a moderately warm frying pan into a bloody hot fire.

  Stafford jerked his head at Chip and they walked away again. He said, ‘I don’t know the motives for the attempted murder of Hendrix but, so far, only four people know he’s not dead. You, me, Nair and Hendrix himself. And he would have been very dead if you hadn’t let go with the Uzi when you did. It was a matter of a split second.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Supposing he doesn’t join the others? Supposing he stays dead? That’s going to confuse the hell out of somebody.’

  ‘Which somebody?’

  ‘How the devil would I know? But six Tanzanians don’t deliberately try to murder the inheritor of three million pounds just for kicks. The average Tanzanian wouldn’t even know Hendrix existed. Somebody, somewhere, must have given the orders. Now, that somebody will think Hendrix is dead as per orders. He might be mystified about the disappearance of two Tanzanians, but Hendrix will have disappeared, too. The survivors of the group will tell their tale and it will add up to Hendrix’s death because, if he isn’t dead, why doesn’t he show up? But I’ll have him. He’s not a trump card but a joker to be played at the correct time.’

  Chip stared at Stafford for a long time in silence. Eventually he said, ‘You don’t want much, do you?’ He ticked off points on his fingers. ‘One, we kidnap Hendrix; two, we have to smuggle him out of the Mara because he can’t go through any of the gates; three, we have to keep him alive with food and water while all this is going on; four, we have to find a place to put him when we get him out of the Mara; five, that means guards to be supplied; six…’ He stopped. ‘You know; a man could run out of fingers this way.’

  ‘In the past you’ve always proved to be a resourceful chap,’ Stafford said engagingly.

  Chip gave him a thin smile. ‘All hell is going to break loose,’ he said. ‘This is going to make headlines in the world press. An American multi-millionaire kidnapped and killed—a first-rate front page story full of diplomatic dynamite. The Kenyan government will be forced to protest to Tanzania and the American government will probably join in. So what happens when we finally turn him loose? Then our heads are on the chopping block.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Stafford said. ‘He won’t say a damned thing. He can’t say a thing. You’re forgetting that he isn’t really Hendrix.’

  ‘I’m forgetting nothing,’ said Chip coldly. ‘All I know is what you’ve told me. You haven’t proved anything yet.’

  Stafford turned his head and looked at Hendrix. ‘Let’s ask him his name,’ he proposed.

  ‘Yes, but not here. Let’s get out of Tanzania.’

  Stafford hesitated because he was worried about the tour group, particularly the Roches. ‘The others,’ he said. ‘Will they be all right?’

  ‘I told you; Adam will take care of them,’ said Chip impatiently. ‘They’ll be all right. Look, Max; we’ll be able to make better time on our own. We can get back to Keekorok and have cars sent to pick them up on the border. And on the way you can have your talk with Hendrix.’

  Put that way it was a good solution. ‘All right,’ Stafford said at length. ‘Let’s get going.’

  ‘But I promise nothing until you prove your point about Hendrix,’ said Chip. ‘You have to do that.’

  FIFTEEN

  So they went back into Kenya but not the same way they had come out. They changed direction and headed northwest, in the direction of Mara New Bridge. Chip said, ‘Whatever happens we’ll have to come up with a story for the police, and it will have to be a story with no guns in it. Dr Robert Ouko isn’t going to take kindly to civilians who make armed incursions into Tanzania.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Minister for Foreign Affairs. He’ll be sending a strong diplomatic note to Dar-es-Salaam and he won’t want it weakened by talk of guns.’

  ‘How are you going to keep Hendrix’s mouth shut?’

  ‘Don’t think it isn’t on my mind.’

  On the way they concocted a story. After sending Curtis back to Keekorok to raise the alarm they had courageously and somewhat foolishly chased after the Tanzanians. On realizing they were about to infringe Tanzanian territory they stopped and turned back, only to lose their way. After several hours of wandering in the dark they finally found the road near Mara New Bridge and were now reporting like good citizens to the Police Post.

  A thin story and not to be carefully examined. It also presupposed the total absence of Hendrix which cheered Stafford because it seemed that Chip was tacitly accepting his proposal to keep Hendrix under wraps. But he suspected that Chip was busy in the construction of another yarn should he have to write Hendrix back into the script.

  Meanwhile they marched steadily through the bush until nightfall, with Hendrix protesting at intervals about the speed, and wanting to know who the hell they were, and various other items that came to his mind. He was silenced by Nair who produced a knife; it was the kirpan, the ceremonial knife carried by all Sikhs, but by no means purely ornamental, and the sight of it silenced Hendrix as effectively as if Nair had cut out his tongue with it.

  They stopped as the last of the light was ebbing from the sky. There was still enough to march by but Chip’s decision to halt was coloured by the fact that they discovered a small hollow or dell which was screened from all sides. ‘We can build a small fire down there,’ he said. ‘It won’t be seen.’

  ‘Where are we?’ Stafford asked. ‘Kenya or Tanzania?’

  Chip grinned. ‘A toss of the coin will tell you.’

  So they collected wood to make a fire which wasn’t difficult because the bush is scattered with dead wood. The fire wasn’t so much for warmth as to keep away animals. Chip said he was worried less about lions and other large predators than about hyenas. ‘They’ll go for a sleeping man,’ he said. They built the fire in such a way so as always to have a burning brand ready to grab for self-defence.

  When they got the fire going Chip looked at Stafford then jerked his head at Hendrix. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘Okay.’ He turned to Hendrix. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Hendrix, Henry Hendrix. Folks call me Hank. Who are you?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Stafford. ‘And you’re a liar.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I notice you haven’t thanked anyone for saving your life.’

  Hendrix’s eyes glimmered in the light of the flames. ‘Hell; every time I opened my mouth I was told to shut it.’

  ‘We want you to talk now. In fact, we’ll positively encourage it. Who is Gunnarsson?’

  ‘A friend. And, okay; thanks for doing what you did. I really thought I was dead back there. I really did.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Chip dryly.

  ‘Who is Hamsun—Olaf Hamsun?’ asked Stafford.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Hendrix.

  ‘You might know him better as Biggie.’

  ‘Oh, Biggie! He’s a guy I knew back in LA. What’s with the questions?’

  ‘Who is Hardin?’

  ‘Never heard of the guy.’

  ‘You ought to know him. He took you from Los Angeles to New York.’

  ‘Oh, him. I never knew the guy’s name.’

  ‘You went from Los Angeles to New York with a man and never knew his name? You’ll have to do better than that. You’ll be telling us you don’t know your own name next. What is it?’

  His eyes flickered. ‘Hendrix,’ he said sullenly. ‘Look, I don’t know what you guys want bu
t I don’t like all these questions.’

  ‘I don’t care what you like or don’t like,’ Stafford said. ‘And I don’t care whether you live or die. What does Biggie wear around his neck?’

  The switch in pace caught Hendrix flat-footed. ‘What kind of a goddamn question is that? How in hell would I know?’

  ‘You were his friend. Where did you meet Gunnarsson?’

  ‘New York.’

  ‘Where’s the hole in your shoulder?’

  Hendrix looked startled. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  Stafford sighed. ‘You took a bullet in your shoulder back in Los Angeles. Hardin bound it up. You should have a hole in you so where is it?’

  ‘I heal real good,’ said Hendrix sullenly.

  ‘You’re the biggest liar since Ananias,’ said Stafford. ‘You ought to have your mouth washed out with soap. You’re not Hendrix, so who are you?’

  He hesitated, and Nair said, ‘Why did someone want you dead? Is it because your name is Hendrix?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Chip. He laughed. ‘There’s an open season on Hendrixes. Of course, it’s illegal; game shooting is prohibited in Kenya.’

  ‘But not in Tanzania,’ said Nair. ‘It’s legal there. They could get away with it.’

  ‘Maybe someone wants a stuffed Hendrix head on his wall,’ said Chip. ‘A trophy.’

  ‘The eyes would have to be glass,’ said Nair. ‘Could they match the colour?’

  ‘I believe they’re using plastic these days,’ said Chip. ‘They can do anything with plastic.’

  The crazy crosstalk got to Hendrix. ‘Shut up, you nigger bastard!’ he shouted.

  There was a dead silence before Chip said coldly, ‘You don’t talk that way to the man with the gun.’ In the distance there was a coughing roar and Hendrix jerked. ‘A lion,’ said Chip. ‘Maybe we should leave him to the lions. Maybe they want a trophy.’

  A choked sob came from Hendrix. Stafford said, ‘You’ve been under observation ever since you left the States. We know you’re not Hendrix. Tell us who you are and we’ll leave you alone.’