Flyaway / Windfall

by Desmond Bagley

  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?’

  Gunnarsson took a cigarette and Stafford snapped on his lighter. He lit the cigarettes, taking his time, blew out a plume of smoke, and said, ‘Is it true what Brice said? That you delivered Henry Hendrix from the States to London?’

  Gunnarsson glowered. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Not a damn thing. But if it is true then you have some explaining to do.’ He held up his hand. ‘Not to me, but questions will certainly be asked. Dirk Hendriks will probably go to the police and they’ll be asking the questions. They’ll want to know why you came to Kenya after delivering the heir. You’d better have some good answers. I don’t believe the yarn you spun to Brice.’

  ‘I’m not here to talk about me,’ said Gunnarsson. ‘What about you? What are you doing in Kenya? You were in the Masai Mara when Hank was kidnapped, and now you’re here. It’s too goddamn coincidental.’

  ‘You heard about that downstairs,’ said Stafford tiredly. ‘I’m a family friend of the Hendriks’s.’ He paused. ‘Well, not really. I’m more of a friend of Alix Hendriks. I might have married her at one time, and Dirk knows it. I don’t think he likes me much.’

  ‘Is it true his wife named the baby after you?’ When Stafford nodded Gunnarsson said, ‘Yeah, I guess he could be sore about that.’ He pulled on his cigarette. ‘But you were at Keekorok at the right time and pulling heroics. And now someone is trailing me.’

  ‘When did you discover that?’

  ‘Yesterday—about midday at the Lake Naivasha Hotel.’

  Stafford spread his hands. ‘Then it wasn’t me. I was already here talking to Alan Hunt about a balloon trip. You can go down and ask him; he’s in the dining room.’ He flicked ash into the ashtray. ‘I have no interest in you, Gunnarsson. But you must have been doing something for someone to take notice of you, and it’s my guess that it’s connected with your coming to Kenya with young Hendrix.’

  ‘Aw, hell!’ said Gunnarsson. ‘It’s like this. Here’s this young guy still wet behind the ears who’s just inherited six million bucks. He talked to me about it. He was worried, see? Hank wasn’t exactly stupid; just inexperienced. He talked me into coming along as protection.’

  ‘As a bodyguard?’

  ‘Yeah; something like that.’

  Stafford laughed. ‘Gunnarsson, this is Max Stafford you’re talking to. Better men than you have tried to con me. The boss of Gunnarsson Associates wouldn’t take on that job himself; you’d assign it to one of your goons. Now let’s have the real story.’

  Gunnarsson sighed. ‘Okay, why not? The truth is that I was standing right next to six million bucks and I was trying to figure a way to cut me a slice. I talked Hank into letting me come along with him to Kenya.’

  ‘You were going to con him into something,’ said Stafford flatly.

  ‘I guess I was. I just didn’t know exactly how. I was trying to work out a scam when he was kidnapped and maybe killed. How do you like that?’

  Stafford got up and walked to the window. Gunnarsson sounded properly aggrieved and his story was cleverly near the truth. All that Gunnarsson had left out was that he had substituted Corliss for Hendrix in the United States. Stafford hoped that Brice and Hendriks were absorbing all this.

  He looked out over the grounds of Ol Njorowa and stiffened when he saw the sheet of newspaper caught against the acacia on the other side of the fence. Nair had wasted no time in getting the prints developed and that meant they were ready to hold the conference.

  He turned and said, ‘Well, all this has nothing to do with me.’ He picked up his suitcase, put it on the bed, and opened it. He took his toilet kit and began to put away his shaving tackle.

  Gunnarsson said, ‘What are you doing?’

  Stafford zipped the leather case closed and dropped it into his suitcase. ‘What does it look as though I’m doing? I’m packing. I came here for the sole reason of having a balloon flight with Alan Hunt. I had the balloon flight this morning so that’s it. When I’ve got this suitcase packed I’ll be going down to say goodbye to Brice, Dirk and the Hunts. Then I’m going back to Nairobi. If you want a lift you’re welcome.’

  ‘I have my own car.’

  Stafford became sarcastic. ‘And if you want notice of my further movements I’ll be leaving for London on the flight tomorrow morning or the day after, depending on whether I can get a seat. Does that satisfy you?’

  Gunnarsson watched him folding a shirt. ‘Why should you want to satisfy me?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Stafford. ‘But this was intended to be a holiday, the first I’ve had for three years, and it hasn’t really turned out that way. I became involved, quite accidentally, in the kidnapping of a group of tourists, and since then everyone has been questioning my motives. Even Charles Brice has been asking pointed questions. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m going home.’ He opened drawers to make sure he had packed everything, then closed his suitcase hoping that Brice was taking it all in.

  He said, ‘Gunnarsson; what do you think happened to young Henry Hendrix? You were there.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. How about you?’

  ‘I think the group was kidnapped by Tanzanians. It’s happened before. I think Hendrix was killed, probably accidentally, and buried. Probably not even buried—the scavengers would take care of him. And I think you’re wasting your time, Gunnarsson. You’ve lost out on your con game. Why don’t you go home as I’m doing?’

  Gunnarsson regarded Stafford sardonically. ‘It’ll be a long, long day before I take advice from you. There’s something goddamn phoney going on here, and if you can’t see it then I can. I’m sticking around to do some probing.’

  Stafford shrugged and picked up his case. ‘Suit yourself.’ He walked to the door. ‘I suppose we’ll meet again, probably in New York. Brace yourself for a fight.’

  ‘I fight rough,’ warned Gunnarsson.

  ‘I don’t mind that.’ Stafford stood at the door, his hand on the handle. ‘Are you coming down or do you think you’ve inherited this bedroom?’

  ‘Go to hell!’ said Gunnarsson, but he stood up and followed Stafford down the stairs. On the ground floor they parted, Gunnarsson going back into the dining room and Stafford to the Nissan to deposit his suitcase. As he walked back to the entrance of the Admin Block he was well satis—fied. The conversation he had had with Gunnarsson had been really aimed at Brice and Hendriks and he hoped the picture frame bug had been in working condition.

  On his return to the dining room he saw Brice and Hendriks at their table talking to Gunnarsson. As he sat down Brice said, ‘Mr Gunnarsson tells us you’re leaving.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m here to say goodbye and to thank you for your hospitality.’ Stafford looked at Hendriks. ‘Sorry about your cousin, Dirk. Keep in touch and let me know what happens. I might be moving around when I get home but letters addressed to the office will find me.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  Brice said, ‘Did you and Mr Gunnarsson resolve your differences? I hope so.’

  Stafford laughed. ‘We have no differences—not here.’ A waiter put down a cup before him and filled it with coffee. ‘Those will begin in New York.’ Gunnarsson snorted, and Stafford said evenly, ‘That’s why I told Dirk I’
d be moving around.’

  ‘You think you can muscle in while I’m away?’ Gunnarsson chuckled. ‘Not a chance, buster.’

  Stafford drank his coffee, then turned to Brice and held out his hand. ‘Nice to have known you, Mr Brice—Charles. I hope your plans for Ol Njorowa turn out well.’ They shook hands and Stafford got up and went around the table. He clapped Hendriks on the shoulder. ‘When do you expect to be back in London, Dirk?’

  ‘I don’t know. I seem to have my hands full here.’

  ‘You don’t mind if I pop in to see Alix and my godson, do you?’

  ‘Of course not. She’ll be glad to see you.’

  Stafford looked across the room. ‘I’d better catch Alan Hunt before he leaves. Goodbye, and thanks for everything.’

  With a wave he went striding across the room to intercept Hunt at the doorway of the dining room. ‘Alan, I’m going now. Thanks for the balloon flight.’

  ‘I only did it for the champagne,’ said Hunt with a grin. Stafford put a hand on Hunt’s elbow and steered him towards the entrance hall. ‘I’d like to have a word with you. You were born in Kenya, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So it’s your native country. What do you think of the way it’s run?’

  ‘On the whole not bad. The government makes mistakes, but what government doesn’t?’ Hunt frowned. ‘What are you getting at, Max?’

  They walked down the steps into the sunlight and towards Stafford’s Nissan. He said, ‘Would you consider yourself a patriot?’

  ‘That’s a hell of a question,’ said Hunt. ‘You mean dying for my country and all that?’

  ‘I’d rather you lived for it,’ said Stafford. ‘Look, Alan; a problem has come up. Do you know where Safariland is?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Stafford checked the time. ‘Could you meet me there in half an hour? There are a few people I want you to meet.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Hunt uncertainly. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘You’ll be told when you get there.’ Stafford opened the door of the Nissan and got in. ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. Maybe you’d better invent a shopping errand in Naivasha.’

  Hunt smiled faintly. ‘It sounds very mysterious—but all right.’

  ‘I’ll see you there.’ Stafford reversed out of the parking slot, waved, and drove towards the gates of Ol Njorowa very slowly because of the sleeping policemen. He looked in the mirror and saw Brice walking from the Admin Block to meet Hunt. He hoped Hunt had sense enough to keep his mouth shut as he had been told.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Stafford had expected to see Hardin at Safariland but instead he was met by Curtis who walked forward as the Nissan drew to a halt. He got out, and said, ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant. Where is everyone? What’s the drill?’

  Curtis said, ‘Colonel Chipende thought it advisable to hold the meeting on Crescent Island. That’s an island in the lake, sir. If the Colonel will follow me I have a boat ready.’

  Stafford smiled. Now that Chipende was revealed, Curtis was giving him full military honours. He said mildly, ‘I think we’ll still call him Chip, Sergeant.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We can’t go yet. I’m expecting someone else. Perhaps fifteen minutes.’

  So they waited and presently Hunt arrived and, somewhat to Stafford’s consternation, he had brought Judy. They got out of the car and Stafford said, ‘I told you not to tell anyone else.’

  Hunt gave a lop-sided grin. ‘I wanted a witness.’

  ‘And I’m a patriot, too,’ added Judy. ‘What’s going on, Max? It’s all very mysterious.’

  Stafford stood undecided for a moment then he shrugged. ‘Very well. You might as well come along.’

  ‘That’s not very gracious,’ she said.

  ‘It wasn’t intended to be,’ he snapped, and turned to Curtis. ‘Carry on.’

  Curtis led the way to the edge of the lake where there was a rough timbered jetty alongside which was moored an open boat with a black Kenyan sitting in the stern. They got in and the Kenyan started the outboard engine and soon they were cruising at a respectable speed towards an island which lay about a mile offshore. ‘Why are we going to Crescent Island?’ asked Judy.

  ‘I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out,’ said Stafford. He nudged Curtis. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Col…’ Curtis swallowed and began again. ‘Chip and Nair, and Mr Hardin. And there’s another man. I don’t know who he is.’

  Stafford grunted and wondered about that but did not let it worry him. The time to worry was when he thought it might cause trouble. Hunt said, ‘Do you mean Nair Singh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Stafford shortly, and watched the island ahead.

  At last they drew alongside the rocky foreshore and were able to land. Chip came down to meet them. He looked at the Hunts and frowned, then said to Stafford, ‘Could I have a word with you?’ Stafford nodded and they walked out of earshot. ‘I don’t think this is a good thing, Max. Why did you bring them?’

  ‘I didn’t bring them,’ said Stafford irritably. ‘I wanted Hunt along; his sister came without invitation.’

  ‘But why even Hunt?’

  ‘We’ve got to have someone on the inside and I elected Hunt,’ said Stafford. ‘I have my reasons and I’ll justify them. Curtis tells me you’ve brought along your own surprise.’

  Chip nodded. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t introduce him. He’s here…er…incognito.’

  ‘One of your bosses?’

  Chip smiled. ‘Could very well be.’

  ‘So that’s why we’re here on an island,’ said Stafford. ‘All right; let’s get on with it. We have a lot to discuss.’

  Chip hesitated, then nodded. ‘All right; let’s go.’

  Stafford jerked his head at Curtis and the Hunts and they all followed Chip up a slope which led down to the beach, walking among trees. Once Stafford was alarmed as a big animal broke away from quite close and he saw a whiteringed rump as it plunged away from them. ‘Water-buck,’ said Curtis dispassionately.

  ‘They do very well here,’ said Chip. ‘They swim across from the mainland. The big cats don’t like water very much, at least not to the extent of swimming a mile, so the waterbuck are safe from predators.’ Stafford thought with some humour that even now Chip could not resist acting the courier, but became alert when Chip said, ‘Watch out for snakes.’

  They pressed on and eventually came to a piece of level ground on which were the foundations of a building. Whether the building had fallen down or whether the builder had just got as far as putting in the foundations Stafford could not decide. Here, waiting for them, were the others—Nair, Hardin and a stranger. He was an elderly black Kenyan with greying hair and an expressionless face. Chip went over to him and talked in low tones.

  Stafford walked over to Hardin. ‘Hello, Ben. Who’s the old man there?’

  ‘He doesn’t say—neither does Chip. I’d say he’s top brass. He doesn’t talk so you’d notice.’

  ‘He’s come to assess the evidence,’ said Stafford. ‘I have some to give him.’

  Chip stepped forward and said to the Hunts, ‘I think we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Pete Chipende, but call me Chip. This is…’

  ‘No!’ said Stafford sharply. ‘Let’s not pussyfoot around.’ He looked at Alan Hunt. ‘This is Colonel Peter Chipende of the Kenyan Army.’ There was a flash in Chip’s eyes which he ignored. ‘You already know Nair but you don’t know his rank and neither do I.’

  Nair stepped forward. ‘Captain Nair Singh, at your service.’

  Hunt raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know you were in the army, Nair.’

  ‘You still don’t know,’ said Chip flatly. ‘This conversation isn’t happening. Understand?’

  Stafford said, ‘Ben Hardin you’ve already met, and this is Curtis. That gentleman over there I don’t know, and I don’t think I want to know. Chip is right. What you learn here you keep under your hats.’r />
  Judy laughed nervously. ‘All very portentous.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hunt. ‘Very cloak and dagger. What’s it all about?’

  ‘Tell him, Chip,’ said Stafford.

  Chip said, ‘We have reason to believe that Ol Njorowa is not as it seems, that it is an illicit base in Kenya for a foreign power—a centre for espionage.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ said Hunt.

  ‘Alan, you haven’t heard the evidence. Wait for it.’ Stafford turned to Nair. ‘Have you got the photographs?’ Nair gave them to him and he said, ‘You produced these damned quickly.’

  ‘My brother-in-law is a photographer. He did them.’

  Stafford grimaced. ‘That joke is becoming pretty thin, Nair.’

  ‘But it’s true,’ protested Nair. ‘My brother-in-law really is a professional photographer in Naivasha. He says because he did them so quickly they won’t last; the colours will fade. He’s doing a more permanent set now.’

  Stafford flipped through them. ‘These will do for now.’ He sat on the edge of the crumbling concrete foundation and began to lay them out. As he did so he said, ‘Has anything happened I ought to know about, Chip?’

  ‘Not much, except that someone was inquiring about Gunnarsson at the New Stanley. He wasn’t there, of course; he was already in the hotel here.’

  ‘Who was being inquisitive?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. It’s being followed up.’

  Stafford had got the photographs spread out. ‘Right. These are pictures taken of Ol Njorowa during an overflight in Alan’s balloon this morning. Anyone got any comments?’

  He drew back to let the others inspect them. They crowded around except for the elderly Kenyan who had seated himself on a nearby rock and was placidly smoking a pipe. There was silence for a while then Hardin said, ‘Yeah; this tower here. What is it?’

  ‘That’s the water tower,’ said Hunt. ‘The water is pumped up there and then distributed by gravity.’

  Curtis coughed. ‘Perhaps I could point out to the Colonel that the water tower is in the wrong place.’

  ‘Why, Sergeant?’

  ‘The natural place to build a water tower would be on the highest point of land.’ Curtis pointed at another photograph. ‘Which would be about there.’