Windfall ms-2

by Desmond Bagley

  After a while he got the hang of it and learned to travel in the master's footsteps and then it became better. Chip kept up a cracking pace, stopping occasionally to cast around. Twice he pointed out the signs of passage of those they were pursuing – footprints on the dusty earth. Nair nodded, and said in a low voice, 'Military boots.'

  Once Chip threw his arms wide and the party came to a sudden halt. He waved and they made a wide circuit of a patch of ground on which Stafford saw a snake, not very long but with a body as thick as a man's brawny arm. Afterwards Chip told him it was a puff adder, and added, 'Most snakes get out of the way when they sense you're coming, but not the puff adder – he's lazy. So, if you're not careful you tread on him and he strikes. Very poisonous. Don't walk about at night.'

  It was hot and Stafford sweated copiously. Heavy physical exercise on the Equator at an altitude of 5,000 feet is not to be recommended if you are not acclimatized. The Kenyan Olympics Team has a training camp at 9,000 feet where the oxygen is thin and the body becomes accustomed to its lack. When they go to sea level that gives a competitive edge, an advantage over the others. But Stafford was a reverse case and he suffered, while Chip and Nair were in better shape.

  The terrain consisted of rolling plains with an occasional outcrop of rock. The trees, mostly flat-topped acacias, were scattered except where they tended to grow more thickly in the now dry watercourses, and the grass was waist high. The ground was so open that anyone looking back would surely see a long way.

  Consequently they made good time in the valleys between the ridges but slowed. as they came to a crest, creeping on their bellies to peer into the next shallow valley. As they came up to the top of one such ridge Chip said quietly, 'We're in Tanzania. There's the Losemai.'

  Ahead, stretching widely, was a green belt of thicker vegetation which marked the Losemai River. It looked no different than any similar place in the Kenyan Masai Mara. Chip took his binoculars, and said, 'Hold up your hand to shade these from the sun.'

  Stafford put up his hand to cast a shadow on the lenses, and reflected that Chip was up to all the tricks of the trade. He didn't want a warning flash of light to be reflected; it would have been like a semaphore signal. He wondered where Chip had learned his trade. More and more there were certain things about Chip and Nair which didn't add up into anything that made sense.

  Chip surveyed the land ahead, the binoculars moving in a slow arc. Suddenly he stopped, pointing like a hunting dog. 'There – entering the trees at two o'clock.' Another military expression.

  Away in the distance Stafford saw the minute dots and strained his eyes to count. Chip said, 'I make it thirteen. You were right, Nair; Jeshi la Mgambo, six of them. And six in the tour group plus Adam. They're all there.'

  Nair said, 'Do you think they'll stop at the Losemai? What happened before?'

  'They might,' said Chip. 'They've got good cover down there and it's a convenient place to strip the tourists.'

  Stafford said, 'It seems a lot of trouble for little profit.'

  Chip snorted. 'Oh, there's profit. Take your tourist; he comes here to photograph animals so he usually has a good camera, still or cine. Plus telephoto lenses and other goodies such as a wristwatch. He also has money, traveller's cheques and credit cards, and there's a good trade in cheques and cards. A tourist, particularly a German or American, can be worth up to 1,000 on the hoof, and that's a damn sight more than the average Tanzanian makes in a year.'

  'Don't bother about convincing Max of what he can see with his eyes,' said Nair acidly. 'How do we get there?'

  'The last of them has gone into the trees,' said Chip. He took the glasses from his eyes, withdrew from the top of the ridge and rolled over on to his back, then looked about him. He jerked his thumb. 'We can't follow them that way; they might have someone keeping watch. I know they're undisciplined, but we can't take that chance.'

  Nair looked along the ridge. 'That thin line of trees there might be a stream going down to join the Losemai. It could give cover.'

  'We'll take a look,' said Chip.

  They went along the ridge, keeping below the crest, and found that it was a stream or, rather, it would be when the rains came. Now it was dusty and dry although if one dug deep enough one would find dampness, enough to keep the acacias green in the dry season. The force of rushing water during the rains had carved into the soft soil making a channel which averaged a couple of feet deep. It would provide cover of a minimal kind.

  So they went down on their bellies, following the winding of the watercourse. It was something Stafford had not done since his early days in the Army and he was out of practice. Once he jerked his hand up as he was about to put it on something which moved. It scuttled away and he saw it was a scorpion. He sweated and it was not all because of the African heat.

  It took a long time but finally they got down to the shelter of the trees which fringed the Losemai and were able to stand up. Chip put his fingers to his lips and cautiously they made their way to the river and lay close to the bank, hidden by tall grass. Stafford parted the stems and looked to the other side.

  It was not a big river by any standards; the depth at that time of year was minimal and Stafford supposed one could cross dry shod by jumping from sandbank to sandbank. The flow of water was turgidly slow and muddy brown. In a clearing on the other side a giraffe was at the water's edge, legs astraddle and drinking. Something on a sandbank moved and he saw a crocodile slip into the water with barely a ripple, and changed his mind about jumping from sandbank to sandbank.

  Chip said softly, 'I don't think they've crossed; that giraffe wouldn't be there. We'll go up river on this side very slowly.'

  They went up river in military formation. Chip, with the sub-machine-gun, was point; behind him Stafford was backup, and Nair was flanker, moving parallel but about fifty yards away and only visible momentarily as he flitted among the trees, his rifle at high port.

  It was very slow and very sweaty work. The river bank was full of noises; the croaking of frogs and the chirping of grasshoppers and cicadas. Occasionally Stafford jerked as he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye but always it was the quick flash of a brightly coloured bird crossing the river. Once there was a splash from the water and he saw a small brown animal swimming away because Chip had disturbed it in its waterside home.

  Suddenly Chip went down on one knee and held the Uzi over his head with both hands. Stafford stopped and snapped off the safety catch on the rifle. Chip motioned him forward so he went up to him and knelt beside him. There was a distant murmur of voices and a louder burst of laughter. 'Cover me,' said Chip, and went forward on his belly.

  For a moment Stafford lost sight of him in the long grass, then he came into view again. Chip beckoned and Stafford dropped flat and went to join him. Chip had parted the grass and was staring at something. 'Take a look,' he said quietly. The voices were louder.

  Stafford parted the stems of grass and found that he was looking into a clearing by the river. They were all there, the Tanzanians and the tour group. The Tanzanians wore camouflaged battle fatigues and were all armed with automatic rifles. Two of them wore grenades attached to their belts and one, with sergeant's stripes, had a pistol in a holster.

  The tour group was in a bad way. They had been stripped of most of their clothing and Mam'selle and Madame Roche were down to their bras and panties. Madame Roche's face was blotchy as though she had been crying and her husband, a ridiculous figure with his big belly swelling over his underpants, was trying to comfort her. Michele Roche had paled under her tan so that her face was a jaundiced yellow. She looked scared, and young Kosters was talking quietly to her, his hand on her arm.

  If Gunnarsson was frightened he did not show it. His face was dark with anger as he stooped to pick up a shoe and as a rifle was nudged into his back he straightened with a quick truculence and shouted, 'Goddamn it, you've gotta leave us shoes.' The answer was a shake of the head and another dig with the rifle. He dropped the shoe a
nd glowered.

  Hendrix, also stripped, was standing separately from the group flanked by two Tanzanians. The young black sitting on the ground with a set, expressionless face would be Adam Muliro, the courier. Before him, striking dazzling reflections from the sun, was the loot – cameras, lenses, binoculars and other equipment, together with a pile of clothing.

  Slowly Stafford let the grass escape from his fingers to form a screen. Chip put his mouth to Stafford's ear. 'We can do nothing. We could cause a massacre.'

  That was certainly true. Those Kalashnikov rifles scared Stafford and the sight of the grenades frightened him even more. He had been a soldier and he knew what those weapons could do. If, as had happened before, the prisoners were turned loose to walk back to Keekorok, the only discomfort they would suffer would be sunburn and cut and sore feet. Under the circumstances a shooting match was out of the question. They were outnumbered and outgunned and the safety of the prisoners could not be risked.

  Chip indicated that Stafford should withdraw so he wriggled backwards and then turned, still lying flat. Then he looked back to see Chip running towards him at a crouch. Chip waved his arm wildly as he passed and then flung himself headlong into a thick patch of long grass and vanished from sight. Stafford got the message and picked himself up and ran for the nearest tree.

  Just as he got there he heard voices. The tree trunk was not as thick as his body and he set himself edge on to it, moving slowly around so as to keep it between him and the approaching men. They came closer and he could distinguish a baritone and a lighter voice; and could even catch words but did not understand the language. As they went by he risked a glance. Hendrix was hobbling by the river bank, walking painfully because of his bare feet. He was clad only in his underpants and behind him came two Tanzanians, one of them prodding him in the back with a rifle. They disappeared from view.

  Chip's head came out of the grass. He waved his arm in a wide circle and then ran to the river bank and began to follow. Stafford turned to find Nair and saw him emerge from hiding. He waved him to follow Chip and then took off, making a wide circle. Chip was still at the point, Stafford was now flanker and Nair was rearguard. Stafford stayed about fifty or sixty yards from the river and kept parallel with it, occasionally going in as closely as he dared to keep track of Hendrix and his captors.

  Once he got close enough to hear Hendrix wail, 'Where are you taking me? What have I done?' There was a thump and a muffled grunt and a short silence before he said desolately, 'Christ! Oh, my Christ!' Stafford guessed he had been hit in the kidneys by a rifle butt but did not risk going close enough to see.

  They went on this manner for quite a distance, perhaps half a mile, and then Stafford lost them. He backtracked a hundred yards and found that they had stopped. Hendrix was standing quite close to the edge of the river facing the Tanzanians, one quite young, the other an older man. The young one had Hendrix at rifle point keeping him covered; the other had his rifle slung and was smoking. He took the cigarette stub from his mouth, examined it critically, then casually dropped it and put his foot on it before he unslung his rifle. He lifted it to his shoulder and aimed at Hendrix, his finger on the trigger.

  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 imbecilic 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 submachine-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 Keeko
rok troubled him. If they travelled when the sun was up they would get terribly sun-burned, 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?'