'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. 'Trier 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 careful; 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 all 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.'
Chapter 15
So they went back into Kenya but not the same way they had come out. They changed direction and headed north-west, 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 had 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 L.A. 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 but 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 the 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.'
'Dear Jesus!' he said. 'Gunnarsson'll kill me.'
'Gunnarsson won't get near you,' said Stafford. 'Leave him to us. And what the devil do you think nearly happened by the river? You stay being Hendrix and you're a dead man.'
The night noises in the bush were growing in intensity. The lion roared again in the distance and, from quite close, something snarled and something else squealed appallingly. The squalling noise was cut off sharply and Chip put another tree branch on the fire. 'A leopard caught a baboon,' he said. Nair picked up his rifle and stood up, staring into the darkness.
It got to Hendrix; his eyes rolled and he shivered violently. He'd had a hard time that day. He'd been kidnapped, nearly murdered, and now he was being interrogated by armed strangers who apparently knew everything about him except his name and in a place where animals were murdering each other. No wonder he cracked.
'You'll keep me safe from Gunnarsson. You guarantee it?'
Stafford glanced at Chip who nodded. He said, 'We'll put you in a safe place where no one will know where you are. But you'll have to co-operate. Tell us.'
Hendrix still hesitated. 'Anyone got a cigarette?' Chip took a packet from his pocket and shook one out, and Hendrix lit it with a burning twig from the fire. He took a long draught of smoke into his lungs and it seemed to calm him. 'All right. My name's Jack Corliss and Gunnarsson propositioned me a few weeks ago. Christ; I wish he'd never come near me.'
The story was moderately simple. Corliss worked in a bank in New York. He was a computer buff and had found a way to fiddle the electronic books and Gunnarsson had caught him at it. From then on it was straight blackmail. Stafford did not think Gunnarsson had to try too hard because Corliss, was bent already.
'I had to read a lot of stuff about Hendrix,' said Corliss. 'About his family. Then there were tape recordings – a lot of them. Hendrix talking with Gunnarsson. I don't think Hendrix knew he was being taped. Gunnarsson got him to talk a lot about himself; it was real friendly. Gunnarsson got him drunk a couple of times and some good stuff came out.'
'Good for anyone wanting to impersonate Hendrix,' said Chip.
Corliss nodded. 'It looked great. Hendrix was a loner; he had no family. Gunnarsson said it would be dead easy.'
'Dead being the operative word,' said Stafford. 'What else was he offering you, apart from the chance of staying out of jail?' Corliss avoided his eyes. 'Let's have it all.'
'A quarter of a million bucks,' he mumbled. 'Gunnarsson said I'd have to have a hunk of dough to make it look good afterwards.'
'One twelfth of the take,' Stafford said. 'You taking the risk and Gunnarsson taking the cream. What a patsy you were, Corliss. Do you think you'd have lived to enjoy it?'
'For Christ's sake! I had no goddamn choice. Gunnarsson had me by the balls.'
'Where is Hendrix now?'
'How would I know?' demanded Corliss. 'I never even met the guy.'
'Terminated with extreme prejudice,' said Chip. 'That's the CIA expression isn't it?'
Stafford nodded. 'No one knew he was in New York except Hardin. I think that's why Hardin was fired, and I think Hardin was bloody lucky – it could have happened to him. But Gunnarsson underestimated Hardin; he never thought resentment would push Hardin into going to England.'
'What happens to me now?' asked Corliss apathetically.
'Chip and Nair will take you away and put you in a safe place. You'll have clothing and food but no freedom until this is all over. After that we'll get you back to the States where you'd better get lost. Agreed, Chip?'
'If he co-operates and makes no trouble,' said Chip. 'If he does anything foolish there are no guarantees any more.'
'I'll make no trouble,' said Corliss eagerly. 'All I want to do is to get out of this damn country.' He listened to the night noises and shivered, drawing the fatigue jacket closer to him although it was not cold. 'It scares me.'
'There's one more thing,' Stafford said. 'People don't usually get shot for no reason at all. Who'd want to kill you, Corliss? Not Gunnarsson; he wouldn't want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. Who, then?'
'I don't know,' said Corliss violently. 'No one would want to kill me. I don't know about Hendrix. You guys said it was open season on Hendrix.'
'That was a manner of speaking,' said Stafford.
Corliss shook his head as thought in wonderment at what was happening to him. He said, 'I had an auto accident in Cornwall, but I'm not that bad a driver. The brakes failed on a hill.'
Stafford shrugged. 'It doesn't have to be guns.'
'Cui bono?' said Chip, unexpectedly breaking into Latin. He grinned at Stafford's expression, his teeth gleaming in the firelight. 'This nigger bastard went to university. Who inherits from Hendrix?'
Stafford thought about it, then said slowly, 'The next of kin, I suppose. Corliss, here, says Hendrix had no family but, of course, he had, although he didn't know it. His next of kin would be his cousin, Dirk Hendriks, assuming that Henry Hendrix made no will.'
'I think we can accept that assumption,' said Chip dryly.
Stafford shook his head. 'It's impossible. Dirk went back to England with Farrar. How could he organize a kidnapping into Tanzania? That would take organization on the spot. Anyway, he's inherited three million himself. What's the motive?'
From the darkness on the other side of the fire Nair said, 'Six is better than three. Some people are greedy.'
'I don't see it,' said Stafford. 'Hen
driks has no Kenyan connections; he's a South African, damn it. He'd never been in the country until he came with Farrar. How could a man, not knowing either country, organize a kidnapping in Kenya by Tanzanians? I'd say South Africans are a damn sight more unwelcome in Tanzania than they are in Kenya.'
'Yes,' said Chip. 'We're a tolerant people. We don't mind South Africans as long as they behave themselves. The Tanzanians aren't as tolerant.'
They batted it around a bit-more and got nowhere. At last Stafford said, 'Perhaps we're barking up the wrong tree. I know that no tourists have been killed in these Tanzanian raids but it was bound to happen sooner or later when people carry guns. Perhaps this attempt on Corliss was a statistical inevitability – a Tanzanian aberration.'
'No,' said Chip. 'I can understand a gun going off and killing someone. I can understand one man going round the bend and killing someone. But two men deliberately took Corliss and, as you said, it was the nearest thing to an execution I've witnessed. It was deliberate,'
'Jesus!' said Corliss.
'But why?' Stafford asked. No one could tell him.
The fire had to be kept going all night so one man stood" watch while the others slept and Stafford stood first watch. By unspoken agreement Corliss did not stand a watch; no one was going to sleep having him loose with two rifles and a submachine-gun. When his time was up Stafford stretched out on the ground not expecting to sleep, but the next thing he knew Nair was shaking him awake. 'Dawn,' he said.
When Stafford stood up he was stiff and his bones creaked. In his time in the army and in the Sahara he had slept on the ground in the open air many times, but it is a game for a young man and as he grew older he found that it ceased to be fun. He looked around, and asked, 'Where's Chip?'
'He left at first light – ten minutes ago. He said he'll be back in an hour, maybe two.' Nair nodded towards Corliss. 'We have to make arrangements about him. He can't be seen by anyone, including the police.'
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