Stafford nodded. 'I think so,' he said wearily. 'How are you going to keep it under cover?'
'I've brought you some newspapers and marked the relevant stories. The matter of Brice hasn't come up yet so it hasn't been reported. I'll tell you what will happen about him. He's under arrest for embezzlement of Ol Njorowa funds; we found enough in his office to nail him on that. He'll go on trial and he'll stand for it because he can't do anything else. We don't know who he is but we do know he isn't Brice.'
'How do you know that?'
'Before Brice left Zimbabwe – Rhodesia – he got into trouble with the Smith government for some reason or other. Anyway, our brothers in Zimbabwe had a look through police records and turned up his fingerprints, and they don't match those of the Brice we've got.'
Stafford began to laugh. 'So Brice goes to jail for embezzlement. He can't do anything else.'
'He'll spend a long time inside, and he'll be deported when he comes out.' Chip smiled. 'We'll probably put him on a plane to Zimbabwe.' He chuckled 'And the Zimbabweans will arrest him for false pretenses and travelling on a false passport.'
'I almost feel sorry for him,' said Stafford.
'Don't,' said Chip in a grim voice. 'We found a safe built into the wall of the cellar. It was strong and fireproof. In it, among other things which I won't go into, we found three passports in the name of Gunnarsson, Hendrix and Kosters.
That pins the Tanzanian attack directly on Brice. The Hendrix passport had been tampered with.'
'They'd replace Hendrix's photo with that of Corliss,' said Stafford. 'What happens to Corliss?'
'We'll give him the passport and send him home,' said Chip. 'He knows nothing of what went on. He's a very confused boy and will never tell a straight story.' He stood up. 'When you get out of here you must have dinner with me and my wife.'
Stafford was somewhat surprised. 'I didn't know you were married.'
'Most people are.' Chip flipped his hand in a semi-salute and left.
Stafford picked up the newspapers and read the articles Chip had marked. An American visitor, Mr John Gunnarsson, had been killed by a hippopotamus on Crescent Island, Lake Naivasha. His body was being returned to the United States. A brief editorial in the same issue commented that this should reinforce the warning to all visitors to Kenya that the animals they saw in such profusion really were wild and could not be approached with impunity. While regretting the death of Mr Gunnarsson it could not be the function of the Kenyan authorities to wet-nurse headstrong tourists.
In another issue was an account of the disastrous fire at Ol Njorowa College. The animal migration laboratory had been wrecked, mostly by the explosion of butane cylinders stored in the basement. Several people, including the Director, Mr Charles Brice, had been injured, and Mr Dirk Hendriks and Mr Paul Miller had been killed. Mr Brice was not available for comment but the Acting Director, Dr James Odhiambo, said it was a grave blow to the advance of science in Kenya. The police did not suspect arson.
Stafford was about to reach for another newspaper when there was a tap at the door and Hardin and Curtis came in. Curtis said, 'I have taken the liberty of bringing the Colonel some fruit.' He put a brown paper bag on the bedside table.
Stafford looked at him with affection. 'Thank you, Sergeant. And I understand I have to thank you for getting me out of the lab before it blew up.'
'That was mostly Mr Hunt, sir," said Curtis imperturbably. 'I'm sorry I let Brice and Hendriks get-past me. I had to watch out on two sides and I was in the office when they came in.'
Stafford thought it was not so much an apology as an explanation. He said, 'No harm done,' then amended the statement. 'Only to Hendriks – and Brice.'
'Is there anything I can get for you, sir?'
'Just a new head,' said Stafford. 'This one feels a bit second hand.'
'I felt like that,' said Hardin. 'But you got a bigger thump than me. We'll come back when you feel better.'
'Hang on a minute, Ben. Do you mind, Sergeant?' Curtis left the room and Stafford said, 'Are you still going to work for me?'
Hardin grinned. 'Not if it's going to be like this month. The pay's not enough.'
'It isn't always as exciting as this. How would you like to go to New York? I want someone across there fast- someone who knows the ropes.'
Hardin looked at Stafford appraisingly. 'Yeah, Gunnarsson Associates will be up for grabs now Gunnarsson has gone. That's what you mean, isn't it?'
'Something like that. I need you there; you know the business. With a bit of luck you could get to be the boss of the American end of Stafford Security.'
'Gunnarsson always kept the reins in his own hands,' said Hardin musingly. 'I guess things could tend to fall apart now. Sure, I'll give it a whirl and see if I can pick up a few of the pieces. To tell the truth I've gotten a bit homesick. All this fresh air seems unnatural; I miss the smell of gasoline fumes. Hell, I'd even take Los Angeles right now.'
'Go by way of London,' said Stafford. 'I'll give you a letter for Jack Ellis. Arrange for whatever expenses you need with him.' He paused. 'Talking of Los Angeles, I wonder what happened to Hank Hendrix – the real one?'
'I'll ask around but I don't think we'll ever know,' said Hardin.
When Hardin had gone Stafford felt tired and was beginning to see double again. He closed his eyes and composed himself for sleep. His last waking thought was of Alix Hendriks who would never know the truth about the death of her husband. It occurred to him that every time he helped Alix she got richer and he achieved a few more scars. This time she would inherit her husband's fortune by courtesy of the South African government, and might even get Henry Hendrix's money with a bit of luck.
He made a mental note that the next time Alix appealed for help or advice was the time to start running.
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Windfall ms-2 Page 31