Desmond Bagley - Windfall

'I suppose so,' said Stafford, but he was not convinced.

'The white man finds it difficult to understand how the mind of the black man works,' said Nair. There was a smile in his voice as he added, 'Not to mention the mind of the Indian. Even the white South Africans, who ought to know better, make mistakes about that."

'Such as?'

'To begin with, the countries of Africa are artificial creations of the white man. The black does not really understand the nation state; his loyalties are to the tribe.'

'Yes,' said Stafford thoughtfully. 'Chip was saying something about that.'

'All right,' said Nair. 'Take Zimbabwe, which used to be Southern Rhodesia, an artificial entity. They had an election to see who'd come out on top, Nkomo, Mugabe or Bishop Muzorewa who ran the caretaker government. No one gave much chance to Muzorewa. The odds-on favourite was Nkomo and Mugabe was expected to come a bad second. Even the South Africans, who ought to have known better, laid their bets that way.'

'Why ought they to have known better?'

'They've been in Africa long enough. You see, there are two main tribes in Zimbabwe, the Ndebele and the Mashona. Nkomo is an Ndebele and Mugabe a Mashona. The Mashona outnumber the Ndebele four to one and Mugabe won the election by four to one. Simple, really.'

'They voted along tribal lines?'

'Largely.' Nair paused, then said, 'If the South Africans could set up a well-financed secret base here they could stir up a lot of trouble among the tribes."

Stafford extinguished his cigarette carefully and lay back to think. Because of its position in Africa Kenya was a hodgepodge of ethnic and religious differences, all of which could be exploited by a determined and cynical enemy. Nair was probably right.

He was still thinking of this when he fell asleep.

He awoke in the grey light of dawn and looked uncomprehendingly at something which moved. He lay on his side and watched the buck daintily picking its way across his line of vision. It was incredibly small, about the size of a small dog, say, a fox terrier," and its legs were about as thick as a ball point pen and terminated in miniature hooves. Its rump was rounded and its horns were two small daggers. He had never seen anything so exquisite.

A twig snapped and the buck scampered away into the safety of the trees. Stafford rolled over and saw Nair approaching from the lake. 'That was a dik-dik,' said Nair.

'Have the flies gone?'

'No flies now.'

'Good.' Stafford threw back the netting and emerged from the sleeping bag. He put on his trousers, then his shoes, and took a towel. 'Is it safe to wash in the lake?'

'Safe enough; just keep your eyes open for snakes. Not that you're likely to see any.'' As Stafford turned away Nair called, 'There are some fish eagles nesting in the trees over there.'

As Stafford walked to the water's edge he shook his head in amusement. Nair's cover as a courier for tourist groups seemed to have stuck. A herd of Thomson's gazelle drifted out of his way, not hurrying but keeping a safe distance from him. At the shore he sluiced down and was towelling himself dry when Hardin joined him. 'Peaceful place,' Hardin remarked.

'Yes. It's very nice.' Stafford put on his shirt. 'Where's Curtis? His sleeping bag was empty.'

Hardin waved his arm. 'Gone to the top of the ridge there; he wanted to have a look-see at the mainland.'

Stafford smiled. 'Military habits die hard.'

Hardin was staring out into the lake. 'Now, look at that, will you?'

Stafford followed his gaze and saw nothing but ripples. 'What is it?'

'Wait!' Hardin pointed. 'It was about there. Look! It's come up again. A goddamn hippo.'

Stafford saw the head break surface and heard a distant snorting and snuffling, then the hippopotamus submerged again. He said, 'Well, we are in Africa, you know. What would you expect to find in an African lake? Polar bears?'

'Crocodiles, that's what.' Hardin looked around very carefully at the lake shore. 'And I hope Nair was right about lions and leopards not liking to swim too far. We don't have a gun between the lot of us.'

There was an outcrop of rock close by and Stafford thought he would get a better view of the hippo from the top so he walked over to it. As he climbed he found the rock oddly slippery and he had difficulty in keeping his footing despite the fact that his shoes were rubber-soled. At the top he lost his balance entirely – his feet shot from under him and he fell to the ground below, a matter of some ten feet.

He was winded and gasped desperately for breath, and his senses swam. He did not entirely lose consciousness but was hardly aware of Hardin running up to him and turning him on to his back. 'You okay, Max?' said Hardin anxiously.

It was a couple of minutes before Stafford could reply. 'Christ, but that was bad.'

'Anything broken?'

Stafford handled himself gingerly, testing for broken bones. At last he said, 'I think I'm in one piece.'

'It could have been your neck the way you went down,' said Hardin. 'What the hell happened?'

Stafford got to his feet. 'There's something about that rock. It's damned slippery; almost as if it's been greased.'

Hardin took a pace to the outcrop and inspected it visually, then passed his hand over the surface. 'Just plain old rock as far as I can see.'

'Damn it!' said Stafford. 'It was just like walking on loose ball bearings.' He joined Hardin but could detect nothing odd about the nature of the stone surface.

Hardin said, 'If you're okay I'll finish cleaning up." He returned to the waterside and Stafford waited, watching what he supposed was one of the fish eagles Nair had mentioned as it circled lazily above, and wondering about the curious nature of the rock on Crescent Island.

Hardin finished and they walked back, Stafford limping a little because he had pulled a muscle in his leg. Nair had coffee waiting and gave Stafford a cup as he sat on his sleeping bag. Hardin said, 'Max thinks you have odd rocks here. He took a nasty tumble back there.'

Nair looked up. 'Odd? How?'

'Damned slippery. I could have broken something.' Stafford massaged his thigh.

'Take a look at the soles of your shoes,' Nair advised.

Stafford took off a shoe and turned it over. 'Well, I'll be damned!' The rubber sole was completely hidden by a packed mass of brown seeds.

'You'll be all right walking about in the normal way,' said Nair. 'Just pick your surfaces and don't walk on naked rock or you'll slip.'

All the same Stafford took his pocket knife and de-seeded his shoes after breakfast. The seeds were small and tetrahedron in shape with a small spike at each vertex so that whichever way they fell one spike would be uppermost, rather like miniature versions of the medieval caltrops which were scattered to discourage cavalry charges. Nature got there first, he reflected, and said aloud, 'Now I know why Gunnarsson was hobbling so badly when he got back to Keekorok.' He inspected the sole of the shoe. The remaining small spikes had broken off under his body weight and left a smooth, polished surface as slick as a ballroom floor. He cleaned the seeds out and then looked at the sole of his shoe. It was full of pinholes.

After they had breakfast and done the camp chores such as flattening and burying the empty cans there was nothing much to do. 'Did Chip say when he'd be coming back?' asked Stafford.

Nair shrugged. 'I doubt if he'd know.'

'So we twiddle our thumbs,' said Stafford disgustedly.

Curtis returned to his position on top of the ridge, taking with him Stafford's binoculars, and Hardin elected to keep him company. Nair and Stafford took a walk; there being nothing else to do. 'We'll be at the north end of the island,' Nair told Hardin before they left.

They strolled along, taking their time because they were not going anywhere in particular. As they went Stafford told Nair of his assessment of the Kenyan options and Nair agreed with him somewhat gloomily. 'The trouble with us,' he said. 'Is that we're civilized enough to have intelligence and security departments, but not civilized enough to know how to use them properly. We haven't had the experience of you British. I don't think we're cynical enough.'