Desmond Bagley - Windfall

It was an odd way of defining civilization, but Stafford thought he could very well be right.

Once Nair stopped and pointed to the ground, ahead of them but to one side.'Look!'

Stafford saw nothing, but then an ear twitched and he saw a beady eye. 'A rabbit!' he said in astonishment. 'I didn't know you had those in Africa.'

'Not many,' said Nair. 'Too many predators. That's a Bunyoro rabbit.' He moved and the rabbit took fright and bounded away, changing direction with every hop. Nair slanted his eyes at Stafford. 'Too many predators in all of Africa.'

And most of them human, agreed Stafford, but to himself.

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Hardin caught up with them. 'Alan Hunt just landed from a boat,' he reported. 'The Sergeant has gone down to meet him.'

'He might have brought news,' said Stafford. 'Let's go see.'

Hunt, however, had no news. He had been to the service station in Naivasha to replenish the butane bottles for the balloon and to have a pipe welded on the burner and had then decided to see if Stafford knew what was happening. 'We're marking bloody time, that's all,' said Stafford. 'Waiting for the top brass to make up its collective mind – if any.'

'You were right,' said Hunt.

'What about?'

'The TV camera in the entrance hall of the Admin Block. I checked on it.'

Stafford grunted. 'I hope you didn't poke your eye right into it.'

'And your friend, Gunnarsson, stayed over last night. He and Brice seemed quite pally.'

Stafford thought of the directed conversation he had with Gunnarsson in the bedroom. He said, 'Brice is probably measuring him up; assessing the opposition, no doubt.'

Hardin laughed. 'Measuring him up is right. For a coffin, probably.'

Stafford disagreed. 'I doubt it. It's a bad operation that leaves too many corpses around. I don't think Brice is as stupid as that."

'He wasn't too worried about leaving a corpse on the Tanzanian border,' objected Hardin.

'That was different. There's still no direct connection between Brice and that episode. He's still pretty well covered. I think…"

What Stafford thought was lost because a piercing whistle came from the ridge and he looked up to see Curtis waving in a beckoning motion. 'Something's up," he said, and began to run.

He was out of breath when he cast himself down next to Curtis and thought that this was a job for a younger man. Nair and Hunt were with him, but Hardin was still trailing behind. Curtis pointed to a boat half way across the narrow strait between the island and the mainland, and passed the binoculars to Stafford. 'If the Colonel would care to take a look? It's coming from the Lake Naivasha Hotel.'

Stafford put the glasses to his eyes and focused. In the stern was a young black Kenyan, his hand on the tiller of the outboard motor. And Gunnarsson sat amidships, staring at the island and apparently right into Stafford's eyes.

Stafford withdrew from the crest of the ridge as Hardin flopped down beside him. 'What is it?' Hardin asked. He was short of breath.

'Gunnarsson. He's coming straight here as though pulled by a magnet. Now, how the hell does he know where we are?' No one answered him, so Stafford said, 'Ben, you get lost. You, too, Nair; but stay close and available. Curtis and I will form a welcoming committee. Come on, Sergeant.'

'What about me?' said Hunt.

Stafford considered the matter and shrugged. 'That depends on whether you want to get involved. Come if you like.' He peered over the ridge. Gunnarsson's boat was heading straight as an arrow to the roughly-made jetty which formed the landing place.

'I'll come,' said Hunt.

The three of them traversed the ridge heading north and keeping below the crest, then went over at a place where the jetty was screened from view by trees. They moved fast because Stafford wanted to intercept Gunnarsson at the jetty before he set out to explore the island. A waterbuck exploded out of a thicket, panicked by their sudden presence, and went galloping across a glade ahead of them. As they went by it stopped and stared and then, reassured, resumed its browsing.

Stafford slowed his pace as he neared the jetty close enough to hear the puttering of an, outboard engine. The jetty came into view, half hidden by a leafy screen. He stopped and moved a branch and saw Gunnarsson getting out of the boat. There was a distant mutter of voices and then the raised note of the motor as the boat pulled away. Gunnarsson stood on the jetty and looked at the boats moored there: the one in which Nair had brought the camp supplies and the other in which Hunt had arrived.

Stafford whispered to Hunt, 'Did you come from the Lake Naivasha Hotel?'

'No – from Safariland.'

Stafford frowned. That made it unlikely that Gunnarsson had been following Hunt, so what had brought him? He watched Gunnarsson inspecting the boats. He got into each and appeared to be searching them thoroughly. Not that there was anything to find.

Gunnarsson climbed back on to the jetty, and Stafford said, 'Let's ask him what he wants.' They left cover and walked along the shoreline.

Gunnarsson had his back to them but, as he heard their approach, he turned. A grim smile appeared on his face and he put his hands on his hips and stood with arms akimbo. They got close enough for conversation and Stafford said pleasantly, 'Good morning, Mr Gunnarsson. How are your feet today?'

'By Christ!' said Gunnarsson. 'Stafford, you are one magnificent liar. You had me fooled, you really did. So you were pulling out and going back to London? And I believed you.'

Stafford was comforted by that. If he had fooled Gunnarsson then he might have also fooled Brice and Hendriks. He said, 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm looking for a guy in a turban, but I suppose you wouldn't know anything about him.' He raised his hand before Stafford could speak. 'And don't tell me you don't know anything about him. I wouldn't believe you now if you told me that the thing shining in the sky is the sun.'

Stafford shrugged. 'That sounds like Nair Singh, our guide.'

Gunnarsson looked at Hunt. 'You're from Ol Njorowa. I saw you at breakfast this morning. So you're in this, too.'

'My name is Hunt. What am I supposed to be in, Mr Gunnarsson?'

Gunnarsson looked frustrated. 'If I knew that I wouldn't be screwing around here in this half-assed manner.' He glanced at Curtis. 'Who are you?'

The reply was characteristically brief and brought Gunnarsson no joy. 'Curtis.'

Gunnarsson's attention returned to Stafford. 'This Hindu guy you say is your guide. Where is he?'

'I wouldn't call him a Hindu; he might take umbrage because he's a Sikh.' Stafford waved his arm. 'He's back there. Do you want to talk to him?'

'Yeah, I want to ask him if he usually drives a phoney taxi equipped to track a beeper bug,' said Gunnarsson with heavy irony. 'It's standing in the hotel parking lot right now. I suppose you don't know anything about that, either.'

'I know now.' Stafford smiled. 'You've just told me.'

Gunnarsson snorted. 'So what is a tourist guide doing with triple antennas and a signal strength meter? Why was he trailing me?'

'Let's ask him,' Stafford proposed. 'I'll lead the way.' He walked away from the jetty and Gunnarsson fell into step beside him. Curtis and Hunt tagged along behind. 'What led you to Crescent Island?'

'That goddamn taxi was in the parking lot when I got back to the hotel this morning,' said Gunnarsson. 'I asked at the desk where the owner was and I was told he'd come here.'

So it had been as easy as that, thought Stafford. Nair had made mistakes; first with the beeper and then not getting rid of the Mercedes. Still, no harm had been done.

They climbed the ridge and went down the other side to the camp site. Stafford shouted, 'Nair!', and Nair got up from where he was unobtrusively lying in the shade of a tree. 'A man here wants to talk to you.'