Desmond Bagley - Windfall

Nair approached them. 'What about?' he asked innocently.

'Jesus; you know what about!' said Gunnarsson belligerently. 'Why are you so goddamn interested in me?'

'Do you have something to hide?'

Gunnarsson's eyes nickered. 'What's with the double-talk?'

'I think he has something to hide,' said Stafford. 'For instance, I'd like to know what happened to Henry Hendrix.'

'We've been through all that before." Gunnarsson took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow and his neck. 'I'm tired of telling the story.'

'Oh, I don't mean Corliss,' said Stafford casually. 'I know what happened to him. But what happened to Hendrix?'

'Hendrix is…' Gunnarsson began, and stopped as the meaning of what Stafford had said sank in. He moistened his lips and swallowed before saying, 'Who is Corliss?'

'Your friend who disappeared in Tanzania.'

'You're crazy! That was Hendrix.'

Stafford shook his head. 'Gunnarsson; you're a bigger liar than I am. The Hendrix you took to London was not the Hendrix found in Los Angeles.'

'Not Hendrix!' said Gunnarsson numbly. 'You must be kidding.' He forced a smile.

'Definitely not Hendrix,' said Stafford. 'And proveable.'

'Look, the guy was brought to me in my office. He had everything right; a pat hand. Everything checked out.' He paused in thought. 'I sent an operative to pick him up in Los Angeles. Could he have pulled a fast one on me?'

'What was his name? This operative?'

'A guy called Hardin. Something of a dead beat. I had to fire him.' Gunnarsson was sweating as he extemporized his story. 'If anyone pulled a fast one it must have been Hardin. He's a…'

Stafford cut him short by raising his voice, 'Come out, come out, wherever you are.' As Gunnarsson gazed at him in astonishment Stafford said coolly, 'Why don't you ask him? He's just behind you.'

Gunnarsson whirled and his eyes bulged as he saw Hardin who smiled and said, 'Hello, you lousy cheapskate.'

'You've been under a microscope,' said Stafford. 'Every move you've made has been noted ever since you pitched up in London with Corliss and palmed him off as Hendrix. I won't say we've recorded every time you went to the loo, but damned nearly. And Corliss has been singing as sweetly as any nightingale. The jig's up, Gunnarsson.'

Gunnarsson looked defeated, rather as Stafford had seen him when he hobbled into the game lodge at Keekorok. He mumbled, 'Where is Corliss?'

'Where you'd expect him to be – in a police cell. And that's where you're going.'

To Stafford's surprise Nair stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs. 'You're under arrest, Mr Gunnarsson. I'm a police officer.'

Gunnarsson whipped round and began to run. Unfortunately Curtis happened to be in the way and it was like running into a brick wall. Hardin collared him from behind and brought him down. Then Nair manacled him, right wrist to left ankle. 'Best way of immobilizing a man,' said Nair. 'He can't run. His only way of getting around is to roll like a hoop.'

Curtis interrupted the steady flow of obscenities from Gunnarsson. 'If the Colonel doesn't mind I'll get back up there.' He indicated the ridge.

'Very well, Sergeant.' Stafford watched Curtis walk away in his stolid fashion and turned to Nair. 'Are you really a police officer?'

Nair grinned. 'Police reserve. I always carry a spare warrant card. Do you want to see it?'

Stafford shook his head. 'I'll take it on trust.'

Gunnarsson looked up at Hardin malevolently. 'You lousy bastard! I'll have your balls.'

'Talk to me like that again and I'll kick your teeth in,' said Hardin sharply. 'Any injuries can be put down to resisting arrest.'

'Yes,' said Nair. 'I would advise a still tongue.'

Gunnarsson twisted around to face him. 'What's the charge? I've committed no crime in Kenya.'

'Oh, we can always think of something,' said Nair cheerfully.

Hunt wore a baffled expression. 'I don't understand all this.

Who is this man, and what has he to do with Ol Njorowa?'

'His name is Gunnarsson and he has nothing whatever to do with Ol Njorowa,' said Stafford. 'He tried to get some easy money but didn't know what he was getting into. Still, he did lead us to the funny business at the College. Hardin will tell you all about it.'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'Over a beer. We've got some six-packs cooling in the lake; let's go get them.'

As they walked away Stafford called, 'Take a beer to the Sergeant,' then said to Nair, 'So what do we do about him?' He indicated Gunnarsson.

'Not much. He'll keep until Chip comes back. Of course, we'll have to feed him.'

'yeah,' said Gunnarsson. 'If there's any beer going I'd like a can. And what's this about Ol Njorowa? I figured the place wasn't kosher but I couldn't put my finger on what's wrong about it.'

'Hardin always said you were smart,' admitted Stafford. 'But not, I think, smart enough. You got in over your head, Gunnarsson. One of my associates described it elegantly as the clash of nations.'

Gunnarsson looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

One of the nations was preparing for its part in the clash.

Brice looked at Patterson stonily. 'So Gunnarsson went out to Crescent Island. Why?'

'I couldn't ask him; he wasn't within shouting distance,' said Patterson acidly. 'But I think he's chasing after some Indian – a Sikh. He was making enquiries about the driver of a Kenatco taxi in the hotel car park and then hired the hotel boat to take him to the island. The boatman wouldn't wait for him because someone wanted to go fishing. He promised Gunnarsson he'd pick him up in a couple of hours.' He looked at his watch. 'That was nearly an hour ago. I left Joe Baiya on watch and came back here to report. You said not to use the telephone in this business.'

'So I did.' Brice tapped a ballpoint pen on the desk and stared unseeingly at Dirk Hendriks. 'A Sikh in a Kenatco taxi. That's something new.'

'And interesting,' said Hendriks.

'It gets more interesting,' said Patterson. 'I had another look at the taxi – a Mercedes just like Kenatco uses, but I don't think it's theirs. It had three antennas and a signal strength meter on the dashboard. A professional trailing job.'

Brice sat straighter in his chair. 'Gunnarsson told us about that. I didn't know whether or not to believe him.' He stood up and paced the room. 'If it isn't one damn thing it's another. We get rid of Stafford and now we've got this man, Gunnarsson pushing in. I'd like to know why.'

'Are we sure Stafford has gone?' asked Patterson.

Hendriks nodded. 'Our man in Nairobi reported in person fifteen minutes ago. Stafford left on the morning flight. He checked out of the Norfolk early and changed his Kenyan money at the airport bank like a good boy. Our man saw the record – he has good contacts at the airport. Both Stafford and his man, Curtis, are on the passenger list.'

'But did anyone see them leave?' persisted Patterson.

'Forget Stafford," snapped Brice. 'Our immediate concern is Gunnarsson and, more important, with whoever is following him. I don't like it.' He stood up. 'Since they're both conveniently to hand on Crescent Island I propose that we find out what they're doing there. Come on."

The three of them left the office and, on the way through the entrance hall, Brice collected the black who presided behind the reception desk.

Hunt said, 'That's the damnedest story I've ever heard.'

Hardin chuckled. 'Isn't it, though? Not long ago Max asked me if I thought that running down Biggie and Hank would lead to what's happening here in Kenya. Really weird. If Gunnarsson hadn't tried to pull a switch then the Ol Njorowa crowd might have got away with it. Brice and Hendriks are damned unlucky.' He rubbed his chin. 'There's one person I'm really sorry for.'

'Who's that?'