Windfall

'What's the matter now?' said Brice tiredly.

'He's seen the bloody will, that's what's the matter,' said Dirk viciously. 'A man called Hardin came to see Alix when I was in South Africa.' He told Brice about it, then said, 'I never met Hardin. Alix said he'd gone back to the States.'

'And you never thought to tell me about this?' said Brice acidly.

'I was too busy thinking about what to do with Hendrix. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that Stafford knows the Foundation has inherited a hell of a lot more than seven million.'

Brice shrugged. 'We've got a cover for that. I told you about it. I'll just have to report the full extent of our windfall. A pity, but there it is.' He stood up and began to pace. 'This is a damn funny tale you're telling me. Hardin, an American, tells your wife that you had an unknown cousin. Further, Hardin has taken the trouble to get a copy of the will. Why should he do that?'

'He said he was suspicious of the man he was working for according to Alix. I told you I never met the man.'

'And who was he working for?'

'A private detective agency in New York.'

'The name?'

'I don't know. Alix didn't say.'

'Who employed the detective agency?'

'Farrar, the Jersey lawyer.'

Brice Stopped his pacing and faced Hendriks. 'Now tell me something,' he said coldly. 'How did Farrar know there was an American heir?' Dirk was silent. Brice said, 'How many people knew there was an American heir?'

'Pretoria knew,' said Dirk. 'I knew, but I didn't go near Farrar. Mandeville knew, of course.' He stopped.

'Mandeville knew,' repeated Brice. 'The eminent Queen's Counsel knew. Do you know what happened, Hendriks? While Pretoria was chasing Hendrix in Los Angeles he was also being chased by American detectives employed by Farrar at the instigation of Mandeville. Pretoria nearly got Hendrix but he was rescued by Mandeville's crowd. What a balls-up! Hasn't anyone heard of co-ordination and liaison? We've been fighting ourselves, you damned fool.' His tone was cutting. 'What made Mandeville go off half-cocked like that?'

'He always said Pretoria was slow off the mark,' said Dirk. His voice was sullen.

'I think you'd better talk to Mandeville. Find out if our reasoning is correct. If it is, you tell him never to do anything without orders again.' He picked up the telephone. 'Find out the delay on London calls, please.' As he put down the telephone he said, 'And you might ask him for the name of the American detective agency.'

'Why? It doesn't matter any more.'

'How do you know that? Have you got crystal balls?' Brice slammed his hand on the desk with a noise like a pistol shot. There's been too much going wrong on this operation. I haven't been sweating blood here to see it torpedoed by inefficiency.' He sat down. 'Now tell me more about Stafford? How did he come to see the will?'

'Hardin had a copy and took it to Alix. I was in South Africa so Alix asked Stafford for his advice. Hardin showed him the will.'

'So he knows the extent of the will, he's been prowling about here, and he was in the Masai Mara when Hendrix was snatched. This man you met… er…?' Brice snapped his fingers impatiently.

'Gunnarsson.'

'Gunnarsson told you that Stafford had followed the raiders. Is that it?'

'That's right. Afterwards Stafford told him that his party got lost in the bush.'

'Got lost, did they? I wonder.' Brice cocked a raised eyebrow at Hendriks. 'I lost two men and your cousin is still missing. We discussed it before but we didn't know about Stafford then.' He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. 'I can see we'll have to find out more about Stafford.' The telephone rang and he picked it up. 'Oh!' He covered the mouthpiece. 'Someone for you. Who knows you're here?'

'No one,' said Hendriks. 'After I talked to Gunnarsson I went to the American Embassy but I told no one where I was going after that.'

'Someone knows.' Brice held out the telephone. 'You'd better find out who it is.'

Hendriks took it. 'Dirk Hendriks speaking.'

'Hello, Dirk; so. I've tracked you down at last,' said Stafford, and Hendriks nearly dropped the phone. 'Max here. I thought I'd phone Ol Njorowa on the off chance you'd be there. How are you doing?'

'Fine,' said Dirk. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said in a low voice, 'It's Stafford.'

'Have you been ballooning yet?' asked Stafford. 'What?' said Dirk stupidly.

'Ballooning with the Hunts. They've extended an invitation for me to go ballooning with them tomorrow. I've just been talking to Alan. I'll be staying at the Lake Naivasha Hotel. We must have dinner.'

'Yes, we must,' said Dirk mechanically. 'Hang on a minute.' Again he covered the mouthpiece. 'He's coming here. Some crazy talk about ballooning with someone called Hunt. He'll be at the hotel.'

Brice began to smile. 'Give me the phone.' He took -it, and said, 'Hello, Mr Stafford; Charles Brice here. I hear Alan Hunt is taking you up tomorrow. Now, there's no question of your staying at the hotel, we can put you up here. Apart from anything else it will be more convenient for Alan. Yes, I insist. What time shall we expect you? All right, we'll see you then.'

His smile broadened as he cradled the telephone. 'I'd just as soon have him here where I can keep an eye on him. ''Walk into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly'.'

Chapter 22

Gunnarsson lay on the bed in his room at the New Stanley reading a paperback novel in which he had no interest. Several times he had lost the drift of the plot and had to turn back several pages and he was bored and irritable. True, being on his back helped his feet which were still sore, and the doctor had recommended bed rest, but what he was really doing was waiting for a telephone call from London.

The telephone rang and he reached for it. 'Gunnarsson.'

'Mr Gunnarsson, this is George Barbour of Peacemore, Willis and Franks in London. I understand that you want to know the present location of Max Stafford of Stafford Security Consultants.'

'Yeah.'

'To the best of our knowledge Mr Stafford is now in Kenya on holiday. He left London on the eighteenth.'

So the bastard had been waiting in Nairobi, thought Gunnarsson. He said, 'You didn't tip off Stafford Security, I hope.'

Barbour was hurt. 'We know how to make discreet enquiries, Mr Gunnarsson.'

'Okay. Well, thanks.'

He rang off and pulled the telephone directory towards him and began to ring the Nairobi hotels. He struck lucky on his fifth try which was the Norfolk. Yes, Mr Stafford was staying at the Norfolk. No, he was not in the hotel at the moment. It was believed that Mr Stafford was away on safari, although he had retained his room. No, the whereabouts of Mr Stafford were not known. Did the gentleman wish to leave a message?

Gunnarsson did not wish to leave a message so he hung up abruptly and lay back on the bed and tried to sort out his thoughts. He had never met Stafford but had heard much of him from Peacemore, Willis and Franks. There was no Peacemore, nor Willis, nor Franks; the three-barrelled name having been invented by Gunnarsson as having a cosy ring to it suitable for the City of London. The outfit was ram-rodded by Terence Ferney who had been vitriolic on the subject of Stafford Security Consultants from time to time. 'Stafford's halo is getting tight the way his head is swelling,' he once said. 'But he's a good operator, there's no doubt about that. He keeps his security tight and he's recruited good men – Jack Ellis for one.'

Gunnarsson had seen Ferney in London and Ferney had been crowing about how they had got past Stafford Security's guard at Electronomics during the Electronomics takeover and Gunnarsson had cut him short curdy. 'You've won one and lost five. Your record's not good, Terry. Get on the ball.'

So it was Stafford who had followed him in the Masai Mara. What sort of coincidence was that? The boss of one of America's biggest private security organizations is kidnapped and the boss of one of Europe's largest security