As Stafford walked back to the car he wondered about that courier bit. Perhaps it was true, perhaps not. And perhaps it was true but not the entire truth. This friend of a friend of Sergeant Curtis was a shade too enigmatic for his liking. 'And Chip? Is he a courier, too?'

'Why, yes,' said Nair.

They got to the floor of the Rift Valley unhampered by beer trucks, although a steady procession was grinding up the hill, going the other way. Once on the level Nair increased speed. They passed a road going off to the left across the valley. Nair said, 'That's the road to Narok and the Masai Mara. You ought to go there – many animals.'

Stafford grunted. 'I'm not here for sightseeing.' Thereafter Nair was silent until they arrived at the hotel.

It was a low-slung building, painted white with a red, tiled roof and, but for the row of rooms set to one side, it could have been a gentleman's country house. They registered and found their rooms. Stafford shared with Hardin and, as soon as they were alone, he said, 'What do you know about this pair – Chip and Nair?'

Hardin shrugged. 'No more than you. The Sergeant was tight-mouthed.'

'He said he had connections here, but that was a long time ago, during the Mau-Mau business. At that time Chip and Nair wouldn't have been long out of kindergarten. I think 'I'll have to have a serious talk with him when we get back to Nairobi.'

Stafford had a quick shower before they assembled on the lawn in front of the hotel. It was six o'clock; the cocktail hour, and groups of guests were sitting at tables knocking back the pre-prandial booze while watching the sun dip below the Mau Escarpment beyond the lake. He ordered gin and tonic, Hardin had a Seagram's, while Nair stuck to his lemon squash.

A dachshund was chasing large black and white birds quite unsuccessfully; they avoided his mad rushes contemptuously. Nair said, 'Those are ibis; quite a lot of them around here. There are also pelicans, marabou storks and cormorants all around the lake.' He pointed at an incredibly multi-coloured bird, gleaming iridescently in blues, greens and reds, which was hopping among the tables. 'And that's a superb starling.'

'You seem to know a lot about birds,' Stafford said. 'For a geologist.'

'A courier must know a lot if he's to please his clients,' Nair said blandly. 'Will you need a cover story for Alan Hunt?'

The switch in subject matter was startling. Stafford looked at him thoughtfully, and said, 'I thought Hunt was your friend. Would you con him?'

Nair shrugged, 'As I said, I try to please my clients. I told him you were about to visit the geo-thermal project at Ol Karia; that's about two kilometres the other side of Hell's Gate.'

'But I know damn-all about it.'

'You don't have to know anything. You're going there as a vaguely interested visitor. They're drilling for steam to power an electricity generating plant. It's very interesting.'

'No doubt. Tell me, Nair; why are you doing this for me? Why are you playing along?'

He toyed with the iron bangle he wore on his wrist. 'Because I was asked,' he said. 'By a good friend in England.'

Stafford looked at Hardin. 'What do you think of that?' ' He grinned. 'Not much.'

Nair said earnestly, 'Just be thankful that we're here to help you, Mr Stafford.'

Stafford sighed. 'Since we're on first name terms you'd better call me Max.' He added something pungent in Punjabi. Nair lit up and responded with Punjabi in full flow. Stafford said, 'Whoa, there! I wasn't in the Punjab long enough to learn more than the swear words. I was there for a short time as a boy just after the war; my father was in the Army. It was at the time of Partition.'

'That must have been a bad time,' Nair said seriously. 'But I've never been to India; I was born in Kenya.' He looked over Stafford's shoulder. 'Here is Alan Hunt now.'

Hunt was a tall, tanned man, blond with hair bleached almost white by the sun. He was accompanied by his sister, a shade darker but not much. Nair made the introductions and Stafford found her name was Judy. A hovering waiter took the order for another round of drinks.

'Is this your first visit to Kenya?' asked Judy, launching into the inevitable introductory Smalltalk.

'Yes.' Stafford looked at his watch. 'I've been here about ten hours.'

8?

'You get around quickly.'..

'The car is a great invention.' Alan Hunt was talking to Nair. 'Are you with your brother at the Ol Njorowa College?'

'Yes; I'm an agronomist and Alan is a soil scientist. I suppose we complement each other. What do you do, Mr Stafford?'

'Max, please. I'm your original City of London businessman.' He tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. 'When I'm not wearing this I'm kitted out in a black suit, bowler hat and umbrella.'

She laughed. 'I don't believe it.'

'Take my word for it. It's still de rigueur.' 'I've never been to England,' she said a little wistfully.

'It's cold and wet,' Stafford said. 'You're better off here. Tell me something. I've been hearing about Hell's Gate -that's Ol Njorowa, isn't it?'

'In a way. It's what the English call it.'

'It sounds like the entrance to Dante's Inferno. What is it really?'

'It's a pass which runs along the western flank of Longonot; that's the big volcano near here. There are a lot of hot springs and steam vents which gave it its name, I suppose. But really it used to be an outlet for Lake Naivasha when the lake was a lot bigger than it is now.'

'How long ago was that?'

She smiled. She had a good smile. 'I wouldn't know. Maybe a million years.'

Nair stood up. 'We'd better go inside. The lake flies will be coming out now the sun has set.'

'Bad?' asked Hardin.

'Definitely not good,' said Hunt.

Over dinner Stafford got to know something about Hunt -and the Foundation. Hunt told about his work as a soil scientist. 'Jack of all trades,' he said. 'Something of geology, something of botany, something of microbiology, a smidgin of chemistry. Its a wide field.' He had been with the Foundation for two years and was enthusiastic about it. 'We're doing good work, but it's slow. You can't transform a people in a generation.'

When Stafford asked what he meant he said, 'Well, the tribes here were subsistence farmers; the growing of cash crops is a different matter. It demands better land management and a touch of science. But they're learning.'

Stafford looked across at Judy. 'Don't they object to being taught by a woman?'

Hunt laughed. 'Just the opposite. You see, the Kikuyu women are traditionally the cultivators of land and Judy gets on well with them. Her problem is that she loses her young, unmarried women too fast.'

'How come?'

'They marry Masai men. The Masai are to the south of here – nomadic cattle breeders. Their women won't cultivate so the men like to marry Kikuyu women who will take care of their patches of maize and millet.'

Stafford smiled. 'An unexpected problem.'

'There are many problems,' Hunt said seriously. 'But we're licking them. The Commonwealth Development Corporation and the World Bank are funding projects. Up near Baringo there's a CDC outfit doing the same thing among the Njemps. It's a matter of finding the right crops to suit the soil. Our Foundation is more of a home grown project and we're a bit squeezed for cash, although there's a rumour going around that the Foundation has been left a bit of money.'

Not for long, Stafford thought. He said, 'When was the Foundation started?'

'Just after the war. It took a knock during the Mau-Mau troubles, went moribund and nearly died on its feet, but it perked up five or six years ago when Brice came. He's our Director.'

'A good man?'

'The best; a real live wire – a good administrator even though he doesn't know much about agriculture. But he has the sense to leave that to those who do. You must come to see us while you're here. Combine it with your visit to Ol Karia.'