'All right; 'I'll buy it.'

'Well, it's no use us developing super crops if animals wreck the fields. You've no idea how much damage an elephant can do, and hippos are even worse. A hippo going through a maize field is like a combine harvester, and what it doesn't eat it tramples. So there's basic research going on into the movement of animals; we want to know how far they move, and where they're likely to move, and when. Selected animals are tagged with a small radio, and a geo-stationary satellite traces their movements.'

'What will you scientists get up to next?'

Hunt shrugged. 'It's of more use in tracing truly migratory animals like the Alaskan caribou. They used this method when they were planning the oil pipeline across Alaska. An elephant doesn't migrate in the true sense of the word although the herds do get around, and a hippo might go on a twenty-mile stomp.' He nodded towards the dish on the top of the building. 'But they're also using this to trace the annual migration of wildebeest from the Serengeti.' He released the brake.

'That's in Tanzania, isn't it?'

'Yes; but wildebeest don't respect national boundaries.'

Stafford laughed. 'Neither do radio waves.'

As they drove off Hunt said, 'I'd take you in there but there's no one about right now. As I said, it's peripheral to our work here. The radio crowd isn't financed by the Foundation; we just give them space here. They're a bit clannish; too; they don't mix well. We very rarely see them.'

He pulled up in front of the Admin Block, and Stafford said, 'Thanks for the guided tour. What about coming to the hotel for dinner?'

Hunt shook his head regretfully. 'Sorry, I've got something else on – a committee meeting. But what about coming up with me in the balloon tomorrow? Jim Odhiambo wants me to do some photography.'

Always something new. 'I'd like that,' said Stafford.

'I'll pick you up at the hotel – seven o'clock.'

Stafford drove back to the hotel and found a message waiting. Ring Curtis. He used the telephone in his room and got Curtis on the line who said, 'Chip wants to speak with the Colonel if the Colonel will hold on a minute.'

Stafford held on. Presently Chip said, 'Max?'

'Speaking.'

'Gunnarsson and Hendrix are going on safari.'

'And just what does that mean?'

'Going to a game lodge to see animals. Our main tourist attraction. They've booked with a tour group going to the Masai Mara down on the Tanzanian border. They'll be staying at the lodge at Keekorok. Don't worry; we'll be keeping an eye on them. No need for you to change any plans."

Stafford said, 'Are you sure this is just an ordinary tour group?'

'Sure,' said Chip soothingly. 'I used to do the courier bit with them. It's standard operational procedure for tourists, showing them the big five lion, leopard, elephant, rhino and buffalo.' He laughed. 'If they're lucky they see the lot; sometimes they aren't lucky.'

'What have our pair been doing?'

'Sightseeing around town. They had lunch once in the revolving restaurant on top of the Kenyatta Conference Centre. Gunnarsson's been playing the tables in the International Casino. Just the usual tourist stuff.'

'When are they going on safari?'

'Day after tomorrow.'

Stafford made up his mind. 'Can you lay me alongside Gunnarsson? I'd like to get a closer look at him.'

'You want to go to the Mara?' Chip paused. 'Sure, that can be arranged. When?'

'I'd like to be there when Gunnarsson arrives.'

'Stay where you are. We'll pick you up tomorrow morning.'

'Bring the Sergeant,' said Stafford, and hung up.

He had no idea why he wanted to see Gunnarsson but inactivity irked him, and he wanted to know why Gunnarsson was sticking around. It could not be to see animals – he doubted if Gunnarsson was a wild life enthusiast – so he was possibly waiting for something. If so, what? Anyway, this was more important than ballooning so Stafford picked up the telephone to cancel the appointment with Hunt.

Chapter 12

Chip came early next morning accompanied by Nair and Curtis. 'We won't need two trucks,' he said to Stafford. 'We'll leave yours here and pick it up on the way back.'

Stafford took Curtis on one side. 'Any problems, Sergeant?'

'No, sir.'

'I hope you've been keeping your ears open. Did Chip or Nair let anything drop to give a reason why they're being so bloody helpful?'

'Nothing I heard, sir.' Curtis paused, waiting for Stafford to continue, then he said, 'I'll pack the Colonel's case.'

Stafford had already packed so they wasted no time and were soon on the road. It was a good road, if narrow, and went straight as an arrow across the Rift Valley, and they made good time. They skirted the Mau Escarpment and eventually arrived at Narok which was nothing more than a village.

On the way Chip probed a little. 'Did you find what you wanted to know about Brice?"

'Not exactly,' said Stafford. 'He tells me he's applying for Kenyan citizenship. I would have thought a White colonial Rhodesian would be persona non grata here.'

'Normally you'd be right,' said Chip. 'But Brice's credentials are impeccable. He was anti-UDI, anti-Smith, anti-white rule. He left Zimbabwe – Rhodesia as it was then at the right time. Brice is a liberal of the liberals, isn't that so, Nair?'

'Oh, yes; he's very liberal,' said Nair.

'You seem to know a lot about him,' observed Stafford.

'Just interested,' said Chip. 'He's not a secretive man. He talks a lot and we listen. We listen to lots of people, including you. But you don't say anything.'

'I don't go much for light conversation.'

'No, you don't,' he agreed. 'But some things don't need words. That scar on your shoulder, for instance. I saw it this morning before you put your shirt on. A bullet wound, of course.'

Stafford's hand automatically went up to touch his shoulder. 'Not unusual in a soldier,' he said. Actually the bullet had been taken out three years before by Dr Fahkri in Algiers; he had not done a good job and the wound had gone bad in England and so the scarring was particularly noticeable.

'You left the army ten years ago,' said Chip. 'That scar is more recent.'

Stafford looked sideways at him. 'Then you have been investigating me.'

Chip shrugged. 'To protect our own interests. That's all.'

'I hope I came out clean.'

'As much as anyone can. What's your interest in Brice?'

'He's come into a lot of money,' said Stafford. 'Or the Foundation has.'

'We know,' said Nair. 'It's in today's Standard.' He passed the newspaper forward from the back seat.

It was on the front page. The Ol Njorowa Foundation had inherited a sum of money from the estate of Jan-Willem Hendrykxx, a mysterious millionaire. The exact amount was not yet known but was believed to be in the region of 7 million. It was a thin story which told Stafford nothing he did not know already except that someone was pulling a fast one.

Chip said, 'Yet another spelling of the name. Are they all connected?'

Stafford nodded. 'Dirk Hendriks and Henry Hendrix are both heirs under the Hendrykxx estate.'

'A South African and an American,' said Chip thoughtfully. 'Sounds improbable, doesn't it, Nair?'

'Highly improbable,' said Nair, the eternal echo.

'They're both grandsons of old Hendrykxx,' said Stafford.

'The family got scattered and the names got changed. Nothing impossible about that.'

'I didn't say impossible," said Chip, and added, 'Seven million sterling is a lot of money. I wonder what the Trustees think of it, Nair.'

Nair smiled through his beard. 'I should think they are delighted.'