'I don't know, but it will be very soon. Farrar is fixing that now.' Stafford shook his head. 'I'd like to know why Gun narsson and Hendrix are hanging about here in Kenya when the cash is in England. If I were Hendrix I'd be twisting Farrar's arm; urging him to get a move on.'

'You would if you were innocent," said Chip. 'But Hendrix isn't. Perhaps Gunnarsson thinks he can keep closer to Hendrix here than in England. I wouldn't suppose there's all that much trust between them.'

'No honour among thieves? That might be it. Gunnarsson won't want Hendrix vanishing with the loot as soon as he lays hands on it. He's certainly sticking close to him now.'

Chip stretched his arms. 'Now I understand your problem better, but I don't know how to solve it. What do we do?'

'What we've been doing; we watch and wait. I can't think of anything else.'

Next day they went game spotting again, but this time with a difference; they stayed within easy reach of Gunnarsson's tour group. That was not difficult because Adam Muliro co-operated, never getting too far away. If Gunnarsson spotted them they would just be another group in the distance, and they were careful never to get too close. Stafford did not know why he was taking the trouble because it was a pretty pointless exercise. Action for the sake of action and born out of frustration.

And, of course, they saw animals – sometimes. Stafford found how difficult it is to see an unmoving animal, even one so grotesque as a giraffe. Once Nair pointed out a giraffe and he could not see it until it moved and he found he had been staring between its legs. And the grass was long and the exact colour of a lion. Of them all it was, oddly enough, Curtis who was the best at game spotting.

They were on the way back to Keekorok when Nair braked to a halt. 'We're getting too close,' he said. The Nissan ahead of them topped a rise and disappeared over the other side. 'We'll be able to see it when it rounds the bend over there.' He pointed to where the road curved about a mile away.

Stafford produced a packet of cigarettes and offered them around. Chip said, 'This isn't getting us far, Max.'

Nair smiled. 'Call it a holiday, Chip. Look at the pretty impala over there.'

Curtis said, 'With due respect I think the Colonel is wasting his time.'

Those were strong words coming from the Sergeant who had few words to spare at any time. Stafford said, 'And what would you suggest?'

'Get hold of Hendrix on his own and beat the bejesus out him until he admits he's an impostor,' he said bluntly.

'Sergeant Curtis has a point,' said Chip.

'It's an idea,' said Stafford. 'The problem will be to separate him from Gunnarsson. I don't want to tip him off.' Or anyone else, he thought. There was the peculiar conduct of Brice back at Ol Njorowa College; Stafford had not told Chip about the twenty-seven or so million pounds unaccounted for. That did not tie in at all.

They kicked it around a while, then Nair said, 'Funny. They're not in sight yet.' There was no sign of the Nissan that had gone ahead.

'They've probably found a lion over the hill,' said Chip. 'Tourists stop a long time with lions. They're probably making a fortune for Kodak.'

'Not Gunnarsson and Hendrix,' said Nair.

They talked some more and then Nair moved restlessly. 'Still no sign of them. A long time even for lion.'

'Perhaps there's a track leading off the road just over the hill,' said Stafford.

'No track,' said Nair positively.

He said, 'Then he's gone off the road, track or no track.'

'Adam wouldn't do that; not without giving us a signal.' Chip stubbed out his cigarette. 'Let's move it, Nair. Just to the top there.'

Nair turned the key in the ignition and they moved off. At the top of the rise they stopped and looked down into the little valley. The Nissan was standing in the centre of the road below them about 400 yards away. There was nothing unusual about that; tour buses stood stationary like that all over the Reserve and it was normally the sign that something unusual had been spotted a kill, perhaps.

Chip took binoculars and scanned the vehicle. 'Get down there, Nair,' he said quietly.

They coasted down the hill and came to a halt next to the Nissan. There was not a living soul in it.

The first bizarre thought that came into Stafford's head was the story of the Mary Celeste. Chip shot a spate of words to Nair in a language he did not understand, probably Swahili, and they both got out, ignoring the deserted vehicle and looking about at the landscape. There must have been a watercourse in the valley, now dried up, because there was a small culvert to take water under the road, and the bush was particularly thick and green.

Stafford and Curtis got out to join them, and Chip said sharply, 'Don't come closer.'

Stafford said, 'Where the hell have they all gone?' It was an offence to get out of a car in the Reserve; you could lose tourists that way, and that would be bad for business.

Chip stooped and picked up something which glittered in the sun – a pair of dark glasses with one lens broken. 'They didn't go voluntarily.'

'Kidnapped!' Stafford said incredulously. 'Who'd want to do that?'

'The Jeshi la Mgambo' said Nair. 'Right, Chip?'

'I'd say so.' Chip opened the door of the Nissan and looked inside. 'It's stripped,' he said. 'No cameras, binoculars or anything else. Everything gone.'

Nair looked back along the road. 'They'll have had a man up there watching us.' He turned and pointed. 'Up there, too. They could still be around.'

'Too damned right,' said Chip. He moved quickly to their own Nissan and opened the door at the back. Stafford had inspected the vehicle so he did not know where he got them but when he turned around Chip was holding two rifles. He tossed one to Nair and said to Stafford, 'Can you use one of these?'

'I have been known to,' Stafford said dryly. 'Now will you kindly tell me what's happening?'

'Later,' Chip said, and gave him the rifle.

'I can use one of those, too,' said Curtis.

'You're going to Keekorok as fast as you can drive,' said Chip. He took a notebook and pen from his pocket and scribbled rapidly. 'Give this to the manager of the Lodge; he'll radio the Police Post at Mara New Bridge.' Going to the driver's seat he fished out the map of Masai Mara and marked it. 'That's where we are now. Okay, Sergeant; move!'

Curtis looked at Stafford, who nodded. 'Which truck?' he asked.

'Ours,' said Chip. 'But wait.' He went to the back again and when he straightened he was holding a sub-machine-gun, one of the little Israeli Uzis which are supposed to be one of the best designs in the world. He also had two packs of rifle ammunition and a spare magazine for the Uzi. 'On your way,' he said. 'Don't stop for anyone. If anyone tries, keep your head down and run them over.'

The crackle of authority in Chip's voice brought an automatic, 'Yes, sir,' from Curtis. He climbed behind the driver's seat, the wheels spun, and he was away in a cloud of dust.

Stafford checked the rifle. A sporting and not a military weapon, it was bolt action with a five round magazine. The magazine was full so he put a round up the spout, set the safety catch, took out the magazine to put another round in, then put the rest of the ammunition into his pockets. Chip watched and nodded approvingly. 'You've been there before,' he said.

Nair was kneeling by the Nissan looked at the dusty road. 'Six of them,' he said. 'Six, I think.'

'Six of who?' Stafford demanded irascibly.

'Jeshi la Mgambo,' said Chip. 'Tanzanians. The so-called Tanzanian Police Reserve. A paramilitary force with bad discipline. This has happened three or four times before. They come across the border, pick up a busload of tourists, and hustle them across the border. Then they're picked clean of everything they've got and left to walk back to Keekorok. The government has sent several protest notes to the Tanzanians.' He shrugged. 'It stops for a while but then they start again.'