'I'm forgetting nothing,' said Chip coldly. 'All I know is what you've told me. You haven't proved anything yet."

Stafford turned his head and looked at Hendrix. 'Let's ask him his name,' he proposed.

'Yes, but not here. Let's get out of Tanzania.'

Stafford hesitated because he was worried about the tour group, particularly the Roches. 'The others,' he said. 'Will they be all right?"

'I told you; Adam will take care of them,' said Chip impatiently. 'They'll be all right. Look, Max; we'll be able to make better time on our own. We can get back to Keekorok and have cars sent to pick them up on the border. And on the way you can have your talk with Hendrix.'

Put that way it was a good solution. 'All right,' Stafford said at length. 'Let's get going.'

'But I promise nothing until you prove your point about Hendrix,' said Chip. 'You have to do that.'

Chapter 15

So they went back into Kenya but not the same way they had come out. They changed direction and headed north-west, in the direction of Mara New Bridge. Chip said, 'Whatever happens we'll have to come up with a story for the police, and it will have to be a story with no guns in it. Dr Robert Ouko isn't going to take kindly to civilians who make armed incursions into Tanzania.'

'Who's he?'

'Minister for Foreign Affairs. He'll be sending a strong diplomatic note to Dar-es-Salaam and he won't want it weakened by talk of guns.'

'How are you going to keep Hendrix's mouth shut?'

'Don't think it isn't on my mind.', On the way they concocted a story. After sending Curtis back to Keekorok to raise the alarm they had courageously and somewhat foolishly chased after the Tanzanians. On realizing they were about to infringe Tanzanian territory they stopped and turned back, only to lose their way. After several hours of wandering in the dark they had finally found the road near Mara New Bridge and were now reporting like good citizens to the Police Post.

A thin story and not to be carefully examined. It also presupposed the total absence of Hendrix which cheered Stafford because it seemed that Chip was tacitly accepting his proposal to keep Hendrix under wraps. But he suspected that Chip was busy in the construction of another yarn should he have to write Hendrix back into the script.

Meanwhile they marched steadily through the bush until nightfall, with Hendrix protesting at intervals about the speed, and wanting to know who the hell they were, and various other items that came to his mind. He was silenced by Nair who produced a knife; it was the kirpan, the ceremonial knife carried by all Sikhs, but by no means purely ornamental, and the sight of it silenced Hendrix as effectively as if Nair had cut out his tongue with it.

They stopped as the last of the light was ebbing from the sky. There was still enough to march by but Chip's decision to halt was coloured by the fact that they discovered a small hollow or dell which was screened from all sides. 'We can build a small fire down there,' he said. 'It won't be seen.'

'Where are we?' Stafford asked. 'Kenya or Tanzania?'

Chip grinned. 'A toss of the coin will tell you.'

So they collected wood to make a fire which wasn't difficult because the bush is scattered with dead wood. The fire wasn't so much for warmth as to keep away animals. Chip said he was worried less about lions and other large predators than about hyenas. 'They'll go for a sleeping man,' he said. They built the fire in such a way so as always to have a burning brand ready to grab for self-defence.

When they got the fire going Chip looked at Stafford then jerked his head at Hendrix. 'Your turn.'

'Okay.' He turned to Hendrix. 'What's your name?'

'Hendrix, Henry Hendrix. Folks call me Hank. Who are you?'

'That doesn't matter,' said Stafford. 'And you're a liar.' He was silent for a moment. 'I notice you haven't thanked anyone for saving your life.'

Hendrix's eyes glimmered in the light of the flames. 'Hell; every time I opened my mouth I was told to shut it.'

'We want you to talk now. In fact, we'll positively encourage it. Who is Gunnarsson?'

'A friend. And, okay; thanks for doing what you did. I really thought I was dead back there. I really did.'

'Think nothing of it,' said Chip dryly.

'Who is Hamsun – Olaf Hamsun?' asked Stafford.

'Never heard of him,' said Hendrix.

'You might know him better as Biggie.'

'Oh, Biggie! He's a guy I knew back in L.A. What's with the questions?'

'Who is Hardin?'

'Never heard of the guy.'

'You ought to know him. He took you from Los Angeles to New York.'

'Oh, him. I never knew the guy's name.'

'You went from Los Angeles to New York with a man and never knew his name? You'll have to do better than that. You'll be telling us you don't know your own name next. What is it?'

His eyes flickered. 'Hendrix,' he said sullenly. 'Look, I don't know what you guys want but I don't like all these questions.'

'I don't care what you like or don't like,' Stafford said. 'And I don't care whether you live or die. What does Biggie wear around his neck?'

The switch in pace caught Hendrix flat-footed. 'What the kind of a goddamn question is that? How in hell would I know?'

'You were his friend. Where did you meet Gunnarsson?'

'New York.'

'Where's the hole in your shoulder?'

Hendrix looked startled. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

Stafford sighed. 'You took a bullet in your shoulder back in Los Angeles. Hardin bound it up. You should have a hole in you so where is it?'

'I heal real good,' said Hendrix sullenly.

'You're the biggest liar since Ananias,' said Stafford. 'You ought to have your mouth washed out with soap. You're not Hendrix, so who are you?'

He hesitated, and Nair said, 'Why did someone want you dead? Is it because your name is Hendrix?'

'That's it,' said Chip. He laughed. 'There's an open season on Hendrixes. Of course, it's illegal; game shooting is prohibited in Kenya.'

'But not in Tanzania,' said Nair. 'It's legal there. They could get away with it.'

'Maybe someone wants a stuffed Hendrix head on his wall,' said Chip. 'A trophy.'

'The eyes would have to be glass,' said Nair. 'Could they match the colour?'

'I believe they're using plastic these days,' said Chip. 'They can do anything with plastic.'

The crazy crosstalk got to Hendrix. 'Shut up, you nigger bastard!' he shouted.

There was a dead silence before Chip said coldly, 'You don't talk that way to the man with the gun.' In the distance there was a coughing roar and Hendrix jerked. 'A lion,' said Chip. 'Maybe we should leave him to the lions. Maybe they want a trophy.'

A choked sob came from Hendrix. Stafford said, 'You've been under observation ever since you left the States. We know you're not Hendrix. Tell us who you are and we'll leave you alone.'

'Dear Jesus!' he said. 'Gunnarsson'll kill me.'

'Gunnarsson won't get near you,' said Stafford. 'Leave him to us. And what the devil do you think nearly happened by the river? You stay being Hendrix and you're a dead man.'

The night noises in the bush were growing in intensity. The lion roared again in the distance and, from quite close, something snarled and something else squealed appallingly. The squalling noise was cut off sharply and Chip put another tree branch on the fire. 'A leopard caught a baboon,' he said. Nair picked up his rifle and stood up, staring into the darkness.

It got to Hendrix; his eyes rolled and he shivered violently. He'd had a hard time that day. He'd been kidnapped, nearly murdered, and now he was being interrogated by armed strangers who apparently knew everything about him except his name and in a place where animals were murdering each other. No wonder he cracked.