'Which you do.'

'Yes. I want to talk to him. I want to know exactly how the Tanzanians picked him up. I also want breakfast, so let's go.'

Chip talked to Corliss, told him he'd be looked after if he behaved himself, and then they went, again heading north. They left the rifles and the Uzi with Chip's good friends and he made Stafford empty his pockets of ammunition. 'If the police find so much as a single round you're in trouble," he said.

On the way he said he had seen the police. 'Just stick to the story we arranged and we'll be fine.'

Chip proved to be right. They walked for an hour and then saw a vehicle coming towards them, bumping through the bush. It contained a police lieutenant and a constable, both armed. They spun their yarn and the lieutenant shook his head. 'It was very unwise to follow those men; it could have been dangerous. I am glad that Mr Chipende had the sense to stop you crossing the border.'

Stafford scowled at Chip who was now a virtuous citizen. The lieutenant smiled. 'I hope this has not spoiled your holiday, Mr Stafford. I assure you that these incidents are rare. Certain wild elements in our neighbouring country get out of control.'

'Is there news of the tour group?' asked Nair.

The lieutenant looked bleak. 'Not yet. They will be given a warm welcome when they arrive. Jump in; I'll take you back to Keekorok in time for a late breakfast.'

So they rode back to the Lodge at Keekorok and got there inside half an hour; not long but long enough for Stafford to wonder if it was habitual for Kenyan police officers to administer a mild slap on the wrist for transgressions such as theirs. He had expected a real rocket and here was the lieutenant actually apologizing for a spoiled holiday. Perhaps it was his view that it was normal for a European tourist to be an idiot.

Their arrival was the occasion for a minor brouhaha. Although the manager met them and tried to ease them into their rooms quietly they were spotted and mobbed by a crowd eagerly asking questions in assorted accents. It was known they had been out all night and that there was another party still missing and, from the look on the manager's face as they briefly answered queries, it was definitely a case of bad public-relations.

And Curtis was there, his face set in a wide, relieved smile. He put his broad shoulders between Stafford and a particularly importunate American, and said, 'I hope the Colonel is all right.'

'Tired and a bit travel-worn, that's all Sergeant. Just point me towards breakfast and a bed.'

'The manager's arranged for you to have breakfast in your room, sir. He thought it would be better.'

'Better for whom?' Stafford said acidly. His guess was that the manager was wishing they would vanish instantly so as not to infect the other guests with the virus of bad news. And it would get worse when the others came back; having tourists kidnapped was not good for the image of Keekorok Lodge. It would get still worse when one tourist didn't come back at all, and even worse than that when the tourist was identified as an American millionaire. The manager wouldn't know what had hit him.

Over breakfast Stafford said, 'I took your advice, Sergeant,' and brought him up to date. 'We separated Hendrix from Gunnarsson.'

Curtis was normally an imperturbable and phlegmatic man but the story made his thick, black eyebrows crawl up his scalp like a couple of hairy caterpillars until they threatened to m eliminate his bald patch. When Stafford finished he thought in silence then remembered to close his mouth. 'So we've got Hendrix – I mean Corliss. Where?'

Stafford buttered some toast. 'I don't know. Chip whistled a couple of characters out of nowhere and they went off with him.' He took a bite and said indistinctly..'Sergeant, I think I'll have to rechristen you Aladdin; you've rubbed a lamp and conjured up a genie. My slightest wish is Chip's command and I don't know how the hell he does it. Sheer magic.'

Curtis said, 'Something's just come to me."

'What?'

'You remember when we came to the Masai Mara and stopped at the gate. Chip got us in. You have to pay to get into a Reserve – any Reserve.'

Stafford nodded. 'He said we were his guests.'

'But he didn't pay,' said Curtis. 'No money passed. He showed a card and signed the book.'

Stafford was tired and looked longingly at the bed. 'Maybe a season ticket,' he mumbled, but a season ticket for four wasn't likely.

Chapter 16

Curtis woke Stafford. 'I'm sure the Colonel would like to know that the other group has come in."

He came wide awake. 'You're damned right. What time is it?'

'Just after two.' Stafford blinked disorientedly at the closed curtains and Curtis added gently, 'In the afternoon, sir.'

Stafford dressed in shirt and shorts with swimming trunks beneath and thrust his feet into sandals. Curtis said, 'I'm going with Nair to see Corliss if the Colonel doesn't mind.'

'Why?'

'Chip said they're short of food so we're taking it.' He paused. 'It would be good for us to know where he is, sir.'

Stafford nodded. 'Carry on, Sergeant.'

The lobby was a hubbub of noise and crammed with a welcoming committee of the curious – those guests who had not gone game spotting. There were a lot of them. Stafford suspected that game spotting in the Masai Mara would be a depreciating part of the tourist industry until this storm had blown itself out. Game spotting was one thing and the risk of being kidnapped was another.

He joined Chip who was leaning against a wall. 'How are they?'

'I haven't seen them yet, and we won't be able to talk to them for a while. There's a heavy police escort.'

The rescued tourists came in, spearheaded by a phalanx of police. Six of them – the Roches, Gunnarsson, Kosters and Adam Muliro. They did not walk well, but their feet had been bandaged and clothing had been issued, ill-fitting and incongruous but necessary. The crowd pressed around, shouting questions, and the police kept them back, linking arms.

A senior police officer held up his hands in one of which he held a swagger stick. 'Quiet please! These people are not well. They need urgent medical attention. Now, make way, please.'

There was a brief hush, then someone called, 'There are only six. Who's missing?'

'Mr Hendrix has not yet appeared. We are still looking, for him.'

As photo-flashes began to pop Stafford watched Gunnarsson. He had a baffled almost defeated, expression on his face. So that's how a man looks when he's been cheated of six million dollars. It must have been how many a man looked in New York in the crash of 1929 just before jumping out of the skyscraper window – an expression of unfocused anger at the unfairness of things. Not that Gunnarsson would commit suicide. He was not the type and, anyway, he had not lost the money because he had never had it. Still, it was a hard blow.

Stafford lost sight of him as the party was led away. Chip made a motion of his hand as Adam Muliro went past and Adam nodded almost imperceptibly. Chip said, 'We won't see them for a while. Let's have a swim.'

It was a good idea, so after waiting for the crowd to thin they walked towards the pool. Halfway there someone ran after them. 'Mr Stafford?' He turned and saw the man who had asked who was missing. 'Eddy Ukiru – the Standard. Can I have a word with you?'

Behind Ukiru a man was unlimbering what was obviously a press camera. Stafford glanced at Chip who said, 'Why not?'

And so Stafford. gave a press interview. Midway through Ukiru was joined, to his displeasure, by another reporter from the rival newspaper, Nation, and Stafford had to repeat some of the details but essentially he stuck to the prepared story which Chip corroborated. Ukiru showed minor signs of disbelief. 'So you turned back at the border,' he said. 'How did you know it was the border? There is no fence, no mark.'