Brice raised his eyebrows. 'Three inches?'

'Our man took a shot at him. Hit him in the shoulder. Three inches to the right and Henry wouldn't have been a problem ever again.'

'Well, he's no problem now,' said Brice. 'I've seen to that. Have you read the papers lately.'

Hendriks nodded. 'It made a couple of paragraphs in the English papers.' He leaned forward. 'You're wrong, Brice. Henry is still a problem. Where's the bloody body? We need the body. His three million quid is tied up until death is proved. We don't want to wait seven years to collect. As it is he's just disappeared.'

Brice sighed. He stood up and went to the window. With his back to Hendriks he said, 'He's not the only one to have disappeared. Two of my men didn't come back.'

'What!' Hendriks also rose to his feet. 'What did you say?'

Brice turned. 'You heard me. I've lost two men.'

'You'd better explain,' Hendriks said tightly.

'It all went exactly the way I planned. You've read the newspaper reports. The stories those tourists told were exactly right except for one thing. They were supposed to see the body and they didn't. It wasn't there – and neither were my men.'

'Could Henry have jumped them and got away? How were they armed?'

'Standard Tanzanian army gear. Kalashnikovs.'

Hendriks shook his head. 'I don't think Henry would have the stuffing in him to tackle those. In any case if he got away he'd be back by now.' He thought for a moment. 'Perhaps the Tanzanians got him. The real ones, I mean.'

'I doubt it,' said Brice. 'The Legislature is in an uproar and the Foreign Minister is putting pressure on the Tanzanians. Some of my boys are on the border with a watching brief. The Tanzanians are scouring the area south of the Masai Mara. Why would they do that if they already had Henry – or his corpse?'

Hendriks said coldly, 'So that leaves one answer. Your men are cheating on you.'

'Not those boys,' said Brice decisively. 'They're two of my best.' He paused, then added, 'Besides, they've got their families back home to think of.'

'So what's the answer?'

'I don't know.' Brice rubbed his eyes and said sourly, 'Who dreamed up this crazy operation, anyway?'

'We did,' said Hendriks flatly. 'You and me.'

Brice said nothing to that but merely shrugged. 'Well, we'll get most of the money in soon.'

'That's true,' said Hendriks as he sat down again. 'But it irks me to have three million tied up. I worked damned hard to get this money in here.' He changed the subject. 'Why did you announce an inheritance of only seven million? Isn't that risky?'

Brice spread his hands. 'Who is going to check back to Jersey? Hell, man; I'll bet not one in a hundred Kenyans even knows where Jersey is. One in a thousand."

'But what if somebody does?' persisted Hendriks.

'No problem,' said Brice. 'I'll say I was misquoted – misunderstood. I'll say that the seven million is the estimated annual income after the main fund has been invested. We have everything to gain and nothing to lose.' He checked the time. 'We'll have lunch and then I'll show you around. I didn't show you the real stuff last time you were here. Farrar stuck closer than a leech.'

'I'll stay for lunch,' said Hendriks. 'But the rest can wait. I have got to get back to Nairobi and raise a stink. My long lost cousin has been lost again and what the hell are they doing about it? I must do the grieving relative bit to make it look right. Let's go and eat. I'm hungry.'

Chapter 19

In Nairobi Gunnarsson was angry. His feet hurt and his back was sore but that was not the reason for his anger. What riled him was that he was being given the runaround in the American Embassy. 'Damn it!' he said. 'I've been kidnapped and my friend is still missing. If I can't see the Ambassador who the hell can I see? And don't fob me off on any third clerk. I want action.'

The clerk behind the counter sighed. 'I'll see what I can do.' He moved away and picked up a telephone. 'Is Mr Pasternak there?'

'Speaking.'

'There's a guy here called Gunnarsson wanting to see the Ambassador. He has some crazy story about being kidnapped by Tanzanians and says his friend is still missing. I think he's a nut, but I can't get rid of him.'

An incredulous silence bored into his ear, then Pasternak said, 'Gleeson; don't you read the papers? Watch TV? Listen to the radio?'

'I've been on safari for two weeks,' said Gleeson. 'Just got back this morning from my vacation. Why? Something happened?'

'Yeah; something happened,' said Pasternak ironically. 'Don't let that guy get away; I'll be right down. And catch up on the goddamn news for God's sake.' He hung up, opened his desk drawer to check that his recorder had a tape ready to go, then went downstairs to meet Gunnarsson.

Gunnarsson was still simmering so Pasternak applied the old oil. 'Sorry you've been kept waiting, Mr Gunnarsson, and sorrier that you've been inconvenienced by idiocy.

Won't you come this way?' He slowed his pace to Gunnarsson's hobble as he led the way to the elevator. 'I guess you had a tough time.'

Gunnarsson grunted. 'You guessed right. What's your position here?'

'Nothing much,' admitted Pasternak. 'Third Secretary. You'll realize we're all busy on this thing, especially the Ambassador. He's talking with the Kenyan Foreign Minister right now, trying to get some action. And the rest of our work has to carry on – guys losing their credit cards and traveller's checks and so on.'

'This is more important,' said Gunnarsson acidly. 'You've lost an American citizen.'

Pasternak said, 'We're doing all we can, Mr Gunnarsson; and we're sure you can help.' They left the elevator, walked along a corridor, and he opened the door of his office. 'In here. Would you like coffee?'

'Thanks.' Gunnarsson sat before the desk, thankfully taking the weight off his feet, as Pasternak picked up the telephone and ordered a jug of coffee.

Pasternak sat down, opened his desk drawer and unobtrusively switched on the recorder before taking out a notepad and laying it on the desk. He picked up a pen. 'I've read the newspaper reports,' he said. 'But you know what newspapers are. I'll be glad to hear a first-hand report. If you hadn't come to us, Mr Gunnarsson, we'd have been camping on your doorstep. Now, I'd like you to tell it as it happened. Don't leave anything out even though you might think it irrelevant.'

So Gunnarsson told his story while Pasternak made largely unnecessary notes and dropped in a question from time to time. 'You say these men were in uniform. Can you describe it?' Then again: 'You say the rifles were Kalashnikovs; how do you know?'

'I'm a gun buff back home. I know a Kalashnikov when I see one.'

He got to the end when he said, 'And then we got back to '

Keekorok and that was that. But Hank Hendrix didn't come back.'

'I see.' Pasternak laid down his pen. 'More coffee?'

'Thanks. All this talk is thirsty work.'

Pasternak poured the coffee. 'What's your relationship with Hendrix?'

'We're business associates,' said Gunnarsson. 'And friends, too.'

Pasternak nodded understandingly. 'Yes, you'd naturally be disturbed about this affair. What business are you in, Mr Gunnarsson ?'

'I run Gunnarsson Associates; we're a security outfit based in New York. We run security for corporations and do some investigative work. Not much of that, though.'

'Investigative work,' repeated Pasternak thoughtfully. 'You're licensed for that in the state of New York?'

'In most states of the Union,' said Gunnarsson. 'We're a pretty big outfit.'

'And what were you doing in Kenya?'

'Well, Hank had some business here. He'd inherited a hunk of dough. I came along for the ride; taking a vacation, you know.' Gunnarsson looked at Pasternak over the rim of his coffee cup. 'The shit's going to hit the fan on this one, Pasternak, because Hank had just inherited six million bucks. The papers will make hay of it back home.'