'Why not? We're staying at the Norfolk.'

'I'm busy today, but maybe I'll give you a ring tomorrow. Okay?'

'That's fine. Stafford's an interesting guy; he was in British army intelligence – a colonel.'

'Was he? I look forward to meeting him.'

Hardin took his leave and Pasternak seated himself before the typewriter again and composed another request for information. This time the subject was Max Stafford and the telex was to be sent, after coding, to the American Embassy in London. After a moment's thought he wrote another request for information on Hardin and addressed it to Langley.

Kenya was becoming livelier, thought Pasternak.

Gunnarsson was in the Thorn Tree cafe at the New Stanley hotel having drinks with Dirk Hendriks. As he had been leaving the American Embassy he had heard a man saying to the marine guard, 'My name is Dirk Hendriks. Where do I go to find out about Henry Hendrix, the man who was kidnapped into Tanzania?'

The marine pointed. 'Ask at the desk, sir.'

Gunnarsson touched Hendriks on the arm. 'Are you Hank Hendrix's cousin?'

Hendriks turned and looked at Gunnarsson in surprise. 'Yes, I am.'

'I'm John Gunnarsson. I was there.'

'You were where?'

'With your cousin when he was kidnapped." Gunnarsson jerked his thumb towards the inquiry desk. 'You'd better talk with me before you butt your head against that brick wall.'

Dirk looked at him interestedly. 'You mean you were kidnapped, too?"

'Yeah. That's why I'm not too sharp on my feet. They made us walk out and I was stuck full of thorns.'

'I've got my car here,' said Hendriks. 'No need to walk. Where shall we go?'

'I'm staying at the New Stanley,' said Gunnarsson. 'We can have a drink at the Thorn Tree.'

The Thorn Tree was a Nairobi institution, being an open air cafe serving light refreshments. In the centre grew a large acacia, tall and spreading wide to give pleasant shade and which gave the Thorn Tree its name. The peculiarity which made the Thorn Tree different was the notice board which surrounded the trunk of the tree. Here it was the custom to leave messages for friends and it was a commonplace to say, 'If you want to find out where I am I'll leave a message on the thorn tree.' A local beer company even provided message pads, and it certainly did no harm to the profits of the cafe.

They sat down at one of the few available tables and Hendriks caught a waiter on the fly and ordered drinks. He resumed the conversation they had been having in the car. 'And that was the last you saw of my cousin?'

'Yeah. Then we heard shots and the guys around us laughed.'

'But you didn't see his body.'

Gunnarsson shook his head. 'No, but there was something funny about that. They herded us downriver, three of them, leaving one guy to guard the loot. We went maybe half a mile and then they got excited, jabbering away to each other.'

'What were they excited about?'

'I wouldn't know. Maybe because they couldn't find Hendrix. Two of them stayed with us and the third, the guy with the sergeant's stripes, went away. After a while he came back and they had a conference, a lot of talk.' Gunnarsson shrugged. 'They shooed us away then. The sergeant pointed up the hill and the others poked at us with their rifles. We were glad to get away.'

Hendrix frowned. 'The two men who took my cousin away; were they around at that time?'

'I didn't see them.'

The waiter brought their drinks. Hendriks picked up his glass and pondered. 'Could Henry have got away?' he asked. 'But if he did why hasn't he come back?'

'I've thought about that,' said Gunnarsson. 'He might have got away and the shooting might have missed. The two Tanzanians would be chasing him, of course. Still, he might have got away.' Gunnarsson certainly hoped so.

'Then why hasn't he come back?'

'Have you been out there?' asked Gunnarsson rhetorically. 'It's the damnedest country, and every bit looks like every other bit. Hank might have got lost like the guys who followed us in. And remember he was stripped like us. He may still come back, though, if the Tanzanians didn't catch up with him.'

'Who followed you in?' asked Hendriks alertly.

'Another tourist crowd found our abandoned truck and tried to find us. They didn't; they got lost and spent a night in the bush.'

Hendriks was pensive. 'I didn't read about that in the newspapers.'

'I talked to one of them when we got back,' said Gunnarsson. 'A guy called Stafford. He said that…'

'Max Stafford!' said Hendriks unbelievingly.

'He didn't tell me his other name.' Gunnarsson stopped, his glass halfway to his lips as he was arrested in thought. The only Max Stafford he had heard of was the boss of Stafford Security Consultants back in London. Now just what the hell was going on?

Hendriks was also thoughtful. Stafford had said he was taking a holiday in Kenya. But was it coincidental that he had been involved in the search for Henry Hendrix? He said, 'Do you know where Stafford is now?'

'No; he left Keekorok and I haven't seen him since. You know the guy?'

Hendriks nodded abstractedly. 'Yes, I think-so.'

'Now isn't that a coincidence,' said Gunnarsson.

'Isn't it?' Hendriks badly needed a telephone. He said, 'Glad to have talked with you, Mr Gunnarsson. Are you staying here at the New Stanley?'

'Yeah.'

'Then perhaps you'll have dinner with me before you leave. I'll give you a ring tomorrow morning. I'd like to know more about my cousin's disappearance but right now I have an appointment. Will you excuse me?'

'Sure.' Gunnarsson watched Hendriks get up and walk away. Something goddamn odd was happening but he was not sure what it was. If the Stafford he had talked to at Keekorok was the Max Stafford of Stafford Security then there was definitely no coincidence. He decided he needed a telephone and hoisted himself laboriously to his feet.

Stafford dined with Curtis at the Norfolk that evening and they were halfway through the meal when Hardin joined them. He said, 'I've just seen Chip. He says that Gunnarsson and Dirk Hendriks had a drink and a chat at the Thorn Tree this afternoon.'

Stafford put down his knife and fork. 'Did they, by God?'

Curtis grunted. 'That's not good for the Colonel.'

'No.' Stafford looked at Hardin. 'Ben, do you remember when you followed Gunnarsson and Corliss to Mandeville's chambers in Lincoln's Inn? Did Gunnarsson meet Dirk there?'

Hardin looked up at the ceiling and gazed into the past. He said slowly, 'Gunnarsson and Corliss went in then Gunnarsson came out.' He snapped his fingers. 'Gunnarsson came out just as Dirk and Alix went in – they passed each other in the entrance.'

'Any sign of recognition?'

'Not a thing.'

'Then how did they get together here?' asked Stafford.

'I talked to Chip about that and maybe it can be explained,' said Hardin. 'Gunnarsson went to the police and then on to the American Embassy to raise some hell about them dragging their heels on the Hendrix case. I saw Mike Pasternak and he told me about it.' Hardin retailed his discussion with Pasternak. 'Chip says that Hendriks and Gunnarsson met in the lobby of the Embassy apparently by chance.'

'It's unlucky for us,' said Stafford. 'If Gunnarsson mentioned my name to Dirk in connection with the disappearance of Hendrix then he's going to be suspicious.'

'Suspicious about what?' demanded Hardin. 'I don't know what you have against Dirk Hendriks – he's just a guy who's inherited a fortune. It's Gunnarsson and Corliss who are trying to put one over on the estate;'