'I don't mind,' Stafford said as he helped himself to the curry, and gave a strictly edited version.

'I see,' he said. 'I see. You say you turned back at the border. How did you know it was the border? As I recollect there are no fences or signs in that wilderness. No fences because of the wildebeest migration of course, and the elephants tend to destroy any signposts.'

'Like the telegraph poles,' Stafford said, and he nodded. Stafford sampled the curry and found it good. 'You'll have to ask Pete Chipende about that. He's the local expert.'

'Try the sambals,' Abercrombie-Smith urged. 'They do them very well here. The tomatoes and onions are marinate: in herbs; not the bananas, of course, and certainly not the coconut. The coconut, I assure you, is perfectly fresh; cot the nasty, dried-up stuff you get in England. I recommend the mango chutney, too.' He helped himself to curry. 'Ah, yes. Chipende. An interesting man, don't you think?'

'Certainly an intelligent man,' said Stafford.

'I would tend to agree there; I certainly would. How did it come about that he was with you?'

Abercrombie-Smith was being too damned nosey. Stafford said, 'He offered to act as guide and courier.'

'And Nair Singh? A courier also?' His eyebrows twitched upwards. 'Wasn't that a little overkill, dear boy?'

Stafford shrugged. 'Chip wanted Nair along as driver. He said Nair was the better driver.' That was the exact truth but he did not expect to be believed.

Abercrombie-Smith started to laugh. He laughed so much that he was speechless. He choked on his curry and it was quite a time before he recovered. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said, still chuckling, 'Oh, my dear chap; that's rich – rich, indeed.' He put down the napkin. 'Didn't you know that Mr Peter Chipende entered the East African Safari Rally three years in succession? He didn't win but he finished every time and that is an achievement in itself.'

Stafford had heard of the East African Safari Rally; it was supposed to be the most gruelling long-distance motor race in the world and, judging by the condition of the road between Narok and Keekorok, he could very well believe it. He cursed Chip for putting him in such an intenable position and said, 'I wouldn't know about that; I'm a stranger in these parts.'

'So that's what Chipende told you, is it? Well, well.'

Stafford decided to give him back some of the malarkey he had been handing out. 'This curry is really very good; thanks for recommending it. Do you think I could get the recipe from the chef? I pride myself on being a good cook.'

Abercrombie-Smith's eyes went flinty. He knew when someone was taking the mickey as well as the next man. However, he held himself in. 'I would think it's the chef's family secret, dear boy.' He riddled with his napkin. 'You haven't been here long, Stafford; but you've mixed with some very interesting people. Interesting to me, that is.'

Stafford thought it would be rather more interesting to MI6 or whatever funny number they gave to foreign espionage these days. He said, 'Who, for instance?'

'Well, Peter Chipende and Nair Singh, to start with. And then there are a couple of ex-CIA agents, Hardin and Gunnarsson. Not to mention Colour Sergeant Curtis, but he's small fry and you did bring him with you.'

'This curry is so good I think I'll have some more.' Stafford helped himself. 'You seem to be taking an inordinate interest in me, too.'

'Colonel Max Stafford,' Abercrombie-Smith said meditatively. 'Late of Military Intelligence.'

'Bloody late,' Stafford observed. 'I left the army ten years ago and, by the way, I don't use my rank.'

'Still, you were a full colonel at the age of thirty-five. You ought to know which end is up.'

'Come to the point. What do you want?'

'I want to know what you're doing here in Kenya.'

'Taking a much needed holiday,' Stafford said. 'I haven't had a holiday for three years.'

'And I know about that one,' said Abercrombie-Smith. "You take holidays in peculiar places. That was when you went to the Sahara and came back with a bullet in your shoulder.'

Stafford put down his fork. 'Now this be damned for a lark.' He was trying to keep his temper. Besides, he wanted to string this joker along for a while. He was silent for a moment. 'What else would you want to know? There's sure to be more.'

'Of course,' Abercrombie-Smith said easily. 'Principally I'd like to know more about Chipende.' Who wouldn't? Stafford thought. 'And, of course, I'd like to know if Hardin and Gunnarsson really are ex-CIA as they claim. And I'd like to know your interest in the Ol Njorowa Foundation.'

Stafford said deliberately, 'And can you give me any reasons why I should do all this?'

Abercrombie-Smith drummed his fingers on the table. "What about patriotism?' he suggested.

'Patriotism is not enough, as Edith Cavell said. And as Sam Johnson added, patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.'

'Samuel Johnson was a self-opinionated old fool,"

'

Abercrombie-Smith snapped. 'And I'm not here to bandy literary criticism.'

Stafford grinned at him. 'I didn't think you were.'

Abercrombie-Smith stared at Stafford. 'So patriotism is not enough. I suppose that means you want money.'

'The labourer is always worthy of his hire,' said Stafford. 'But, as it happens, you're wrong. You know what you can do with your bloody money.'

'Damn it, Stafford,' he said. 'Can't you be reasonable?'

'I can; if there's anything to be reasonable about. As it is I resent you probing into my affairs, as you seem to have done quite thoroughly.'

'Well, I'll try to be reasonable. Don't you recognize that you are in a most sensitive position? Stafford Security Consultants runs security on a dozen defence contractors back home.' He reeled off the names of half-a-dozen. 'Of course we've had you investigated. We'd have been fools not to. Under those circumstances we couldn't take the risk of you being turned. You do see that, don't you?'

Stafford saw. His own dealings with the intelligence establishment had been with the counter-espionage crowd of MI 5 and the police Special Branch. They were thin on the ground and could not possibly undertake the detailed work Stafford guaranteed when he took on a contract. Consequently they were distantly pleased and recognized that Stafford Security was largely on their side. But Stafford could see that they would want to guarantee he was safe. Many a one-time agent has been turned in the past.

Abercrombie-Smith said, 'Well, there you are. I think you'll see the advantage of co-operation now because, if you don't, your firm back in England could get into considerable difficulties."

He paused as the waiter began to clear dishes from the table. Stafford welcomed the interruption because Abercrombie-Smith's eyes were shifting around as plates were swept away, and he did not see the expression on Stafford's face as he contemplated this naked piece of blackmail.

When the waiter had gone Abercrombie-Smith said, 'I recommend something to take away the taste of curry before we have coffee. What do you say to lychees? They're fresh, dear boy; not like those tinned monstrosities you get in England.'

'Yes,' Stafford said mechanically. 'I'll have lychees.'

So they had lychees and then went into the lounge for coffee. On the way there Stafford excused himself and went into the entrance hall where he found the hall porter and asked him to order a taxi. 'How long will it take?'

'Five minutes, sah; no longer.'

'Let me know as soon as it arrives. I'll be in the lounge.'

'Yes, sah. Immediately.'

When he returned Abercrombie-Smith offered him a cigar which he declined. Abercrombie-Smith produced a silver cutter and nipped the end from his cigar and proceeded to light it with great concentration. When he had got it going to his satisfaction he put the cutter away and said, 'Now, my dear boy; I think we can get down to business.'