Gunnarsson had seen Ferney in London and Ferney had been crowing about how they had got past Stafford Security's guard at Electronomics during the Electronomics takeover and Gunnarsson had cut him short curdy. 'You've won one and lost five. Your record's not good, Terry. Get on the ball.'

So it was Stafford who had followed him in the Masai Mara. What sort of coincidence was that? The boss of one of America's biggest private security organizations is kidnapped and the boss of one of Europe's largest security organizations is conveniently at hand. Nuts!

But how had Stafford got on to him? And had he anything to do with the disappearance of Corliss? Did he know about Corliss – that he was a ringer for Hank Hendrix? And why was he horning in anyway? Gunnarsson picked up the telephone again and dialled. 'I'd like to put in a call to New York.'

Hardin was also lying down, but on a lounger by the swimming pool at the Norfolk Hotel and acquiring a tan. He lay on his stomach, intently watching the bubbles rise in a glass of Premium beer, and reflected that he could not be said to be earning his pay. Stafford and Curtis had gone to Ol Njorowa, Chip and his myrmidons were keeping an eye on Gunnarsson, and there was nothing left for Hardin to do. He felt dissatisfied and vaguely guilty.

He lay there for an hour soaking in the sun, then swain ten lengths of the pool before rubbing himself down and changing into street clothes in the change room. He walked through the bird-noisy courtyard towards the rear entrance of the hotel lobby but, as he entered the lobby, he did a smart about turn and retreated into the courtyard. Gunnarsson was at the reception desk talking to the clerk.

He was about to return to his room when Nair Singh walked into the courtyard from the lobby, his eyes half closed protectively against the -sudden blast of sunlight. As he put on sunglasses Hardin tapped him on the shoulder. 'Damn it!' he said. 'I nearly walked straight into Gunnarsson. I should have had warning.'

'I phoned your room on the house phone,' said Nair. 'You weren't there.'

'I was at the pool. What the hell is Gunnarsson doing here?'

'I'd say he's trying to find Stafford,' said Nair. 'He knows who Stafford is. He took the trouble to ring London to establish that the Stafford he met at Keekorok is the same Stafford of Stafford Security Consultants.'

'How do you know that?'

'We put a tap on his phone.' Nair smiled. 'Standard procedure. He rang New York an hour ago requesting reinforcements. He's bringing in three men.'

'Who?' demanded Hardin. 'Did he give names?'

Nair nodded. 'Walters, Gottschalk and Rudinsky.'

'Gottschalk I don't know,' said Hardin. 'But Walters is a pretty good man and Rudinsky has worked in Africa before. He's an ex-Company man, too. The pace is hotting up. When are they expected?'

'The day after tomorrow, on the morning flight. Plenty of time to decide what to do. I'll talk it over with Chip; he might have them barred as undesirable aliens.'

Hardin jerked his head towards the lobby. 'You'd better get on with the job. Gunnarsson might give you the slip.'

'He won't. I have three men out there and there's a radio transmitter in the car. He's still at the reception desk.' Nair regarded Hardin blandly. 'I have a radio in my turban; they miniaturize them these days.'

'Neat,' said Hardin admiringly and looked at the turban with interest. The folds of cloth over Nair's ears even concealed the earphone he must be wearing.

Nair held up his hand for silence and cocked his head on one side. 'He's leaving now – getting into a taxi. We'll see him on his way before we check at the reception desk.'

'I wonder how Gunnarsson got on to Stafford,' mused Hardin.

'Could have been through Dirk Hendriks,' said Nair. 'It doesn't really matter. He's out of Harry Thuku Road now. Let's find out what he wanted."

They went into the lobby to interrogate the man at the desk. Nair said, 'The man who was here just now…'

'Mr Andrews? The American?'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'Mr Andrews. Was he looking for someone?"

'He wanted to see Mr Stafford. He's a friend of yours, isn't he? I've seen you together.'

Hardin nodded. 'What did you tell Andrews?'

I told him where to find Mr Stafford." The clerk looked at the expression on Hardin's face nervously. 'Did I do wrong?'

'I guess not," said Hardin, thinking otherwise. 'Where did you tell him to go?'

'Ol Njorowa College. Mr Stafford mentioned it before he left. He said he'd be away for a couple of days but wanted to seep his room here.'

Hardin looked at Nair blankly. 'Thanks,' he said. As they moved away he said, 'That was pretty foolish of Max.'

'He wasn't to know Gunnarsson would come looking for aim.' Nair stopped with an intent look on his face as he listened to his inner voice. He said, 'Gunnarsson is getting out of his taxi in Muindi Mbingu street.' He paused. 'He's going into the United Touring Company office. The UTC is a car hire firm among other things.'

There was no discussion. 'I'll pack a bag," said Hardin. 'Ready in fifteen minutes.' As he walked out of the lobby he saw Nair already reaching for a telephone.

Again Stafford suffered the ritual of inspection before the gates of Ol Njorowa College opened for him. He drove to the Administration Block, parked the Nissan, and went inside where he gave his name to the black Kenyan behind the counter in the hall. He looked around and saw what he had not noticed on his first visit. Chip was right; security was tighter than one would expect in such an innocent organization.

No one could penetrate anywhere into the building without passing the wicket gate, and he was willing to bet that every time it opened it would send out a signal; at least it would if he had been responsible for security. He looked around with a keen professional eye and detected a soft gleam of glass high in a corner of the hall where two walls and a ceiling met, and guessed it was the wide-angle lens of a TV camera. It was unnoticeable and only to be detected by someone actively looking for it. He wondered where they kept the monitor screen.

The man behind the counter put down the telephone. 'Mr Hendriks will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.'

Stafford sat on a comfortable settee, picked up a magazine from the low table in front of him, and nipped through the pages. It was a scientific journal devoted to tropical crop production and of no particular interest. Presently Hendriks appeared and came through the wicket, his arm outstretched. 'Max! Good to see you.'

Stafford doubted that statement but he got up and they shook hands. 'Nice of Brice to have me here,' he said. 'I could just as easily have stayed at the hotel. It's not far down the road.'

'Charles wouldn't hear of it,' said Hendriks. 'As soon as he knew we were friends. Why didn't you mention it when you were here last?'

'I didn't have all that much time with Brice, and I was with another party – the Hunts, Alan and Judy. Do you know them?'

'No; but I haven't been here all that long. I've just got back from England.'

'And how are Alix and young Max?' asked Stafford politely.

'Motherhood agrees with her,' said Hendriks, and took Stafford's arm. 'Come and see Charles.' He led Stafford through the wicket gate and along a corridor where he opened a door. 'Max is here,' he said.

Brice greeted Stafford genially. 'So you've come to be an intrepid birdman with Alan Hunt. Rather you than me; I don't trust that contraption – it looks much too flimsy.' He waved Stafford to a chair.

As he sat down Hendriks said, 'Bad news about cousin Henry. You've heard, of course?'

Stafford was ready for that one and had already formulated his reply. 'More than heard,' he said. 'I was there. Not with the kidnapped party but with a group who charged off somewhat blunderingly to the rescue. I didn't know that Henry Hendrix was involved, though, and when we got back to Keekorok I got a shock when I heard the name. In fact, at first I thought it might have been you.'