Curtis interrupted the steady flow of obscenities from Gunnarsson. 'If the Colonel doesn't mind I'll get back up there.' He indicated the ridge.

'Very well, Sergeant.' Stafford watched Curtis walk away in his stolid fashion and turned to Nair. 'Are you really a police officer?'

Nair grinned. 'Police reserve. I always carry a spare warrant card. Do you want to see it?'

Stafford shook his head. 'I'll take it on trust.'

Gunnarsson looked up at Hardin malevolently. 'You lousy bastard! I'll have your balls.'

'Talk to me like that again and I'll kick your teeth in,' said Hardin sharply. 'Any injuries can be put down to resisting arrest.'

'Yes,' said Nair. 'I would advise a still tongue.'

Gunnarsson twisted around to face him. 'What's the charge? I've committed no crime in Kenya.'

'Oh, we can always think of something,' said Nair cheerfully.

Hunt wore a baffled expression. 'I don't understand all this.

Who is this man, and what has he to do with Ol Njorowa?'

'His name is Gunnarsson and he has nothing whatever to do with Ol Njorowa,' said Stafford. 'He tried to get some easy money but didn't know what he was getting into. Still, he did lead us to the funny business at the College. Hardin will tell you all about it.'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'Over a beer. We've got some six-packs cooling in the lake; let's go get them.'

As they walked away Stafford called, 'Take a beer to the Sergeant,' then said to Nair, 'So what do we do about him?' He indicated Gunnarsson.

'Not much. He'll keep until Chip comes back. Of course, we'll have to feed him.'

'yeah,' said Gunnarsson. 'If there's any beer going I'd like a can. And what's this about Ol Njorowa? I figured the place wasn't kosher but I couldn't put my finger on what's wrong about it.'

'Hardin always said you were smart,' admitted Stafford. 'But not, I think, smart enough. You got in over your head, Gunnarsson. One of my associates described it elegantly as the clash of nations.'

Gunnarsson looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

One of the nations was preparing for its part in the clash.

Brice looked at Patterson stonily. 'So Gunnarsson went out to Crescent Island. Why?'

'I couldn't ask him; he wasn't within shouting distance,' said Patterson acidly. 'But I think he's chasing after some Indian – a Sikh. He was making enquiries about the driver of a Kenatco taxi in the hotel car park and then hired the hotel boat to take him to the island. The boatman wouldn't wait for him because someone wanted to go fishing. He promised Gunnarsson he'd pick him up in a couple of hours.' He looked at his watch. 'That was nearly an hour ago. I left Joe Baiya on watch and came back here to report. You said not to use the telephone in this business.'

'So I did.' Brice tapped a ballpoint pen on the desk and stared unseeingly at Dirk Hendriks. 'A Sikh in a Kenatco taxi. That's something new.'

'And interesting,' said Hendriks.

'It gets more interesting,' said Patterson. 'I had another look at the taxi – a Mercedes just like Kenatco uses, but I don't think it's theirs. It had three antennas and a signal strength meter on the dashboard. A professional trailing job.'

Brice sat straighter in his chair. 'Gunnarsson told us about that. I didn't know whether or not to believe him.' He stood up and paced the room. 'If it isn't one damn thing it's another. We get rid of Stafford and now we've got this man, Gunnarsson pushing in. I'd like to know why.'

'Are we sure Stafford has gone?' asked Patterson.

Hendriks nodded. 'Our man in Nairobi reported in person fifteen minutes ago. Stafford left on the morning flight. He checked out of the Norfolk early and changed his Kenyan money at the airport bank like a good boy. Our man saw the record – he has good contacts at the airport. Both Stafford and his man, Curtis, are on the passenger list.'

'But did anyone see them leave?' persisted Patterson.

'Forget Stafford," snapped Brice. 'Our immediate concern is Gunnarsson and, more important, with whoever is following him. I don't like it.' He stood up. 'Since they're both conveniently to hand on Crescent Island I propose that we find out what they're doing there. Come on."

The three of them left the office and, on the way through the entrance hall, Brice collected the black who presided behind the reception desk.

Hunt said, 'That's the damnedest story I've ever heard.'

Hardin chuckled. 'Isn't it, though? Not long ago Max asked me if I thought that running down Biggie and Hank would lead to what's happening here in Kenya. Really weird. If Gunnarsson hadn't tried to pull a switch then the Ol Njorowa crowd might have got away with it. Brice and Hendriks are damned unlucky.' He rubbed his chin. 'There's one person I'm really sorry for.'

'Who's that?'

'Mrs Hendriks back in London. I liked her – a real nice lady.'

'Perhaps she's in it up to her neck just as much as her husband.'

Hardin drained his beer can and then crushed it flat. 'Max says not, and he's known her for a long time. He knew her before she married Hendriks. Apparently he got her out of a jam once before; some trouble her brother was in. That's why she went to him when I appeared with my story and Hendriks was away in South Africa. If she was in cahoots with Dirk she'd have kept her mouth shut. No, I think this is going to hurt her bad when the news gets out.'

Hunt looked at his watch. 'I'd better be getting back.'

'Okay.' Hardin picked up a beer can and tossed it to Hunt. 'Give that to Curtis on your way. It must be as hot as Hades up there. Tell him I'll relieve him for the afternoon watch. And check with Max before you go. He might want you to do something at Ol Njorowa.'

'Right.' Hunt looked up at the ridge. Tunny, chap, Curtis. Never says much, does he?'

Hardin grinned. 'The Sergeant is the only guy I know who only talks when he has something to say. Everybody else goes yacketty-yack all the time. But when he does say something, for Christ's sake, take notice.'

Hunt reported to Stafford that he was leaving. Stafford said, 'Alan, is there a way into Ol Njorowa other than the front gate?'

'Not that I know of,' said Hunt. 'You go through the gate or through the fence – or over it.'

'Or under it,' suggested Nair.

Stafford shook his head. 'Brice knew what he was doing when he put up that fence. He's not stupid. My bet is that it's like an Australian rabbit fence and extends four feet underground. Is the animal migration laboratory normally kept locked?' i

'I don't know,' said Hunt. 'I've never had occasion to try the door.'

Stafford grimaced. 'Of course not.' He reflected for a moment. 'I don't know if there'll be any rough stuff- nothing like a shoot-out at the OK Corral – normally intelligence outfits don't favour guns. But there may be a bit of trouble when Chip moves in, so my advice is to get Judy out of there. Send her to Nairobi for a week's shopping or something like that.'

'I've already tried that and she's not buying it,' said Hunt.

'Well, tell her to keep her head down.' They shook hands and Hunt departed and Stafford walked over to where Nair was interrogating Gunnarsson. 'Now,' he said. 'You were about to tell us what really happened to Hank Hendrix."

'Go screw yourself,' said Gunnarsson.

Curtis turned his head as Hunt approached and slid down from the top of the ridge. He accepted the can of beer gratefully. 'Thanks. Just what the doctor ordered.'

'Hardin says he'll relieve you soon,' said Hunt.

'He needn't bother.'

Hunt regarded him curiously. 'Have you been with Max Stafford long?'

Curtis swallowed beer, his Adam's apple working vigorously. He sighed in appreciation. 'A couple of years.'

'Were you in the service together.'

Curtis nodded. 'In a way. A long time ago.'