He walked slowly into the room. The polished floor was slick and slippery. He went to the door on the right and motioned to Curtis and Hardin who stationed themselves on either side of it. Gently he opened the door and peered inside. Again, this room was empty so he went in. It was an office complete with all the usual equipment one might expect; a desk and swivel chair, a telephone, a reading lamp, a photocopier on a side desk. Total normality.

There were maps on the wall which were covered with a spiderweb of red lines. He inspected one and could make nothing of the cryptic notations. There were also maps on a large side table which had shallow drawers built into it. Again he could make nothing of those on a cursory inspection.

He left and, on an inquiring look from Hardin, shook his head and pointed to the other door. This, again, was unlocked and again the room was empty. It was a big room with no windows and along one wall, running the whole length, were banks of electronic equipment – control consoles and monitor screens gleaming clinically under the lights of overhead fluorescent tubes. It reminded Stafford of Houston space centre in miniature. He looked about him and saw no other door.

'This is crazy,' said Hardin behind him. 'Where did the guy go?'

Stafford withdrew into the Common Room and said to Hunt, 'Are you sure a man came in here?'

'Of course. You saw the car outside.'

'Three rooms,' said Stafford, 'and one door. There's no back door and no man.' He went to the window and looked out, his shoulder brushing aside curtains. As he turned away his attention was caught by something and he stiffened. 'You know,' he said. 'This place is built like a fortress. A blast wall at the front door, and look here…' He pulled aside the curtain. 'Steel shutters to cover the windows.'

'Ready for a siege,' commented Hardin.

'Certainly not innocent.' Stafford looked at Hunt. 'You know more about this scientific stuff than any of us. Take a look round and see if there's anything odd, anything out of place that shouldn't be here. Anything at all.'

Hunt shrugged. 'I don't know much about the electronic stuff but I'll take a look.'

He went into the back room and Stafford returned to the office where he opened drawers and rummaged about, looking for he didn't know what. Hardin checked the Gammon Room and Curtis stood guard by the front door. Ten minutes later they assembled in the Common Room. 'Nothing in here,' said Hardin.

'All the electronic stuff looks standard to me,' said Hunt. 'But it would take an expert to be sure. I found nothing else out of the ordinary.'

'Same with the office,' said Stafford in a dissatisfied voice. 'But I might have missed something. Take a look at those maps, Alan.'

Hunt went into the office and Hardin said, 'We might have made a big mistake, Max.'

'I'd have sworn on a stack of Bibles six feet high that what we're looking for is in here,' said Stafford savagely.

'So what do we do if it's kosher?' asked Hardin. 'Apologize?'

'It can't be. Not with that damned blast wall and the shutters.'

Hunt came back. 'Standard maps of Kenya,' he reported. 'I'd say the lines are animal movements as recorded by the electronic thingummy on the roof. I told you Brice had shown me papers in a journal. The same stuff.' He saw a strange look on Stafford's face. 'What's the matter?'

Stafford was looking at the door leading into the back room. It was open and a man stood there. Stafford plunged forward and the man slammed the door in his face and it took him a moment to open it as his feet slipped from under him. He yanked it open and then lost his footing completely and fell on his back just as there was the sharp report of a shot.

He rolled over and looked around. The room was empty.

He got up slowly and took Nair's pistol from his pocket. He turned carefully looking at every part of the room and saw nothing. 'It's all right, you can come in.' He picked up one foot and felt the sole of his shoe. 'Damned seeds!' he said, and kicked off the shoes.

Hardin appeared at the door. 'Where did the guy go?'

Stafford pointed with the gun. 'He was standing there when I fell.'

'That prat fall maybe saved your life,' observed Hardin. 'That goddamn bullet nearly hit me.' He fingered a tear in the side of his shirt and looked around warily. 'What's the trick?'

'I caught sight of something,' said Stafford. 'Just before I fell. Something big and square.'

'What was it?'

'I don't know. It doesn't seem to be there now.' Stafford studied the floor which was covered with a plastic composition in a checkerboard pattern. Set into it at his feet was a metal plate about three inches square. He bent down and found he could prise it upwards and that it moved on a spring-loaded hinge. Beneath the plate was a three-pin socket for an electric plug.

Hardin said, 'Most of this electronic equipment is mounted on castors. That's why they need floor plugs.'

'Yes,' said Stafford absently. He walked over to where he had last seen the man and found another metal plate. He bent down and lifted it. 'Bingo!' he said softly because it opened to reveal not an electric socket but a metal ring. 'There's a bloody cellar – this is a trap door.'

He ran his fingers along a hairline crack and found the hinge. The trap door was square and it must have been what he saw when it was standing open. 'Take cover, Ben, and warn the others. He might pop off again.' He pulled open the metal flap, put his finger through the ring, and lifted. The door opened easily and he had lifted it about nine inches when there was another shot and a bullet ricochetted from the wall.

Stafford let the door drop and stood on it. Hardin stepped forward from where he had been pressed against the wall. 'Looks like a Mexican stand-off. We can't get down and he can't get up. But if he has a telephone down there he'll be calling for reinforcements.'

Stafford had not thought of that. 'Sergeant!' he shouted. 'If you find any telephone wires cut them, and keep a watch out there.' Hardin was right, he thought. Unless there was another way out of the cellar which he thought unlikely. The entrance to the cellar on which he stood was cleverly disguised; another entrance would double the chances of the cellar being discovered.

He snapped his fingers suddenly. 'Got it! I know how we can winkle him out. Go with Hunt and bring his balloon burner and a couple of butane bottles. We've got a flame thrower of sorts.'

'Jesus!' said Hardin. 'That's nasty.'

'We'll tickle him up, just enough to put the fear of God into him. He'll come out.'

'Okay.' Hardin turned to go, but stopped at the door and looked back. 'I wouldn't stand there,' he advised. 'If he shoots through the door you're likely to lose the family jewels.'

Stafford hastily stood aside and, while waiting for Hardin to come back, he wheeled a console across so that two of its castored legs stood on the trap door and held it down. He then walked to the door and said to Curtis, 'Any signs of activity out there?'

'Nothing here, sir; except that Mr Hardin and Mr Hunt are coming back.' Curtis turned away from the window. 'I'll check the other side.' He crossed the room and walked into the office.

Hardin came in carrying the burner and Hunt followed, staggering under the weight of a butane cylinder. They went into the back room and Hunt put down the cylinder. Stafford said, 'Can you rig this thing?'

'Yes.' Hunt hesitated. 'But I don't know that I want to.'

'Look!' said Stafford, on the verge of losing his temper. He stabbed his finger down at the trap door. 'That man has been shooting at us. He shot on sight – didn't even stop to say "Hello!". He could have killed any one of us, and Christ knows what he's doing now. I want him out. Now get that damned contraption rigged."