Chapter 32

'These grapes are not bad,' said Stafford appreciatively. 'Thanks.'

'It is customary to bring grapes to hospital,' said Chip and hitched his chair closer to the bed. 'It is also customary for those who bring them to eat them.' He took a couple of grapes from the bunch and popped them into his mouth. 'When are they letting you out?'

'Another week.' Stafford touched his bandaged head. 'There's nothing broken, but I get double vision when I'm tired. The doctor says it's concussion and all I need is bed rest. How's Nair?'

'He's all right. They took the bullet out of his leg and he's on the mend. He's in a room down the corridor.'

'I'll pop in and see him.'

Chip smiled slightly. 'The population of this hospital has gone up since you began operations. Hardin had concussion like you; Hunt is having a skin graft on his legs – he got scorched.'

'The Sergeant?'

'Nothing wrong with him. He's a real tough one. He'll be coming in to see you soon.'

'All right,' said Stafford. 'What happened?'

'Curtis got Hardin out then went back to help Hunt get you out. Brice got himself out. Hendriks and Miller were both killed.'

'Miller?' said Stafford interrogatively.

'The man in the basement.'

'Oh! Brice called him van Heerden.'

'Did he?' Chip was interested in that and made a note of it. 'His passport was in the name of Miller. A British passport.'

'He spoke a few words of Afrikaans when he was under stress. What did you find in the cellar?'

Chip looked at him oddly. 'Don't you know?'

'I don't know a bloody thing,' said Stafford. 'You're my first visitor.'

'When Nair rang to tell me what you were doing I rounded up some men and commandeered an army helicopter from Eastleigh because I wanted to get to you fast. I thought you were tackling something bigger than you could handle. We were putting the helicopter down next to the building with the dish antenna when it blew up. The helicopter nearly crashed.'

'Blew up!' said Stafford, startled. 'In God's name, what was down there?'

'We've had our forensic people looking at the bits and pieces that are left. Apparently there were a lot of explosives, commercial gelignite for the most part. They say that didn't blow up – it needs a detonator – but it burned hot and that set off the rest of it. They had a small armoury down there, rifles and ammunition, hand grenades and so on.'

'That wouldn't be enough to blow up a building.'

'That's right,' agreed Chip. 'The damage was really done when the fire got to three Russian SAM-7 rockets. We think there were three but it's difficult to tell now.'

'Rockets!' Stafford rubbed his jaw. He was thinking of that hot, blue flame driving heat into the basement. Talk about playing with fire!

'Most of the stuff down there was Russian,' said Chip. 'Probably captured equipment from Angola. The South Africans smuggled it in, probably through Mombasa. We're going into that now.'

'Indirection,' said Stafford. 'What do you think they were going to use it for?'

Chip shrugged. 'There's a lot of talk going on at the top. The general opinion is that the stuff was going to be used to arm various groups in the general interest of stirring up trouble. Those being used would even think they were being paid by the Russians. It could have caused a lot of bad blood.'

'What does Brice say?'

'Brice is saying nothing; he's keeping his mouth shut. Patterson isn't saying much, either. But Luke Maiyani will talk as soon as his jaw is unwired,' said Chip grimly., 'You're going to have visitors, Max. They'll tell you to keep your mouth shut, too. All this never happened. Understand?'

Stafford nodded. 'I think so,' he said wearily. 'How are you going to keep it under cover?'

'I've brought you some newspapers and marked the relevant stories. The matter of Brice hasn't come up yet so it hasn't been reported. I'll tell you what will happen about him. He's under arrest for embezzlement of Ol Njorowa funds; we found enough in his office to nail him on that. He'll go on trial and he'll stand for it because he can't do anything else. We don't know who he is but we do know he isn't Brice.'

'How do you know that?'

'Before Brice left Zimbabwe – Rhodesia – he got into trouble with the Smith government for some reason or other. Anyway, our brothers in Zimbabwe had a look through police records and turned up his fingerprints, and they don't match those of the Brice we've got.'

Stafford began to laugh. 'So Brice goes to jail for embezzlement. He can't do anything else.'

'He'll spend a long time inside, and he'll be deported when he comes out.' Chip smiled. 'We'll probably put him on a plane to Zimbabwe.' He chuckled 'And the Zimbabweans will arrest him for false pretenses and travelling on a false passport.'

'I almost feel sorry for him,' said Stafford.

'Don't,' said Chip in a grim voice. 'We found a safe built into the wall of the cellar. It was strong and fireproof. In it, among other things which I won't go into, we found three passports in the name of Gunnarsson, Hendrix and Kosters.

That pins the Tanzanian attack directly on Brice. The Hendrix passport had been tampered with.'

'They'd replace Hendrix's photo with that of Corliss,' said Stafford. 'What happens to Corliss?'

'We'll give him the passport and send him home,' said Chip. 'He knows nothing of what went on. He's a very confused boy and will never tell a straight story.' He stood up. 'When you get out of here you must have dinner with me and my wife.'

Stafford was somewhat surprised. 'I didn't know you were married.'

'Most people are.' Chip flipped his hand in a semi-salute and left.

Stafford picked up the newspapers and read the articles Chip had marked. An American visitor, Mr John Gunnarsson, had been killed by a hippopotamus on Crescent Island, Lake Naivasha. His body was being returned to the United States. A brief editorial in the same issue commented that this should reinforce the warning to all visitors to Kenya that the animals they saw in such profusion really were wild and could not be approached with impunity. While regretting the death of Mr Gunnarsson it could not be the function of the Kenyan authorities to wet-nurse headstrong tourists.

In another issue was an account of the disastrous fire at Ol Njorowa College. The animal migration laboratory had been wrecked, mostly by the explosion of butane cylinders stored in the basement. Several people, including the Director, Mr Charles Brice, had been injured, and Mr Dirk Hendriks and Mr Paul Miller had been killed. Mr Brice was not available for comment but the Acting Director, Dr James Odhiambo, said it was a grave blow to the advance of science in Kenya. The police did not suspect arson.

Stafford was about to reach for another newspaper when there was a tap at the door and Hardin and Curtis came in. Curtis said, 'I have taken the liberty of bringing the Colonel some fruit.' He put a brown paper bag on the bedside table.

Stafford looked at him with affection. 'Thank you, Sergeant. And I understand I have to thank you for getting me out of the lab before it blew up.'

'That was mostly Mr Hunt, sir," said Curtis imperturbably. 'I'm sorry I let Brice and Hendriks get-past me. I had to watch out on two sides and I was in the office when they came in.'

Stafford thought it was not so much an apology as an explanation. He said, 'No harm done,' then amended the statement. 'Only to Hendriks – and Brice.'

'Is there anything I can get for you, sir?'

'Just a new head,' said Stafford. 'This one feels a bit second hand.'

'I felt like that,' said Hardin. 'But you got a bigger thump than me. We'll come back when you feel better.'

'Hang on a minute, Ben. Do you mind, Sergeant?' Curtis left the room and Stafford said, 'Are you still going to work for me?'