‘Now!’ said Stafford, and broke cover to run towards the jetty a hundred yards away, and was conscious of Hardin
and Hunt behind him. The guard heard the crunch of their feet and turned in some alarm. He froze for a moment when he saw them and was about to turn back to shout for help when something seemed to tangle his feet and he toppled overboard with a splash.
Stafford ran up and jumped into the boat. He leaned over the side. ‘Come on, Sergeant,’ he said and took Curtis’s arm to help him aboard. Hardin had seized an oar and was pushing the boat away from the jetty and from Hunt’s boat there came a splutter as the engine balked. Stafford left Curtis gasping on the floor boards and was just in time to grab the painter of the third boat. He fastened it to a cleat and then had time to look around.
Hunt was rewinding the starter cord on his outboard engine and Stafford said harshly, ‘Get that bloody thing started.’ He was thinking of Nair. Hardin had pushed off vigorously with the oar and the boats were now drifting about ten yards offshore where the guard was standing dripping wet and already raising an outcry. Stafford looked along the shore line and saw Brice and Hendriks turn to look back.
Hunt’s engine caught with a stuttering roar, then settled down to an even purr. Stafford shouted, ‘Further out and then go south—after Nair.’ The note of the engine deepened and the small convoy increased in speed. He bent down to Curtis. ‘You all right, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir. Nothing wrong with me.’
Hardin was staring at the shore. ‘Brice looks mad enough to bust a gut.’
Brice and Hendriks had stopped and were motionless, looking at the boats which were now a hundred yards away and moving parallel with the coast. Brice said something to Hendriks and they began to run again. Stafford said, ‘Where are Nair and Gunnarsson?’
‘Should be on the other side of that point there, if they haven’t been caught.’
Stafford raised his voice and shouted to Hunt in the lead boat. ‘Open that thing up! Get a bloody move on!’
Curtis had got up and was in the stern, already starting the engine of their own boat. Hardin hauled on the painter of the other boat to bring it alongside, then he jumped in. One by one the other engines started and Stafford cast off the boats so they could operate independently. He said to Curtis, ‘Cut in close to the point. I’ll watch for rocks.’ He signalled to the others that he was taking the lead.
‘Hey!’ shouted Hardin, and pointed ashore, and Stafford saw that Patterson was in sight but had fallen. He tried to get up but collapsed when he put weight on his leg. Curtis grunted. ‘Broke his ankle with a bit of luck, sir.’
Nair thought his lungs would burst. He risked a glance backwards and saw the black about twenty yards behind—and no one else. Ahead Gunnarsson was running steadily but slowing. Nair got enough breath to shout, ‘Gunnarsson! Help!’ and stopped to face his pursuer.
Luke Maiyani was taken by surprise. The prey was supposed to run, not stand and fight against the odds. By the time he had come to this conclusion he was within five yards of Nair so he also came to a halt and looked back expecting to see Patterson but there was no one in sight. It was this small hesitation that cost him a broken jaw because Nair picked up a rock in his fist and when Maiyani turned to look at him again Nair swung with all the force he could. There was a crunch and Maiyani dropped in his tracks.
Nair turned and found that Gunnarsson was still running along the shore. He stood there with his chest heaving and became aware of shouting from offshore. He looked out at the lake and saw three boats coming in with Stafford in the bows of the leading boat waving vigorously. Behind, Hardin was pointing with urgency and he turned his head and saw Brice and Hendriks just rounding the point.
Without further hesitation he ran for the water and the approaching boats. He was splashing through the shallows when Hendriks pulled out a gun with a long barrel and took careful aim. There was no report but Nair staggered and fell. He rolled over in the water until it was deep enough to support him and started to swim, striking out with his arms and using one leg.
Gunnarsson’s attention, too, had been attracted by the shouting. He stopped to look out into the lake and Hunt yelled, ‘Swim for it!’ Gunnarsson hesitated, then made up his mind as he became aware of Brice and Hendriks advancing upon him. Hunt steered closer to the shore and waved encouragingly then stopped in mid-wave.
‘Oh, Christ!’ he said.
As Gunnarsson ran towards the water there was a movement from behind him and a vast grey shape burst out of the trees. Hunt shouted, ‘Sideways! Run to the side, Gunnarsson!’ but he was ignored. The bull hippopotamus behind Gunnarsson was advancing at a steady yard-eating trot, running much faster than the man. It caught him just as he reached the water’s edge. Hunt saw the mouth open in a cavernous gape edged with white tusks which closed in a quick snap. Then the hippo was in the lake and there was no sign of Gunnarsson except for a swirl of bloodied water.
Hunt wrenched the tiller over and opened the throttle, speeding to get between the hippopotamus and Nair who was swimming weakly. He heard no gunfire and did not know what it was that whined past him like an angry hornet to hit the outboard motor. The rapid beat of the engine faltered and then it stopped and the boat lost momentum.
Stafford’s boat passed him. Stafford was standing in the bows holding an oar, and shouted, ‘Get down—you’re being shot at!’
‘Watch for the hippo!’ Hunt replied and twisted around to look for it but could not see it. But he saw a peculiar
wave on the surface of the water and knew the hippopotamus was running on the bottom of the shallow lake. The displacement wave rippled towards Nair but was intercepted by Stafford’s boat which lurched violently, almost throwing Stafford off his feet.
Hardin was coming in fast on the other side towards Nair as the hippo surfaced next to Stafford’s boat. He raised the oar and struck at its head and as the tough, flexible wood shivered violently in his hands he knew he had got in a good blow. For a moment the hippopotamus looked at him with an unwinking eye then breathed mightily and submerged.
Curtis swung over the tiller and Stafford looked for Nair and was relieved to see Hardin helping him into the boat. A miniature fountain rose quite close to him and Stafford said to Curtis, ‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of here.’ He waved to Hardin, pointing out into the lake, as Curtis headed towards the boat in which Hunt drifted.
He slowed as they came alongside and Hunt jumped for it. Even as he jumped Curtis was opening the throttle again and swinging to head out into the lake away from shore. Stafford looked back just in time to see the boat Hunt had abandoned rise bow first and then capsize as the hippopotamus attacked it. There was a splashing and a frothing of water and then the boat had gone leaving only a few shattered timbers floating on the water.
The shore of Crescent Island receded and when they were a good half mile away Stafford said, ‘Let’s join Hardin and see if Nair is all right.’ He looked at Hunt and said quietly, ‘That was a bloody bad two minutes.’
Curtis throttled back as he came alongside Hardin and the two boats drifted placidly. Nair had slit his trousers and was examining his leg. Hardin said, ‘Nair reckons he was hit in the leg, but I didn’t hear any shooting.’
‘It was Hendriks,’ said Stafford. ‘He must have had a silencer. Is it bad, Nair?’
‘No, just a hole in the fleshy part of the thigh. The bullet must still be in there; there’s only one hole.’ He held up his right hand. ‘And I broke a finger; maybe two.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Gunnarsson?’
‘Yeah,’ said Hardin. ‘Where is the son of a bitch?’
‘The hippo got him,’ said Hunt.
‘I didn’t see that,’ said Stafford. ‘I was too busy trying to get to Nair. What happened to him?’
‘It bit him in half.’ Hunt shivered involuntarily.
‘Jesus!’ said Hardin. ‘I didn’t like the bastard but I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Hunt. ‘I saw it. There was a lot of blood in the water.’ He looked at the sky and added dully, ‘They’ve been known to bite crocodiles in half.’
‘I’d have reckoned Gunnarsson to be tougher than any crocodile,’ said Hardin in a heavy attempt at jocularity, but the humour fell flat.
‘We’d better get on,’ said Stafford. ‘Nair needs a doctor. Any other injuries?’
No one admitted to being hurt, but Curtis said mournfully, ‘I left my belt back there. It was a good belt, too. Snakeskin.’
‘You left more than that,’ said Hardin. ‘You left your pants.’
‘Yes, but my Amy gave me that belt.’
There was a moment’s silence before Stafford said, ‘That lot are marooned back there. I think we ought to move into Ol Njorowa now.’
‘Chip won’t like it,’ warned Nair.
‘Chip doesn’t know the circumstances. How much staff does the animal migration lab have, Alan?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hunt. ‘It varies. I didn’t think there was anyone there now until I saw Patterson.’
‘Then there’s a good chance that it’s empty,’ said Stafford as though arguing with himself. ‘I don’t think Brice can
have really got going yet. So far he’s been working on a shoestring and waiting for the Hendrykxx money. This
must
be the best time to bust him, while he’s out of the game. Sergeant; head for the shore.’
‘To Safariland,’ said Hunt. ‘I think I know of a way to get you into Ol Njorowa.’
Francis Yongo was boatman at the Lake Naivasha Hotel and Francis was worried. He had promised to pick up Mr Gunnarsson from Crescent Island and he had not done so because someone had taken his boat. He talked to the cray—fish fishermen by the lake and asked if they had seen it. One said he thought he had seen it going out across the lake with a number of men in it. No, he had not seen where it was going; it had been of no interest.
Dispiritedly Francis walked up to the hotel to report to the manager who spoke acidly about inconsiderate tourists and got on the telephone. An hour later he called Francis into the office. ‘I’ve traced the boat, Francis. It’s lying at Safariland—just come in. You’d better take your bike out there and pick up Mr Gunnarsson on the way back. I doubt if he’ll be pleased.’ He went on to fulminate about thoughtless joyriders while Francis listened patiently. He had heard it all before. Then he went to get his bicycle.
Nair leaned heavily on Stafford as he hobbled up from the dock at Safariland towards the manager’s office. Stafford said, ‘What went wrong back there? How did Brice catch on?’
‘It was Gunnarsson,’ said Nair. ‘I thought it best to stick close to the truth so I told Brice I’d arrested him.
That meant Gunnarsson had to be handcuffed but he wouldn’t wear them; he said he wanted to be free if anything went wrong so he faked it. Then he stumbled and they fell off.’
‘And that was a tip-off to Brice.’ Stafford shook his head. ‘In a way you could say Gunnarsson killed himself. Will you be all right, Nair?’
‘As soon as you’ve gone I’ll phone Chip, then I’ll get a doctor.’ He sat on one of the chairs on the lawn. ‘I don’t suppose I can stop you?’
‘It’s the right time,’ said Stafford positively.
‘Perhaps, but I have to convince Chip.’ Nair took a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘Go to the Lake Naivasha Hotel first. There’s a pistol and a spare magazine clipped under the front seat of the Mercedes.’ He tossed the keys to Stafford. ‘Don’t use it unless you have to.’
‘Thanks. The others will be waiting. I still have to find out from Hunt how we’re to get into Ol Njorowa.’
It was to prove ridiculously easy. He found Hunt, Hardin and Curtis waiting for him in the car park, standing next to Hunt’s Land-Rover. Hunt pointed to the trailer attached to the rear. ‘You go in there!’
‘Is there room?’
‘It’s empty apart from a few butane bottles and the burner,’ said Hunt. ‘I left the envelope and the basket at Ol Njorowa when I took the burner in for repair this morning. God, but that seems a long time ago.’
‘Aren’t you stopped at the gate?’ queried Hardin.
‘I never have been. Staff members can move freely.’
‘Yes, they’d have to,’ said Stafford. ‘There’s a limit to Brice’s bloody security. It would look pretty queer if the staff of an agricultural college were searched every time they went in. That reinforces my contention that whatever there is to be found will be in the animal migration laboratory. All right; let’s go.’
‘I’ll put you right outside the door of the lab,’ said Hunt. ‘But I can’t promise it will be unlocked.’
Hardin said, ‘Just deliver us; we’ll see to the rest.’
Hunt opened the trailer and Stafford, Curtis and Hardin climbed in. Hunt hesitated. ‘I usually keep it locked,’ he said. ‘There’s a deal of petty pilfering.’
‘Do as you do normally,’ said Stafford, so Hunt locked them in, walked around the Land-Rover and drove off slowly.
Nair’s police warrant card had secured him a telephone and the privacy of the manager’s office. But when he spoke to Chip he had his back to the window and so did not see Francis Yongo cycle past somewhat unsteadily on his way to the dock.
Hunt stopped at the gate of Ol Njorowa, gave a blast on the horn, and waved to the guard. The gate opened and he drove through, keeping his speed down, past the Admin Block and onward to the building surmounted by the dish antenna which lay a little over half a mile further. Ahead there was a car driving equally slowly and, as he watched, it stopped outside the animal migration laboratory. A man got out, unlocked the front door, and went inside. Hunt stopped the Land-Rover and got out.
He looked about him. Everything was calm and peaceful; there were a few distant figures in the experimental plots but no one nearer. He went back to the trailer and tapped on the door. ‘Stafford! Can you hear me?’
A muffled voice said, ‘Yes. What is it?’
‘We’re near the lab. Someone just went in.’
‘Let us out.’
Hunt unlocked the trailer and Stafford crawled out followed by Hardin and Curtis. They stretched, easing their cramped limbs, and Stafford looked over to the building nearby and noted the parked car. ‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hunt. ‘I just got a glimpse of him.’
Hardin looked up at the dish antenna. ‘Science!’ he said, somewhat disparagingly.
‘Let’s find out.’ Stafford waved and the four of them walked to the front of the building. He put his hand on the handle of the door and tested it. To his surprise the door opened. ‘We’re in luck,’ he said quietly.
He opened the door and was confronted by a blank wall three feet in front of him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then went inside to the left along a narrow passage and emerged into a room. His hand was in his pocket resting on the butt of the gun.
There was no one in the room but there were two doors, one in the wall opposite and another to the right. There were tables and chairs and, in one corner, a water cooler and a coffee machine together with an assortment of crockery. On the walls were large photographs of animals; wildebeest, hippopotamus, elephant. This he took to be the Common Room where the staff relaxed.
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 Common 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.’
‘Take it easy, Max,’ Hardin said quietly. He looked at Hunt. ‘Can I help you?’
‘No; I’ll do it.’ Hunt bent to the burner and Hardin watched him with interest.
‘Max was telling me about this,’ he said. ‘When we were idling on the island. He says it’s pretty powerful. Is that so?’
Hunt was connecting tubes. ‘It’s rated at ten million Btu, but it probably delivers about three-quarters of that.’
‘I’ve never figured out what a British Thermal Unit is,’ said Hardin. ‘I must have been at a ball game when that came up in class.’
‘The amount of heat to raise the temperature of a pound of water by one degree Fahrenheit.’
‘And you’ve got ten million of them in that thing!’ Hardin looked across at Stafford. ‘Did you say you’d tickle him?’