Flyaway / Windfall (55 page)

Stafford thought the lake flies constituted the worst hazard of Crescent Island until he nearly broke his neck.

Chip, Nair and the Hunts had departed; the Hunts back to Ol Njorowa, Chip to Nairobi, and Nair to Naivasha to round up supplies. Nair came back in the late afternoon in a boat loaded with provisions and camping gear. They helped him get it ashore, then he said, ‘We’ll camp on the other side of the island where lights can’t be seen from the mainland.’

‘Are you staying with us?’ asked Stafford in surprise.

Nair nodded without saying anything and Hardin snorted. ‘I guess Chip thinks we want our hands held.’

Stafford had a different notion; he thought Nair was there to keep an eye on them. The mystery of Ol Njorowa had almost been solved and all that remained was to bust up the South African operation. But Chip, and possibly others, did not want premature activity and Nair was there to see that Stafford’s party stayed put.

They lugged the supplies to the other side of the island, a matter of half a mile, and then made camp. Nair was meticulous about the setting up of the mosquito nets which were hung on wire frames over the sleeping bags, and fiddled for a long time in a finicky manner until he was sure he had got it right. ‘Get much malaria around here?’ asked Hardin.

‘Not here.’ Nair looked up. ‘Lot of lake flies, though.’ He did not elaborate.

Curtis put a burner on to a small cylinder of propane and began to open cans. In a very short while he had prepared a meal, and they began to eat just as the sun was setting over the Mau Escarpment. Over coffee Nair said, ‘It’s time for bed.’

‘So early?’ queried Hardin, ‘It’s just after six.’

‘Please yourself,’ said Nair. ‘But the wind changes at nightfall and brings the lake flies. You’ll be glad to be under cover.’

Stafford found what he meant five minutes later when he began to swat at himself viciously. By the time he had got into the sleeping bag and under the safety of the mosquito netting he felt the skin of his arms and ankles coming out in bumps which itched ferociously. Also he found that he had admitted several undesirable residents to share his bed and it was some time before he was sure he had killed the last of them.

Curtis was silent as usual, but from Hardin’s direction came a continual muffled cursing. ‘Goddammit, Nair!’ he yelled. ‘You sure these things aren’t mosquitoes?’

‘Just flies,’ said Nair soothingly. ‘They won’t hurt you; they don’t transmit disease.’

‘Maybe not; but they’re eating me alive. I’ll be a picked-over skeleton tomorrow.’

‘They’re an aviation hazard,’ said Nair in a conversational voice. ‘Especially over Lake Victoria. They block air filters and Pitot tubes. There have been a few crashes because of them, but they’ve never been known to eat anybody.’

Stafford lit a cigarette and stared at the sky through the diaphanous and almost invisible netting. There were no clouds and the sky was full of the diamond brilliance of stars, growing brighter as the light ebbed in the west. ‘Nair?’

‘Yes, Max?’

‘Did Chip say anything before he went to Nairobi?’

‘About what?’

‘You bloody well know about what,’ said Stafford without heat.

There was a brief silence. ‘I’m not a high ranking officer,’ said Nair, almost apologetically. ‘I don’t get to know everything.’

‘They can’t stop you thinking. You’re no fool, Nair; what do you
think
will happen?’

Again there was silence from Nair. Presently he said, ‘This is a big thing, Max. There’ll be a lot of talk among the people at the top; they’ll argue about the best thing to do. You know how it is in intelligence work.’

Stafford knew. There were a number of options open to the Kenyans which he ticked off in his mind. They could go for a propaganda victory—smash into Ol Njorowa with full publicity, including TV cameras on hand and hard words in the United Nations. Or they could snap up Brice and Hendriks unobtrusively and close down their illicit operation without fanfare. The South Africans would know about it, of course, but there would not be a damned thing they could do. That would give the Kenyans a diplomatic ace up the sleeve, a
quid pro quo
for any concession they might want to wring out of the South Africans—do this for us or we blow the gaff publicly on your illegalities. Stafford doubted if the South Africans would respond to that kind of blackmail.

There was a third option—to do nothing. To put a fine meshed net around Ol Njorowa, to keep Brice, Hendriks and the animal migration team under surveillance and, possibly, feed them false information. That would be the more subtle approach he himself would favour, but he did not give the average politician many marks for subtlety. The average politician’s time-horizon was limited and most would go for the short term solution. Had not Harold Wilson said that a week in politics was a long time?

And so there would be a lot of talk in Nairobi that night as factions in the government pushed their points of view. He hoped that Chip and Mr Anonymous had the sense to restrict their new found knowledge of Ol Njorowa to a select few.

He stirred. ‘Nair—the men who kidnapped the tour group—do you think they were Tanzanians?’

‘In the circumstances I doubt it.’

Stafford leaned up on one elbow. ‘Kenyans?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘But how would Brice recruit them?’

‘Some men will do much for money.’

‘Even kill, as they were going to kill Corliss?’

‘Even that.’ Nair paused. ‘They could, of course, have been South African blacks.’

Stafford had not thought of that. ‘Could a South African black pass himself off as a Kenyan? Could he get away with it?’

Nair said dryly, ‘Just as easily as a Russian called Konon Molody could pass himself off as a Canadian called Gordon Lonsdale. All it needs is training.’

Stafford mulled it over in his mind. ‘But I can’t understand why blacks would work for the white South Africans in the first place. Why should they defend white supremacy?’

‘The South African army is full of blacks,’ said Nair. ‘Didn’t you know? A lot are in the army for the pay. Some have other reasons—learning to use modern weaponry, for instance. But in the end it all comes down to the simple fact that if a man has a set of views it’s always possible to find another man with the opposite set of views.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Stafford, but he was not convinced.

‘The white man finds it difficult to understand how the mind of the black man works,’ said Nair. There was a smile in his voice as he added, ‘Not to mention the mind of
the Indian. Even the white South Africans, who ought to know better, make mistakes about that.’

‘Such as?’

‘To begin with, the countries of Africa are artificial creations of the white man. The black does not really understand the nation state; his loyalties are to the tribe.’

‘Yes,’ said Stafford thoughtfully. ‘Chip was saying something about that.’

‘All right,’ said Nair. ‘Take Zimbabwe, which used to be Southern Rhodesia, an artificial entity. They had an election to see who’d come out on top, Nkomo, Mugabe or Bishop Muzorewa who ran the caretaker government. No one gave much chance to Muzorewa. The odds-on favourite was Nkomo and Mugabe was expected to come a bad second. Even the South Africans, who ought to have known better, laid their bets that way.’

‘Why ought they to have known better?’

‘They’ve been in Africa long enough. You see, there are two main tribes in Zimbabwe, the Ndebele and the Mashona. Nkomo is an Ndebele and Mugabe a Mashona. The Mashona outnumber the Ndebele four to one and Mugabe won the election by four to one. Simple, really.’

‘They voted along tribal lines?’

‘Largely.’ Nair paused, then said, ‘If the South Africans could set up a well-financed secret base here they could stir up a lot of trouble among the tribes.’

Stafford extinguished his cigarette carefully and lay back to think. Because of its position in Africa Kenya was a hodge-podge of ethnic and religious differences, all of which could be exploited by a determined and cynical enemy. Nair was probably right.

He was still thinking of this when he fell asleep.

He awoke in the grey light of dawn and looked uncomprehendingly at something which moved. He lay on his side
and watched the buck daintily picking its way across his line of vision. It was incredibly small, about the size of a small dog, say, a fox terrier, and its legs were about as thick as a ball point pen and terminated in miniature hooves. Its rump was rounded and its horns were two small daggers. He had never seen anything so exquisite.

A twig snapped and the buck scampered away into the safety of the trees. Stafford rolled over and saw Nair approaching from the lake. ‘That was a dik-dik,’ said Nair.

‘Have the flies gone?’

‘No flies now.’

‘Good.’ Stafford threw back the netting and emerged from the sleeping bag. He put on his trousers, then his shoes, and took a towel, ‘Is it safe to wash in the lake?’

‘Safe enough; just keep your eyes open for snakes. Not that you’re likely to see any.’ As Stafford turned away Nair called, ‘There are some fish eagles nesting in the trees over there.’

As Stafford walked to the water’s edge he shook his head in amusement. Nair’s cover as a courier for tourist groups seemed to have stuck. A herd of Thomson’s gazelle drifted out of his way, not hurrying but keeping a safe distance from him. At the shore he sluiced down and was towelling himself dry when Hardin joined him. ‘Peaceful place,’ Hardin remarked.

‘Yes. It’s very nice.’ Stafford put on his shirt. ‘Where’s Curtis? His sleeping bag was empty.’

Hardin waved his arm. ‘Gone to the top of the ridge there; he wanted to have a look-see at the mainland.’

Stafford smiled. ‘Military habits die hard.’

Hardin was staring out into the lake. ‘Now, look at that, will you?’

Stafford followed his gaze and saw nothing but ripples. ‘What is it?’

‘Wait!’ Hardin pointed. ‘It was about there. Look! It’s come up again. A goddamn hippo.’

Stafford saw the head break surface and heard a distant snorting and snuffling, then the hippopotamus submerged again. He said, ‘Well, we are in Africa, you know. What would you expect to find in an African lake? Polar bears?’

‘Crocodiles, that’s what.’ Hardin looked around very carefully at the lake shore. ‘And I hope Nair was right about lions and leopards not liking to swim too far. We don’t have a gun between the lot of us.’

There was an outcrop of rock close by and Stafford thought he would get a better view of the hippo from the top so he walked over to it. As he climbed he found the rock oddly slippery and he had difficulty in keeping his footing despite the fact that his shoes were rubber-soled. At the top he lost his balance entirely—his feet shot from under him and he fell to the ground below, a matter of some ten feet.

He was winded and gasped desperately for breath, and his senses swam. He did not entirely lose consciousness but was hardly aware of Hardin running up to him and turning him on to his back. ‘You okay, Max?’ said Hardin anxiously.

It was a couple of minutes before Stafford could reply. ‘Christ, but that was bad.’

‘Anything broken?’

Stafford handled himself gingerly, testing for broken bones. At last he said, ‘I think I’m in one piece.’

‘It could have been your neck the way you went down,’ said Hardin. ‘What the hell happened?’

Stafford got to his feet. ‘There’s something about that rock. It’s damned slippery; almost as if it’s been greased.’

Hardin took a pace to the outcrop and inspected it visually, then passed his hand over the surface. ‘Just plain old rock as far as I can see.’

‘Damn it!’ said Stafford. ‘It was just like walking on loose ball bearings.’ He joined Hardin but could detect nothing odd about the nature of the stone surface.

Hardin said, ‘If you’re okay I’ll finish cleaning up.’ He returned to the waterside and Stafford waited, watching what he supposed was one of the fish eagles Nair had mentioned as it circled lazily above, and wondering about the curious nature of the rock on Crescent Island.

Hardin finished and they walked back, Stafford limping a little because he had pulled a muscle in his leg. Nair had coffee waiting and gave Stafford a cup as he sat on his sleeping bag. Hardin said, ‘Max thinks you have odd rocks here. He took a nasty tumble back there.’

Nair looked up. ‘Odd? How?’

‘Damn slippery. I could have broken something.’ Stafford massaged his thigh.

‘Take a look at the soles of your shoes,’ Nair advised.

Stafford took off a shoe and turned it over. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ The rubber sole was completely hidden by a packed mass of brown seeds.

‘You’ll be all right walking about in the normal way,’ said Nair. ‘Just pick your surfaces and don’t walk on naked rock or you’ll slip.’

All the same Stafford took his pocket knife and de-seeded his shoes after breakfast. The seeds were small and tetrahedron in shape with a small spike at each vertex so that whichever way they fell one spike would be uppermost, rather like miniature versions of the medieval caltrops which were scattered to discourage cavalry charges. Nature got there first, he reflected, and said aloud, ‘Now I know why Gunnarsson was hobbling so badly when he got back to Keekorok.’ He inspected the sole of the shoe. The remaining small spikes had broken off under his body weight and left a smooth, polished surface as slick as a
ballroom floor. He cleaned the seeds out and then looked at the sole of his shoe. It was full of pinholes.

After they had breakfasted and done the camp chores such as flattening and burying the empty cans there was nothing much to do. ‘Did Chip say when he’d be coming back?’ asked Stafford.

Nair shrugged. ‘I doubt if he’d know.’

‘So we twiddle our thumbs,’ said Stafford disgustedly.

Curtis returned to his position on top of the ridge, taking with him Stafford’s binoculars, and Hardin elected to keep him company. Nair and Stafford took a walk; there being nothing else to do. ‘We’ll be at the north end of the island,’ Nair told Hardin before they left.

They strolled along, taking their time because they were not going anywhere in particular. As they went Stafford told Nair of his assessment of the Kenyan options and Nair agreed with him somewhat gloomily. ‘The trouble with us,’ he said, ‘is that we’re civilized enough to have intelligence and security departments, but not civilized enough to know how to use them properly. We haven’t had the experience of you British. I don’t think we’re cynical enough.’