to.’ Hardin brightened. ‘If I do then Gunnarsson can slide right out from under.’
‘Yeah,’ said Hardin. ‘The young guy takes his lumps for being an impostor, and Gunnarsson spreads his hands and says he’s been as deceived as anyone else. All injured innocence.’
‘And no one would believe you,’ commented Stafford. ‘He’d call you a liar; a disgruntled ex-employee who was fired for incompetence.’
‘That he would.’ Hardin scratched his jaw. ‘There’s still Biggie and the commune. They’d know this guy isn’t Hank.’
‘Christ, they’re seven thousand miles away,’ said Stafford irritably. ‘This man, whoever he is, has committed no crime in the States. He’d be tried here under British law or perhaps Jersey law, for all I know.’
‘What’s the sentence for impersonation over here?’
‘It wouldn’t be much. Maybe two years.’
Hardin snorted, but Stafford ignored him. He was deep in thought and looked upon Hardin with new eyes. The man had proved to be right, after all, and here he had at hand an unemployed Intelligence agent and a man who hated Gunnarsson’s guts. If Stafford was going against Gunnarsson it occurred to him that Hardin would be handy to have around. He knew Gunnarsson and how he operated, and the first rule of any kind of warfare is: ‘Know your enemy.’
He said, ‘You told me you worked in Africa. Do you know Kenya?’
‘Sure.’ Hardin shrugged. ‘It will have changed since I was there, but I know Kenya.’
‘Are you persona grata?’
‘I’m okay in Kenya.’ He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t like to say what would happen if I stuck my nose into Tanzania.’
Stafford said, ‘You told me your salary at Gunnarsson Associates. I think we can match that, and maybe a bit more. How would you like to work for Stafford Security Consultants?’
Hardin did not jump at it. ‘Are you in the same business as Gunnarsson?’
‘Not exactly. We try to stop the bastards.’
Hardin held out his hand, ‘I’m your man. Thanks, Mr Stafford.’
Stafford smiled, ‘I’m Max, you are Ben, and the Sergeant is the Sergeant.’
Hardin had given up his hotel room so Stafford told him he could use the spare bedroom until he got fixed up. ‘You can pay your rent by briefing Sergeant Curtis on this thing.’ ‘What’s this with Kenya?’
Stafford said, ‘That’s where I think the action will be.’ He was thinking that an awful lot of money was going to the Ol Njorowa Foundation, a hell of a lot more than the six million dollars going to the fake Hendrix. The Foundation would be awash with cash—something like seventy million American dollars—and he was sure that Gunnarsson had got the heady scent of it in his nostrils.
Stafford discussed the Gunnarsson affair with Jack Ellis who was the next biggest shareholder in Stafford Security after himself. He felt he could not run up costs on the firm without informing Ellis. He outlined the situation and Ellis said thoughtfully, ‘Gunnarsson. He’s the Peacemore mob, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘We’ve been having trouble with that crowd. Remember Electronomics?’
‘All too clearly,’ said Stafford. ‘Jack, our next logical expansion is into the States. We’re going to come up slap hard against Gunnarsson sooner or later. I’d rather it was sooner, before we set up operations over there. I want to go after him now when he’s not on his home ground.’
Ellis nodded. ‘That should make it easier. Who knows about all this? I mean that Gunnarsson has run in a substitute for Hendrix.’
‘Just four; you, me, Hardin and the Sergeant.’
‘Not Alix Hendriks?’
Stafford shook his head. ‘Nor Dirk. I want to keep this tight.’
‘And why Kenya?’
Stafford said, ‘There was once an American bank robber called Willie Sutton. Someone asked him why he robbed banks. He looked a bit disgusted, and said, “That’s where the money is.” There’s a hell of a lot of money going into Kenya. Gunnarsson will go where the money is.’
‘What do we know about this Foundation in Kenya?’
‘Not a damned thing; but that can be cured.’
‘And you want to handle this personally?’
‘With help.’ Stafford shrugged. ‘I’ve been working damned hard in Europe, and I haven’t had a holiday for three years. Let’s call this paid leave of absence.’
Ellis smiled wryly, ‘I have an odd feeling of déjà vu as though we’ve had this conversation before.’
Stafford said, ‘Make no mistake, Jack; this isn’t a favour for Alix Hendriks. This is for the future benefit of Stafford Security.’
Ellis agreed.
Stafford sent Hardin to Kenya as a one man advance party. He did not want Hardin to meet either Gunnarsson or Hendrix by accident and, although there are eight million people in London, he was taking no chances. The West End covers a comparatively small area and it would be plain bad luck if they met face to face in, say, Jermyn Street. In Kenya Hardin was to arrange hotel accommodation and hire cars. He was also to do a preliminary check into the Ol Njorowa Foundation.
Gunnarsson and the fake Hendrix were kept under discreet observation. Stafford arranged to get a look at them so that he would know them again when he saw them. Gunnarsson did nothing much; he frequented the offices of Peacemore, Willis and Franks, which was natural since he owned the place, and he gambled in casinos, winning often. His luck was uncanny. Hendrix, after looking around London, hired a car and went on a tour of the West Country.
It was then that Stafford invited Alix and Dirk Hendriks to dinner; they were his spies behind the enemy lines. Over the aperitifs he said, ‘How did you get on in Jersey?’
Dirk laughed, ‘I signed a lot of papers and got writer’s cramp. The old man had a fantastic head for business. His investments are widespread.’
‘Did you know your grandfather?’
Dirk shook his head, and Alix said, ‘You’ve never mentioned him, Dirk.’
‘I thought he was killed in the Red Revolt of 1922,’ said Dirk. ‘There was a revolution on the Rand, a real civil war which Smuts put down with artillery and bombers. That’s when he disappeared, or so I was told. It’s a bit spooky to know that he really died only a few months ago.’
‘And your grandmother—did you know her?’ asked Stafford.
‘I
