Windfall

‘Yes; I had a call from Dirk. They met the lawyer this afternoon. He seemed satisfied with their credentials, so Dirk says.’

‘The lawyer’s name being Mandeville?’ ‘Yes. How do you know that?’

Stafford had thought Hardin had appeared strained but now he looked cheerful, ‘I bumped into Gunnarsson this morning at Heathrow Airport. Well, not bumped exactly—I don’t think he saw me. I decided not to leave right then because I wanted to follow him.’

Curtis came in with a tray and Stafford reached for his whisky. ‘Why?’

‘Because the young guy with him wasn’t the Hank Hendrix I picked up in Los Angeles.’

Stafford was so startled that he almost dropped the glass. ‘Wasn’t he, by God?’

Hardin shook his head decidedly. ‘No way. Same height, same colouring—a good lookalike but not Hank Hendrix.’

Stafford thought of his conversation with Dirk. ‘What was the colour of his jacket?’

Hardin grinned crookedly. ‘You couldn’t mistake him for anyone but an American—Joseph’s coat of many colours.’

That did it. Curtis was about to leave the room and Stafford said abruptly, ‘Stick around, Sergeant, and listen to this. It might save a lot of explanations later. But first get Mr Hardin another highball, and you might as well have one yourself. Mr Hardin; this is Colour-Sergeant Curtis, late of the Royal Marines.’

Hardin gave Stafford a curious look then stood up and held out his hand. ‘Glad to know you, Sergeant Curtis.’

‘Likewise, Mr Hardin.’ They shook hands then Curtis turned to Stafford, ‘If the Colonel doesn’t mind I’d rather have a beer.’

Stafford nodded and Curtis left to return two minutes later with the drinks. Stafford said, ‘So you followed Gunnarsson?’

‘Yeah. Your London taxi drivers don’t surprise worth a damn. I told mine that if he kept track of Gunnarsson’s cab it was worth an extra tip. He said he could do better than that—they were on the same radio net. Five minutes later he said Gunnarsson was going to the Dorchester. I got there before him and had the cab wait. It ran up quite a tab on the meter.’

‘You’ll get your expenses.’

Hardin grinned, ‘It’s on the house, Mr Stafford. Because I’m feeling so good.’

He sipped his replenished highball. ‘Gunnarsson and the other guy registered at the desk and then went upstairs. They were up there nearly two hours while I was sitting in the lobby getting callouses on my butt and hoping that the house dick wouldn’t latch on to me and throw me out. When they came down I followed them again and they took me to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’

‘Where Mandeville has his chambers. Right? That’s where you got the name.’

‘Right. I still kept the cab and hung on for a while. Gunnarsson came out just as Mrs Hendriks went in with a guy. Would he be Dirk Hendriks?’

‘Big broad-shouldered man built like a tank?’ Like a lot of South Africans Hendriks was designed to play rugby scrum half.

‘That’s the guy.’ Stafford nodded sharply, and Hardin said, ‘They went into the same place. I followed Gunnarsson to the office of Peacemore, Willis and Franks. I didn’t think I could do much more so I came here and paid off the taxi.’ He looked up. ‘I thought it was better I came here instead of your office.’

Stafford nodded absently, mulling it over, then he said, ‘All right; let’s do a reconstruction. You found Henry Hendrix and took him to Gunnarsson in New York. Gunnarsson, who had been hoping for a gold mine, realized he’d found it. Hendrix had no family, he’d never been out of the States, and it wouldn’t be too hard to drain him of information and put someone else in as a substitute here in London.’

Curtis coughed. ‘I don’t really know what this is about yet, but where is the real Henry Hendrix?’

Hardin gave him a sideways glance, ‘I wouldn’t care to guess.’ There was a silence while they digested that, then he asked, ‘So what do we do now?’

‘I suppose I should tell Farrar he’s being taken,’ Stafford said slowly. ‘But I’m not going 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.

EIGHT (#ulink_26806b84-d254-5c65-9500-a42bc5b704ab)

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.’