didn’t, as she’d thought it would, remind her of Africa. She’d spent two weeks once in Kenya and remembered the heady morning scent of meat smoking on sidewalk grills, of towering heat and a cosmopolitan flare. Africa was only a narrow strip of water away, but Whitney saw nothing from her window that resembled what she remembered of it.
Nor did she find a tropical island flare. She didn’t sense the lazy gaiety she’d always associated with islands and island people. What she did sense, though she wasn’t yet sure why, was a country completely unique to itself.
This was the capital of Madagascar, the heart of the country, city of open-air markets and hand-drawn carts existing in complete harmony and total chaos alongside high-rise office buildings and sleek modern cars. It was a city, so she expected the habitual turmoil that brewed in cities. Yet what she saw was peaceful: slow, but not lazy. Perhaps it was just the dawn, or perhaps it was inherent.
The air was cool with dawn so that she shivered, but didn’t turn away. It didn’t have the smell of Paris, or Europe, but of something riper. Spice mixed with the first whispers of heat that threatened the morning chill. Animals. Few cities carried even a wisp of animal in their air. Hong Kong smelled of the harbor and London of traffic. Antananarivo smelled of something older that wasn’t quite ready to fade under concrete or steel.
There was a haze as heat hovered above the cooler ground. Even as she stood, Whitney could feel the temperature change, almost degree by degree. In another hour, she thought, the sweat would start to roll and the air would smell of that as well.
She had the impression of houses stacked on top of houses, stacked on top of more houses, all pink and purple in the early light. It was like a fairy tale: sweet and a little grim around the edges.
The town was all hills, hills so steep and breathless that stairs had been dug, built into rock and earth to negotiate them. Even from a distance they seemed worn and old and pitched at a terrifying angle. She saw three children and their dog heedlessly racing down and thought she might get winded just watching them.
She could see Lake Anosy, the sacred lake, steel blue and still, ringed by the jacaranda trees that gave it the exotic flare she’d dreamed of. Because of the distance, she could only imagine the scent would be sweet and strong. Like so many other cities, there were modern buildings, apartments, hotels, a hospital, but sprinkled among them were thatched roofs. A stone’s throw away were rice paddies and small farms. The fields would be moist and glitter in the afternoon sun. If she looked up toward the highest hill, she could see the palaces, glorious in the dawn, opulent, arrogant, anachronistic. She heard the sound of a car on the wide avenue below.
So they were here, she thought, stretching and drawing in the cool air. The plane trip had been long and tedious, but it had given her time to adjust to what had happened and to make some decisions of her own. If she was honest, she had to admit that she’d made her decision the moment she’d stepped on the gas and started her race with Doug. True, it had been an impulse, but she’d stick by it. If nothing else, the quick stop in Paris had convinced her that Doug was smart and she was in for the count. She was thousands of miles away from New York now, and the adventure was here.
She couldn’t change Juan’s fate, but she could have her own personal revenge by beating Dimitri to the treasure. And laughing. To accomplish it, she needed Doug Lord and the papers she’d yet to see. See them she would. It was a matter of learning how to get around Doug.
Doug Lord, Whitney mused, stepping away from the window to dress. Who and what was he? Where did he come from and just where did he intend to go?
A thief. Yes, she thought he was a man who might lift stealing to the level of a profession. But he wasn’t a Robin Hood. He might steal from the rich, but she couldn’t picture him giving to the poor. Whatever he—acquired, he’d keep. Yet she couldn’t condemn him for it. For one, there was something about him, some flash she’d seen right from the beginning. A lack of