three-fingered hand tapped the cigarette into an alabaster tray. “When one has eyes to look, there’s always a sign, my dear Remo.”
“We’ll find them, Mr. Dimitri. It’s just going to take a little more time.”
“It worries me.” From the table to the right, he plucked up a faceted glass half filled with deep ruby wine. On his unmarred hand he wore a ring—thick, glossy gold around a hard diamond. “They’ve eluded you three…” He paused as he sipped, letting the wine lie on his tongue. He had a taste for the sweet. “No, dear me, four times now. It’s becoming a very disturbing habit of yours to fail.” While his voice flowed softly, he flicked on his lighter so that the flame rose straight and thin. Behind it, his gaze locked on Remo’s. “You know how I feel about failures?”
Remo swallowed. He knew better than to make excuses. Dimitri dealt harshly with excuses. He felt the sweat begin on the nape of his neck and roll slowly down.
“Remo, Remo.” The name came out in a sigh. “You’ve been like a son to me.” The lighter clicked off. Smoke plumed again, thin and rich. He never spoke quickly. A conversation, stretched to the last word, was more frightening than a threat. “I’m a patient man and generous.” He waited for Remo’s comment, pleased when there was only silence. “But I expect results. Do succeed next time, Remo. An employer, like a parent, must exercise discipline.” A smile moved his lips, but not his eyes. They were flat and passionless. “Discipline,” he repeated.
“I’ll get Lord, Mr. Dimitri. You’ll have him on a platter.”
“An enjoyable thought, I’m sure. Get the papers.” His voice changed, iced. “And the woman. I find myself more and more intrigued with the woman.”
In reflex, Remo touched the thin scar on his cheek. “I’ll get the woman.”
C H A P T E R
7
They waited until an hour before dusk. With great ceremony, food, water, and wine were wrapped and presented to them for the journey ahead. The Merina seemed to feel themselves highly entertained by the visit.
In a gesture of generosity that made Doug wince, Whitney pressed bills into Louis’s hands. His relief when they were refused was short-lived. For the village, she insisted, then on a stroke of inspiration added that the money was to express their respect and good wishes for the ancestors.
The bills disappeared into the folds of Louis’s shirt.
“How much did you give him?” Doug demanded as he picked up his newly replenished pack.
“Only a hundred.” At his expression, she patted his cheek. “Don’t be a piker, Douglas. It’s unbecoming.” Humming, she took out her notebook.
“Oh no, you shelled it out, not me.”
Whitney noted the amount in her book with a flourish. Doug’s tab was definitely adding up. “You play you pay. Anyway, I have a surprise for you.”
“What, a ten-percent discount?”
“Don’t be crass.” She looked over at the sputtering sound of an engine. “Transportation.” Her arm waved out in a wide gesture.
The jeep had definitely seen better days. Though it shone from a fresh washing, the engine spit and missed as a Merina with a bright, rolled headband drove it up the rutted road.
As a getaway car, he figured it came in a poor second to a blind mule. “It won’t go twenty miles.”
“It’ll be twenty miles we don’t use our feet. Say thank you, Douglas, and stop being rude. Pierre’s going to drive us to the Tamatave province.”
It only took one look at Pierre to see that he’d freely imbibed palm wine. They’d be lucky if they didn’t end up sunk in a rice paddy. “Terrific.” Pessimistic, and dealing with a headache from his own free use of wine, Doug said a formal good-bye to Louis.
Whitney’s was much lengthier and more elaborate. Doug climbed into the back of the jeep and stretched out his legs. “Get your ass in gear, sweetheart. It’ll be dark in an hour.”
Smiling at the Merina who crowded around the jeep, she stepped in. “Up yours, Lord.” Settling the pack on the floor at her feet, she leaned back and swung one arm jauntily over the back of the seat. “Avant, Pierre.”
The jeep lurched forward, bucked, then rattled down the road. Doug felt his headache explode in tiny, unmerciful blasts. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
Whitney took the teeth-rattling ride in stride. She’d been wined, dined, and entertained. The same could be said about dinner at the 21 Club and a Broadway show. And this had