Vacation to Die For (25 page)

Circumstance #1: If for any reason, you or your traveling companion is going to be ill, or say, meet with an unfortunate fatal accident, then by all means, take out trip insurance—on him;

Circumstance #2: If your testimony put some creep in the gray bar hotel, but he happens to be (a) well connected, (b) well-funded, or (c) soon to be released on parole, I would strongly suggest opting for both trip insurance as well as a life insurance policy that takes into account your loved one's fondness for expensive baubles.

Those of us whose line of work requires covert skullduggery and extensive use of weaponry know that there is no rest for the weary, even on holidays. That said, remember to pack some personal trip insurance, if you catch my drift: say, a nail gun and plastic bullets.

Will it get you through the TSA line? Go ahead and try it! What have you got to lose but your freedom?

Then be sure to write me from your prison cell, so that I know where to send the cake with the file.

 “Absolutely not,” is Ryan’s answer to Jack and my request to smuggle George Taylor off the island with us. “We don’t know who he is, and why he’s there, and we could care less. He is not your mission. Mandrake and the plague bacteria is your prime directive.”

From the glances exchanged by Emma, Arnie, and Abu, I can tell they can’t believe what they’re hearing, either.  Dominic’s bet—that Ryan would veto the idea—is a hollow victory for him. Whatever is in the tiny flask he pulls from his tuxedo pocket is downed in one gulp.

“But Ryan, he may be able to help us find Mandrake. He was piloting the flight that took the scientist to Fantasy Island, and they must have talked at some point.” I can tell by Jack’s tone that he’s not taking “No,” for an answer.

The same goes for me. “And let’s not forget, Ryan, you would have lost a valuable asset—
Jack
—if it weren’t for Taylor.”

“I’m very aware of that, Donna. I certainly appreciate his role in keeping Jack alive. But I don’t think our client would appreciate your interference with the rendition tactics of other friendly nations. It might lead to an international incident.”

“How do we know if what Boarke told Donna is true?” Emma asks. “What if those people were abducted specifically for his little shooting gallery?" 

“Why don’t we get a plane in here and break them out of that dungeon?” Arnie chimes in.

“The reason Boarke mentioned it to Donna in the first place was to point out that the program had legitimate clients, and so that he could make his case for more financing.” The growing irritation in Ryan’s voice echoes through the phone. 

I start to speak again, but Jack warns me off my soapbox with a pat on my hand. “As far as those ‘friendly nations’ are concerned, the people in Boarke’s basement are already dead and buried. Why not release them?”

Ryan is silent for an eternity. When he finally speaks, his tone is slow but firm. “This is not a debate; the subject is closed. You have your orders.”

He doesn’t wait for our acknowledgment. His mood is reflected in the loud groan of the dial tone.

 “Well, that went well,” Jack declares. His gaze moves slowly, catching the eyes of everyone in the room, one by one. Finally he comes to me. He holds out his hand. “I’m in. How about you?”

I nod. “Where thou goest, I shall go.” 

Even if it’s on the lam. 

Because once word of this jailbreak gets out, we won’t be welcomed in our own country, let alone by any “friendly nation.”

I take his hand in mine.

One by one, the others nod. Their hands fall over ours.

When Dominic slaps his down, he exclaims, “Bob’s your uncle!”

If and when we ever get out of jail, our dog sitter bill is going to be sky high.

“Where is he?” 

A belligerent stranger stands on our front stoop, interrupting my family’s lively game of Monopoly, in which my little Scotty dog has just landed in jail. I take this as a very bad omen. 

As for the jerk in front of me, I don’t know who the hell he’s talking about, let alone who he is—and I certainly don’t like his scowl. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Don’t act coy. You were with the dude who almost killed my son last night.”

Now I remember this guy. He made the remark about asking the kids to save a joint for him. “I take it, then, your last name is Montrose. Did your son happen to mention that he almost raped my twelve-year-old daughter?”

He shrugs. “Boys will be boys. So he got a little rambunctious.”

And mothers will be mothers. If my children weren't on the other side of the door right now, I would have gutted this guy by now.

“I’m happy to tell you, Mr. Montrose, that I haven’t seen your son since we yanked him off my daughter. Perhaps he’s out molesting another underage girl.” 

“I saw your daughter. She doesn’t look ‘twelve’ to me.”

“Oh? Maybe she looked fourteen, then? Or fifteen? Would you say she looks eighteen?” Now we’re standing nose to nose. “At what age is statutory rape okay? She was screaming her head off. If your son hadn’t been holding her down against her will, he wouldn’t have been roughed up.” I’m jabbing his chest so hard that he almost trips as he backs off my porch. “You’re lucky that I’m not reporting him to hotel security.”

Really, he’s lucky I didn’t cut off the kid’s balls.

 “Okay, lady, I get it. He did a stupid thing. Believe me, both his mother and I gave him an earful about it.” There’s a catch in his throat. “But that’s no reason for something bad to happen to him.” 

I get it, too. This man is a parent, and he is worried about his child. 

Welcome to the club.

“What makes you think something has happened to him?”

“He never came home last night. And his cell phone was found this morning, by the pool. None of his friends have seen him since they left Karen’s last night.”

I have to admit, I’d be worried too, if I were him. “Mr. Montrose, if I see your son, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

He nods as he shuffles out of the yard.

Jack sticks his head out the window. “Who was that?”

“The father of the boy who was with Mary. His son is AWOL and he’s finally acting like a parent.”

“Sadly, it’s almost time for us to act as spies. We’re to meet the others in an hour. Think we can wrap up the game by then?”

The truth is that I don’t want to wrap it up. I want to hear my daughter and my son and his friends laugh and squeal and tease each other as they purchase imaginary property, or as they pass 
Go
 and collect two hundred dollars.

This isn’t a game, it’s a memory. 

They think this is a vacation. I know better.

But for a little more time I can act like I have all the time in the world to spend with them.

That we are just like everyone else. 

Then I remember all the people in Boarke’s cages and I realize there are more important things in life than board games. Tonight I’m playing a far more important game in which real lives hang in the balance. 

Wow, I just pulled a “Get Out of Jail” card. Wish I had one of those in real life.

By the time Jack and I get to his suite at the Hunt Club, the rest of the team has assembled— 

Except for Dominic. So, what else is new? 

“You’re tracking him through his videocam contact lenses, right? Where is he, in the lounge?” I ask Arnie.

“Nope, he’s certainly not there, unless they’ve installed beds and naked blondes behind the bar.”

I didn’t save his ass from a crocodile to put up with more of his shenanigans. “I’ll be right back,” I say as I head out the door.

He’s one floor up. When I knock, I have to wait a few minutes, so I knock again.

He opens the door wearing a robe, and nothing else. He’s disappointed to see me. “I was expecting tea and crumpets.”

“And I was expecting you to join us for recon, so get rid of the strumpet—
now
.”

“Dominic, is that the champagne and cookies? Darling, think of where those crumbs will end up—”

I know that voice...

Babette
?

I push past him, into the bedroom. 

It’s Babette, alright. Her arms are handcuffed to the bedposts, and her naughty bits are dotted with whipped cream.

In unison we shout, “What are you doing here?”

 “You’re supposed to be back in Hilldale!” Her retort is an accusation—of what, I don’t know. Does she think I’m spying on her? Hardly.

“And you’re supposed to be at some beach house,” I shoot back.

“We are! We’re staying in my boyfriend’s private villa,” she says smugly.

“Is that so?” I glance into the bathroom. “Is he here, too?”

 “No, of course not! He’s at another one of his interminable business meetings. Or he’s gambling.” She shrugs. “At least he wins. Of course, they have to let him, since Lee practically owns this place.”

“Wait—did you say ‘Lee’? As in Chiffray?”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “How do you know Lee?” 

I’d forgotten how jealous Babette can be. Nonchalantly I shake my head. “Through…Carl. He’s here on business, with Mr. Boarke.”

She smirks. “Let me guess. He wants Carl to buy Lee out before the balloon loan comes due. Ha, fat chance that’ll happen! This place—well, not the kiddie camp, but certainly the Hunt Club—is a cash cow. Lee is willing to extend the note—for a few small concessions. He’s made this perfectly clear to Boarke’s little tart, Julie.”

“How do you know that, my love?” Dominic asks as he dots the tip of her nose with whipped cream before putting two cream covered fingers in her mouth, which she sucks on with relish. Babette is a size zero, so she can afford the extra calories. 

She grimaces. “Because Lee’s got the audacity to take business calls while we make love.” 

“Wow,” I murmur. “That’s…just…sad.”

“Who are you to judge me?” Babette kicks a pillow in my direction. “Look, I admit it, I’m high maintenance, and I come with a large overhead. So yes, I’ll get lost—if the price is right.” She winks at Dominic. “But I never pout. I prefer to get even.”

These two deserve each other—and any STDs that come with their idea of fun and games. “While you’re ‘getting even,’ who is minding Janie and Trisha?”

Babette shrugs. “That odious Julie person—supposedly. Janie claims she spends most of her time following Lee around, like an eager little puppy. And once she caught the odious hussy in my bedroom. No surprise 
there
.” Jonah Breck’s widow is quite familiar with the sexual peccadilloes of power rangers. “So do you mind? We’re getting ready for high tea.”

I pull Dominic off the bed and nudge him back into the living room with me. “Keep her busy for the next hour or two. And by the way, you’re disgusting.”

He chuckles as if I just charmed him with a clever 
bon mot. “My dear
, I’m only following your orders—to get as close to Chiffray as I can.” He nods toward the bedroom. “I can’t get any closer, now can I? Unless the old boy is into three-ways.” 

He has a point. 

“By the way,” he continues, “Babette babbled on about something that has to do with Chiffray approving a new ventilation system for the resorts. They are testing it in one of the smaller auditoriums connected to the Hunt Club—tomorrow, in fact.”