Vacation to Die For (28 page)

I am awakened by the soft buzz of my cell phone. The call is from “00 BRILLIANT,” which is Dominic’s contact ID. 

Jack turns over. His subconscious refuses to acknowledge his frenemy. 

Unfortunately, as mission leader I don’t have the luxury of ignoring him. “This better be good,” I mutter.

“
Comme ci, comme ça
, milady.” He sighs mightily. “The good news: mission accomplished on accessing Julie’s key.”

I sit up straight in bed. “Bravo, Dominic! How did you do it?”

“She took it off when she joined me in the shower, which allowed Emma to play chambermaid. She snuck into the room and did a 3D scan of the key—although neither of them was thrilled with my suggestion that Emma join us for a wet and wild 
ménage á trios
.”

 “I can only imagine.”

“However, Emma—sly little minx, that one!—also read through the text messages on Julie’s iPhone. Alas, one that stood out to her read, ‘Mandrake samples found. Test set for 2230.’”

In other words, ten-thirty tonight—while Jack and I are on safari.

 “But…but that can’t be! I retrieved the samples myself!” I jump out of bed and scurry around the room for my beach bag. When I don’t see it, I run into the living room. 

No, it’s not there, either.

Nor is it in Trisha and Janie’s sleeping alcove.

Oh, hell. I left it in Lee and Babette’s villa.

Stupid stupid me.

“Dominic, did Emma notice if the message was sent or received by Julie?”

“I asked the same thing. Unfortunately Julie and my shower shenanigans so unnerved our poor innocent Emma that she forgot to take notice of the sender and the recipient.”

In other words, it could have been either Julie or Lee who found the samples in my beach bag.

The duplicate key gets us into the livestock room. Here’s hoping we can get out before Boarke has a chance to run his test.

Chapter 18

Last Minute Packing

Nothing is more nerve-wracking in the travel experience than the rush of last minute packing. To avoid the inevitable craziness that happens when you find yourself in a time crunch, follow these three simple steps:

First, The “Oh my God, I have nothing to wear” moment should never come within twelve hours of departure. It invites wardrobe meltdowns, and that heart-shattering moment when you realize that in your haste you made all the wrong choices. Granny panties are not in keeping with your plans for a naughty weekend rendezvous, and that too tight, too short bandage dress is not what you want to wear the first time you’re meeting his beloved grandparents. The experienced traveler starts trolling her closet at least 72-hours before takeoff. 

Second, shopping for clothes at a resort is like food shopping at a movie theater: you’re what retailers call “a desperate customer.” You’ll pay double for items you’d pass up at your local mall without a second thought—including that tee-shirt that proclaims “If the Voices in My Head Don’t Shut Up, I’m Going to Have to Poke Them  with a Q-Tip.”

Third, on a mission where you might encounter a variety of unexpected nastiness, don’t just pack heat. Instead, open yourself up to an array of sophisticated weaponry! If you think a snub nose .38 will keep you safe on an island filled with dangerous creatures (both human and otherwise), think again. 

Granted, packing an arsenal can be complicated, so consider false bottom suitcases with x-ray proof lining. And yes, cough up the extra money for those stupid baggage fees. There’s no hope of getting a Beretta Tomcat past a TSA officer, so check your bags and suck it up. 

“You know I rarely stick my nose where it’s not wanted—”

Aunt Phyllis’ preface is outrageous, and we both know it. But because the safari takes place in less than an hour, now is not the time to run down every instance that contradicts her claim. Instead, I’ll pretend I haven’t spent my whole life dodging her cockamamie advice. “And you know I’ve always appreciated you for that.”

My aunt starts again.  “Hon, I’m worried about you.”

Frankly, I don’t think we would be having this conversation right now if she hadn’t walked in on me strapping a Beretta Tomcat to the small of my back.

Thank goodness she didn’t see me hiding that switchblade in my boot.

Or the grenade in my bra.

“Thanks for your concern, Aunt Phyllis. But I’ll be just fine. In fact, we all will, if you follow our directions to a tee.”

“Yes, yes I know. Get the kids to the airstrip no later than nine forty-five. We’re not to order a tram, but carry our luggage ourselves. No one is to see or hear us depart from the resort. We’re to leave all the lights on in this joint, as well as the TV, but we’re to close the drapes. When we get on the tarmac, we’re to look for the plane, but we don’t go near it until we see some flashes, two series of two. Then Mary is to answer it by clicking her iPhone flashlight app on and off three times before we proceed to board.” 

She pauses for my approval. She gets my thumbs-up. 

A Fantasy Island plane arrived an hour ago. It is already fueled and ready for the morning’s departure.

Unfortunately, passengers booked to leave on it will have a very long delay, because it’s our ticket out of here tonight.

Aunt Phyllis hesitates then adds, “Donna dear, a lot of families are having difficulties these days, making ends meet. Granted, having a loved one with a gambling problem makes it just that much harder—”

Oh no. Is this Aunt Phyllis’s way of telling me that she’s in over her head at the Hunt Club poker table?

“Say no more, Aunt Phyllis.” I sigh. “You can imagine how upset I am.”

She nods solemnly.

“Not to mention, disappointed.”

“I don’t blame you in the least. You have every right to be.”

“So, how much?”

She stares at me, then stutters, “I wouldn’t dare to guess!”

I wince. “Ten thousand?”

She plops down on the bed, shaking her head. “Honey, you know me better than that. I’m not good at guessing games.”

“Twenty…thirty thousand?” I close my eyes at the thought.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! It’s worse than I thought!”

She’s telling me. 

I sit down beside her. “Tonight, I’ll…I’ll do what I can to scrape together the cash, but…well, I may have to borrow some of it.”

“I guess I can dip into my savings,” she whispers.

I shake my head adamantly. “No, never. You’ve always been there for me. Now it’s my time to be here, for you.” 

I pull out my very last Acme check. Ryan will hit the roof, but I’ll work something out. He can dock my pay for the next few hits, or something. I’ll even throw in a pie or two, to seal the deal. How can he say no to my apple rhubarb?

I write out the check with a flourish, to CASH. “Here, take it. But Aunt Phyllis, I hope you realize I can’t be bailing you out all the time—”

“What do you mean, ‘bailing me out’? I was talking about your husband! Isn’t this”—she points to the check—“for his debts?”

“His debts? Why do you think he owes anyone anything?”

“Well…” she’s at a loss for words. “Because he’s never here! He’s always at the Hunt Club with that woman who manages the finances at the casino, that ‘Miss Julie.’” She curls her fingers into quote marks as she spits out Julie’s name. “And isn’t it the reason we’re sneaking out of here like thieves, in the middle of the night?”

“No! He doesn’t even gamble! He’s meeting with Julie because his bank may be financing the resorts, not because he owes her anything.”

My aunt smiles. “Well now, that’s a relief! I thought he was paying off his debt with…well, you know, services rendered.”

“Rest assured he’s not rendering anything to anyone other than me.”

“Then tell me again, why the heck are we sneaking out in the middle of the night?”

Oh boy, how should I answer this? “We…we got a very special rate on a chartered red-eye flight. But it’s first come, first serve, and since there’s so many of us—well, you know how it is.”

Aunt Phyllis waves me away. “Say no more! But quite frankly I’d be surprised anyone would ever want to leave this paradise.”

If only she knew.

She glances at my back. “One more question. Why are you packing heat?”

“We’re going on a safari, remember? I don’t want to run out of bullets.” 

She’s about to stuff the check in her bra, but I snatch it out of her hand and tear it up. “See you in a few hours. Just be on time.”

“I don’t get it. Why aren’t we seeing the stockyard room via the Hunt Club’s security videos?” I lean over Arnie’s shoulder in the hope that seeing the screen on his iPad will help clear up my concern.

He shakes his head. “It must have its own feed. I’ll scan all the satellite downlinks into the island. Unfortunately, that may take a while.”

“We don’t have ‘a while.’ They release the plague bacteria at ten-thirty, in order to test the antidote. If you’re going to open those cages, it’s got to happen between nine forty-five and ten fifteen.” 

In just a few minutes, Jack and I must leave to meet Battoo in the Safari staging area. If all goes well, Arnie will have tapped into the livestock room’s security system, so that on our command he can (a) put all guard station security monitors on a loop; (b) lock the air vents; (c) open all the cages; (d) and via the intercom, command the prisoners to run out to the plane via the secret tunnel between the Hunt Club and the Fantasy Island airstrip. 

Abu, Emma, and Dominic will be there in the tunnel to lead the way.

Between Jack and George of the Jungle, we’ll be onboard and have wheels up by 22:20.

Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Jack takes my hand. “We better get going. Don’t worry, boss lady. Emma and Arnie can start cross-referencing every ComSat signal hitting the island. They’ll have it done long before you give them the order to get this show on the road.”

Emma’s fingers are now flying across the keyboard of her iPad. Arnie’s are also moving at warp speed. Still, I have to temper Jack’s bravado with Arnie’s double-take. It doesn’t help when he gives Jack a sidelong glance and mouths, 
Are you crazy?

Here’s hoping he’s not.

One hundred and thirteen lives depend on it.

As instructed, we get to the safari staging room at ten minutes to eight. 

Battoo is nowhere to be found. 

 “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Stone!” Julie’s cheery hello, coming from behind me, sends a shiver up my spine. 

What the hell is she doing here?

I cover my concern with an air kiss. “Fancy meeting you here! We were under the impression that Battoo was to be our guide.”

She opens her arms in mock exasperation. “He’s tied up at the moment.” 

In this place, that is never a good thing.

She motions toward the gun room. “Shall we get started? Feel free to pick out any gun you like.”

When we enter, there is no one else there—not even Abu, who is supposed to be working tonight.

Strange
.

Jack and I scan the gun racks until we find rifles to our liking. For him, it’s a 45.70 Marlin, while I choose a Ruger 1B and hope that I don’t have to use it.