Vacation to Die For (13 page)

Jack is lying beside the fire. I run over and kneel beside him, cradling his head in my lap. “You—you know English?” 

He lets loose with a husky chuckle. “I’m from the South, darlin’. You Yankees are the ones with the accents, and don’t you forget it.”

He saunters back over and crouches down beside Jack, whose eyes are wide open, but he’s shivering. Sasquatch turns him over on his stomach, then runs his hand over Jack’s back.

I shove it away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to save, him, pretty lady.” He grasps both my wrists in one hand, while the other continues across Jack’s shoulders. When he reaches the right one, he stops. “Ah, there it is.” He plucks a tiny feathered dart from it, and holds it up for me to examine. “See?”

“Oh!...Thank you.”  I pat Jack’s head. “How long will he be like this?”

He tilts his head as he assesses Jack. “Depends. It didn’t go in too deeply, and at least it hit muscle. Maybe an hour.”

Much too long. I look around the cave. “Will—will they follow us?” There’s nothing to make a weapon—no stones, no stakes. 

“Calm down, lady. They never have before. They don’t have the guts to make the jump.” He smirks. “Or else, they’re too damn lazy.”

“Who are ‘they,’ anyway?”

“The island’s original native tribe. Boarke pays them to act as game trackers. Can’t have a bunch of hunters sitting there with thumbs up their asses and bored out of their gourds, now can he?”

“If they track animals, why were they shooting at us?”

He stares hard at me then laughs. There is no joy in his cackle. “You really don’t know, do you?”

But I can guess. 
Somehow, we’ve blown our covers.

“Are you—are you Doctor Lionel Mandrake?”

He freezes when he hears the name. “What do you know about Mandrake?”

“Please, there is no threat here—not after all you’ve done for me, and for Jack.” Can he hear the gratitude in my voice? I hope so. “We were sent to retrieve the bacteria—”

Fear darkens his face. 

No, it is resolve. He reaches against the wall and pulls up a gunnysack, then he makes for the cave entrance. Once there, he tosses a thermos at me, along with his answer. “To get back to the lodge, head right out of the cave, then down the hill. When you come to the fork, turn left. Another mile and a half, you’ll find yourself on Eden Key’s beach. If I were you, I’d get the hell off this hellhole of an island. Otherwise…let me put it this way, if you don’t leave now, you never will.”

He’s gone.

Jack moans, and moves ever so slightly. 

From the determination in his eyes, I can tell that he wants to get out of here. I do, too.

Gently I pull him up into sitting position then I bend his knees. This allows me to pull him up. He tilts against the wall, but with my support he can take baby steps. 

Another part of our journey begins.

It takes us two long, arduous hours to get as far as the fork Sasquatch mentioned. Jack has been walking slowly, but he seems to get stronger with each step.

Battoo is waiting for us there. He stops pacing when he sees us. Relief floods his face. He may be short, but he’s also strong. He leads Jack into the back of the jeep.

We bump along until we hit asphalt, about a quarter-mile from Eden Key’s main gate. At that point, Battoo stops the car. “Please know I would never have put either of you in danger.”

I turn to face him. “Then tell me: who shot at us?”

“The natives of the island need us for their livelihood.”

“And they make money by hunting down the island’s guests?”

“No! They aren’t hunting, they’re—” He stops cold. “They are just supposed to tranquilize the prey, to slow it down. That is all.”

I laugh at what we both know is not funny. “Jack and I weren’t on all fours, Battoo. You were there with us. You know this. Why did they shoot at us?”

He looks down at his lap. “I really don’t know, Miss Tallant. Maybe someone suspects the truth—that you aren’t who you say you are.”

If he’s right, there goes the mission.

 “Can you find out if that is the case?”

Looking up again, he nods. “Yes.”

“Is it Mr. Boarke?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “He thinks Mr. Stone is his savior. It can’t be Boarke.”

Well, that’s good to know. “If not him, I’ll need to know who it is.”

“I will do my best, Miss Tallant.”

“Call me Donna. Stone.”

He puts out his hand, and I shake it. I can tell the gesture means a lot to him.

Our lives depend on this supposition.

He drives us to my tiki hut, and helps me to unload Jack from the Jeep. He insists on walking us to the front door. 

I’m glad. I’m bone tired and Jack must be, too, because he winces through each labored step.

Gentle waves lap against the posts that lift the tiki’s boardwalk over the sand. It is high tide, but the planks are raised just enough that the water isn’t a problem. 

The sun is setting, and the light has shifted. The water below us, cellophane clear in bright sunlight, is now navy in hue. We can no longer see the tiny colorful schools of fish beneath us.

Suddenly bubbles rise to the surface. “Look!” Battoo points at it. “A shark!”

I’m sure it won’t be the last one that crosses our path.

Chapter 9

Language Barrier

Unless you are fluent in a second, third or fourth language, misunderstandings between you and those in the countries you visit are bound to happen. So, what’s the avid traveler to do? 

Simply this: Learn a few key phrases! For example:

 Knowing “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “Thank you,” are universal courtesies, appreciated the world over.

Learning “How much is this?” and “Where is the grocery store?” and “Where is the bathroom?” and “Where is the train station/airport/hospital/bus station/police station?” are necessities, so please put them on your must-have list of phrases to know.

However, “She dresses like a hooker” or “He’s a fat slob” or “Your baby is ugly” may raise a few eyebrows, not to mention a few guns or pitchforks, so learn them only at your own risk. 

In fact, speaking your mind in English may not be such a great idea either, since half the world speaks it as a second language. In other words, keep your smug provincial thoughts to yourself.

And certainly phrases such as “That’s highway robbery” or “Get your hand off my ass, or I’ll cut it off” will leave the natives with the right message: you’re not to be fucked with.

Better yet, pick up a book of Italian hand gestures. A finger is worth a thousand words.

 “You say Jack was hobbled by a zombie dart? How perfectly odious!” Dominic waves an open palm in front of Jack’s face. “Chilling stare it’s left on the poor fellow’s clock, wouldn’t you say? Can’t have the old boy scaring off all the women and children. Here’s hoping the effects wear off soon.”

Jack slaps his hand away. “It 
has
 worn off, you oaf.”

“Now, now, boys! No bickering. We have a full day ahead of us.” I smile encouragingly at Team Fantasy. 

(Like the name? You should see the logo! It will look very cute on a French tee, which I will order in all team members’ sizes—

If we survive this wretched mission.
) 

I turn to Arnie. “My guess is that the feral man I met is our suspect.”

Jack shakes his head. “I beg to differ.”

Really? You’re arguing with me in front of the kids—again? And after all I’ve done for you?
 Still, I keep my voice level when I murmur, “Based on what, might I ask?”

He ignores my glare. “Based simply on the fact that there is no evidence to validate your suspicions.”

“How about this for facts? Fact number one: we went out specifically to find him, and there he was. Fact number two: Obviously he’s living off the grid, which is why we haven’t been able to find him, despite eliminating, by now, over eighty-three male guests. And fact number three”—I pause, because really, I have no third fact. However, this works with the kids, so I’ll try it now—“because I say so.”

Jack smothers a chuckle with a cough. He is smart enough to know that my revenge is a dish best served with some toxic ingredient, and when he least expects it.  Nonchalantly he adds, “Excellent deductive reasoning, for sure—and easily validated with, say a DNA sample. Were you able to pluck a hair or two?”

I smile, but shake my head. “No, sorry, I was busy at the time.” 
Saving your life—or don’t you remember?

“How about a few other deductions? For example, how old did he look to you?”

I stop to think. “Late thirties, maybe early forties.”

Jack nods. “And Mandrake is in his late forties, so certainly in the wheelbase—except for the fact that Sasquatch is also at least six inches taller than the good doctor, not to mention strong enough to carry 
me
 over his shoulder.”

“I say! He really 
is
 a beast,” Dominic murmurs.

Jack ignores him. “This brings us to the final and perhaps most important evidentiary component.”

I roll my eyes. “And what would that be, Sherlock?”

“Mandrake’s mushroom cloud tattoo.” Jack smiles. “You said yourself he was naked. And you walked behind him—for quite a distance, in fact. If you’re correct and he’s Mandrake, surely you would have noticed one.”

“I...” I feel my cheeks heat up at the thought of Sasquatch’s….well, his cheeks. “Okay, no.”

Dominic leans in, fascinated. “No, you didn’t look at his arse? Or no, he didn’t have the tattoo?” 

I look from one of my tormentors to the other. “Okay yes, I…looked. If he had one, I would have noticed—and he didn’t.”

Jack frowns. I guess giving him the answer he wanted backfired. “I rest my case.” 

“But remember, we were out there because Mandrake’s GPS coordinates led us there.” I turn to Arnie. “Can you check our coordinates at around, say three-thirty, with those of Mandrake’s?”

Arnie diddles with his iPad screen then projects a video onto the wall, so that we can all view it. “Here they are, side by side. As you can see, he was certainly in the vicinity.” He points to our GPS readings, and that of Mandrake’s, which are close to ours, but oddly enough are following a different trajectory. While ours move in tandem, and in line with the mountainside, Mandrake’s comes in from a different angle. 

I glance over at Jack. “But how could that be? We were on a trail that hugged a cliff, for God’s sake. For him to have followed the route shown here, he would have been floating in a cloud!”

Jack thinks hard for a moment. “Or else he was in the abyss below us.” He points to the break between the lush greenery on both sides of the path. “Arnie, can you zoom in, right here?”

With the touch of his index finger and thumb, Arnie is able to magnify the screen so that we can actually visualize what was below us. “See this?” He points to a flurry of white and gray. “It’s flowing water, and it’s almost at sea level. You were hanging over some sort of river.”

“I guess that means Mandrake was standing 
below
 you,” Emma murmurs. “Perhaps he was in a boat?”

Abu shakes his head as he points to the screen. “You’re half right. Not in a boat—unless he was carrying it to the river. You see, here, where he came from? Only moments before, he was traipsing through the underbrush, below your footpath.”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Donna, do you remember Sasquatch’s reaction when you asked him if he was Mandrake?” Jack asks.

“Yes, of course. He wanted to know how I’d heard of the good doctor—but he didn’t deny he was Mandrake.”

“You then mentioned the missing bacteria plague,” Jack reminds me.

I nod. “It spooked him. He couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.”

“He also gave us directions, and then warned us to get off the island as soon as possible—before we couldn’t leave, for whatever reason.”

Dominic frowns. “It doesn’t sound as if he’s the perpetrator, only that he’s concerned about the havoc Mandrake could wreak on our little idyll.”

“Is he scared of Mandrake, or the bacteria?” Emma asks.

Arnie squints in thought. “What does it matter?”