Free Vacation to Die For by Josie Brown Page A

clean guns for a bunch of lazy rich dudes who couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a bazooka.”  
    I nod. “Time is of the essence. As of today there are one hundred and sixty-four men within the confines of Fantasy Island, and we’ve only positively cleared seventy-three of them. At this rate, we won’t find Mandrake until it’s too late. I’ve got no problem with starting sans Jack Craig.” 
    In truth, I’m angry as hell that Jack has no respect for my turn as mission leader, but I certainly don’t want the others to see it. Everyone else—Emma, Abu, and Arnie—showed up promptly, so why should they be punished? 
    Even Dominic is with us—sort of. He’s preoccupied with posting selfies of himself and some of the comely lasses of Eden Key—eight and counting—onto his Facebook fan page. Obviously he’s taking the term “undercover” quite literally.
    Which begs my question to him: “Dominic, tell me—has even one of your conquests divulged the tiniest hint of Mandrake’s whereabouts?”
    He doesn’t bother to look up, merely waves his hand at me, as if shooing away a pesky gnat. “I don’t know about you,  Donna , but at the peak of my partners’ physical pleasure, I’m the only man they’re thinking about. I know this, because it is my name, and only mine, that they shout out while in the throes of passion.”
    “Pity. Defeats our purpose, wouldn’t you agree? Tell you what, considering our time restraints, forego your usual  modus operandi . Instead, set up shop in the men’s steam room. The sooner that mushroom cloud tat reveals itself, the better.”
     “Aye, aye, my mistress and commander.” He is disappointed. Nonetheless, he honors me with an RAF salute.
    I turn to Abu. “I know it’s early, but any potential suspects among the hunters, fishers, or gamblers?”
    He shakes his head. “They’re a chummy lot. For the most part they hang in cliques, based on their preferred pastimes. When not out playing, they’re in the bar or the club’s restaurant, telling tall tales. In my capacity as an ‘arms facilitator,’ most of my exposure is with the hunters. They break into two groups—those into tracking deer, which are allowed to roam in the woods just beyond the lodge.” He hesitates, as if choosing his words carefully. “Then there are the ‘big game’ hunters.”
    That certainly gets my attention. “Big game? Like what?”
    “Funny you should ask. I can’t get a straight answer from any of the employees. Some think bison. Others say lions. Whatever the species, its habitat—enclosed securely, I presume—is far from the lodge. I’ve listened for big game sounds, but I never hear any. Each morning, these particular hunters—there is only a handful of them—are driven to the reserve in a special van. Sometimes these hunts take place in the evenings. I know this, because I’m called to the arsenal room as late as eight at night, and told to hand out infrared goggles along with the hunter’s gun of choice.”
    “Can you tell by the ammo what they may be shooting at?”
    Abu thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s certainly not the kind of clip that will take down a bull elephant. More in the big cat range.”
    Whatever is out there, I just hope it stays within its confines. I can only imagine the carnage that would ensue if some dangerous animal got loose, and made its way into the other resorts.
    I turn to Emma, who’s still dressed in her youth counselor uniform costume—Little Red Riding Hood. “Why don’t you and Arnie fill us in on the comings and goings at Kamp KidStuff?”
    She rolls her eyes. “There are no single men, just dads who have come with their wives. And most of the counselors are right at Arnie’s and my age, so I don’t think Dr. Mandrake is on our side of the island.”
    “Great. Then you’ll have more time to field and assess the reconnaissance collected by the rest of us.”
    Emma sighs. “I’ll do what I can, and as