The Heart of the Jungle

by Jeremy Pack

  "Where are you calling me from?"

  "It's... it's a payphone outside of a service station."

  "Read me the number in case we get disconnected."

  Chris gave him the number. A heady sense of relief washed over him. George's clinical calmness was soothing. Chris had been sure he'd know what to do. For the first time since Brunner took him from the Bellagio, it seemed as if things might actually be okay. For the first time, he dared to hope that he and Brianna would make it out of this alive.

  "Chris, I want you to stay on the line with me. If you see anyone, let me know right away."

  "I need to call Jason," Chris said. "I have to let him know I'm okay."

  "I'll call him as soon as you're on your way," George promised.

  "Okay," Chris agreed.

  He listened as the other man went to work. George made several telephone calls in rapid succession. First, he located a suitable charter and arranged for a flight with the promise of an outrageous sum of money. Once the flight was secured, he called a taxi company and gave instructions for Chris to be picked up and transported to the airport.

  When he came back on the line, he instructed, "Stay with me until the taxi arrives."

  "George, why Snohomish? What is this all about? You said you thought you might know."

  "It's your father, Christian. He's left you a diamond called the Heart of the Jungle. Brunner learned about it from Michael. Remember those letters you gave me to hold onto for you? Your father apparently wrote about the diamond in those. Michael must have purloined them from my safe and told Brunner all about it."

  "Dad left me a diamond?"

  "It's in a safety deposit box at Snohomish Trust. The box can only be opened by you or your duly appointed legal representative. Your father gave very strict instructions. As soon as I learned about it, I went right over there, thinking I might retrieve it in case we needed to bargain with Brunner, but they will not release it without your signed authorization. Damn small-town banks and their gentlemen's agreements."

  "I didn't know anything about it, George. If I had, I would have given it to him without a second thought. I don't care how valuable it is."

  "I know, Chris," George said. "I just... I can't believe David never told me about it."

  "You know how Dad shunned you in the end, all because of me. If he was so ashamed of me, so disappointed, I don't understand why he would leave me the thing in the first place."

  "Chris, I sent your father's letters to the FBI. I read them. I was desperately worried, and... David was a very good friend whom I loved dearly. He was deeply ashamed, but not of you. He was ashamed of how he'd treated you. He writes of it in the letters. It was his way of saying he was sorry and how much he loved you. I guess that fight I had with him knocked some sense back into him and Marie. They planned to make amends... until the accident took them from us."

  Chris was stunned, his heart breaking anew over the loss of his parents. Discovering that they had planned to reach out to him, to atone for casting him out, that despite their strong convictions, they still loved him, tore open that old wound, and a new freshet of tears spilled out.

  "I... I can't believe it," he stammered.

  "Nor could I." George fell silent as Chris mulled over this new revelation. "Chris, is there anything you need?"

  "I left my wallet in Vegas," Chris complained. "I don't have any money or identification. And I need shoes," he added sheepishly. "I didn't stop to grab them when I ran off. My feet are killing me."

  "You'll need ID to recover the diamond," George said. There was a hint of irritation in his voice.

  "My passport is in a desk drawer at my house. You have a key."

  "Good. I'll go over there before I head to Snohomish," George promised. "I'll also grab a pair of shoes to send with Charlie. He can give everything to you when he picks you up in Snohomish."

  Just then, a taxi rolled into the parking lot. "The taxi is here."

  George's sigh of relief on the other end of the line was audible.

  "Go," he said. "We'll talk about this further when you're safely home. I'll have my security people meet you at Harvey Field."

  "George," Chris said softly before disconnecting, "thank you."

  "You're like a son to me, Christian," he said tenderly. "I'd do anything to get you back here." There was a pause. "I'll see you soon."

  Chris hung up the phone and rushed to the taxi. Everything was going to be fine now. It really, truly was.

  Chapter 16

  THE United Airlines ticket agent was clearly flustered as Jason glared at her over the counter. She worked feverishly, tapping commands into her terminal and looking increasingly alarmed as the moments ticked by and Jason's impatience rose.

  "I---I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's these thunderstorms. Flights are still grounded. We're monitoring the National Weather Service, but they're not expecting conditions to improve any time soon."

  "Damn it," he shouted. "That's not good enough. You have to do something."

  The harried woman jumped at the harsh tone. Her anxiety turned to outrage. She pursed thin lips and leveled a firm glare at him, drawing herself up to her full five-feet-two-inch height and somehow managing to appear authoritative and imposing despite her diminutive stature.

  "Sir," she said, "I have had a very difficult night. I've been cursed at, screamed at; some woman even threw her ticket in my face. The second the grounding order is lifted, I will get you on the next flight headed anywhere near Seattle, but as I've told you and the hundreds of other people trying to get out of this godforsaken city, that's the best I can do. I don't have any control over the weather... or the FAA."

  Frank had come up behind him. He flashed his badge and an apologetic look at the infuriated ticketing agent. "My apologies, ma'am," he said kindly. "My partner here is a little on edge. Working a difficult case, you know."

  She stared at Frank for a moment, probably deciding whether or not her continued outrage was warranted, then finally bobbed her head, accepting his apology. "As soon as the weather clears, I'll get you out of here. Just keep an eye on the board."

  Frank pulled Jason away from the counter. "Come on, kid," he said.

  "I have an update." They veered out of the thoroughfare, and Frank clasped his arm reassuringly. "Seems like your hunch about MacQuery was spot-on. Smart move shaking him down like you did---it'll make him antsy if he's the one behind all of this. Might make him stumble."

  Jason raised an eyebrow. "You found something?"

  "While you were beating up that poor woman, I had a conversation with a Chelan County detective by the name of Guthrie. He was the investigator assigned to look into the traffic fatality that killed David and Marie James. The car was mangled pretty badly, and even though they eventually had to chalk it up to mechanical failure and close the case, there were aspects of the crash that made it look pretty suspicious."

  "Like what?"

  "Scrapes on the driver's side door and black paint, for one thing.

  Looked to him like the car had been sideswiped. Brake lines were cleanly severed---that almost never happens on its own. Chemical analysis was inconclusive for explosives, though, so it's hard to say. Said he suspected a couple of small well-placed charges but wasn't able to prove it one way or another."

  "That's interesting, but what's the connection to MacQuery?"

  Jason asked.

  "While they were working over the wreckage, he started looking for a suspect and motive. He thought it was damn suspicious that in the weeks prior to the accident, the attorney of record on all of David James's legal affairs was changed from George MacQuery to Thomas Brooks. From Brooks, he learned about the diamond mine and that MacQuery and James had some kind of argument. His team wasn't able to prove that the accident was foul play, and when questioned, MacQuery gave them the same story about the fight he gave us. Ultimately, he had to close the investigation, but he said he always believed MacQuery had something to do with it."

 
"So he's known about the diamond for a long time. Why not grab it while Chris was institutionalized? He was in control of Chris's affairs then."

  "Just a hunch, but if David James knew he wanted that diamond, he would have been very careful about how he passed it along. He knew Chris trusted George, and I'd be willing to bet he told him all about his misgivings in those letters---the same ones Chris handed over for safekeeping after his breakdown."

  Jason was pacing, his mind whirling with this new information. "I took a big risk tipping MacQuery off like I did. If he is behind this whole thing and Brunner isn't up to some kind of double-cross, Chris will rush straight into his arms," Jason said anxiously. "He trusts him completely."

  Frank nodded. "I've got surveillance on MacQuery's residence and his office. He goes anywhere, they'll be right on his ass."

  "Frank, we have to get to Seattle." Jason's voice was half an octave higher. "There has to be a way."

  Frank shook his head sadly. "I wish there were, son, but you heard what the lady said. We're not going anywhere until this weather clears."

  Just then, a stocky man in a blue captain's uniform approached them and reached his hand out to Jason. "Captain John Abel," he said.

  "Couldn't help but overhear you're having some trouble getting out of Vegas."

  Jason nodded, cautiously taking the man's hand. "That's right."

  Abel pumped Jason's hand. "Special Agent Kingsley, it's a real honor to meet you. Recognized you when you were talking to the ticket agent. You---" The man's voice broke with emotion. "You put away the monster that killed my son."

  Jason's mind worked as he tried to recall the particular case.

  "Cooper Mitchell," Abel reminded him, "the teacher. He killed my boy Matthew and four other kids."

  Jason's mind drifted back to the investigation. Cooper Mitchell had been a PE teacher who had engaged in inappropriate contact with several of his students. When one of them had threatened to talk, he'd killed the boy. After that, he had begun to systematically hunt down his other victims to keep them from talking too. Jason had caught him and stopped him---too late for the five he'd already murdered, but not for the rest.

  There had been sixteen more that had come forward once word got out he'd been apprehended. Cooper Mitchell had been convicted for his crimes and put to death.

  "I... I know you couldn't save my boy," Abel said, his eyes bright with emotion, "and the other four, but you did save all the rest. I always wanted to thank you personally. Nothing will ever bring Matt back, but knowing that monster is dead and buried makes it a little easier to bear."

  "I'm very sorry for your loss," Jason replied. He was embarrassed by the unabashed show of admiration. Awkwardly, he directed Abel toward Frank in an effort to deflect some of the uncomfortable attention.

  "This is Frank Marcus," he said as Frank reached out to shake the man's hand. "My father, Max, was his partner."

  "It's an honor, sir," Abel said, shaking Frank's hand firmly. There was a look of deep respect and gratitude in his eyes. "My wife and I have another son, Joshua," he said to both of them. "After what happened to Matt, we could have lived in fear for Josh for the rest of our lives, but knowing there are good men like you out there, putting these sick sons of bitches behind bars... well, it helps us sleep at night."

  Jason blushed. "I'm not---"

  Frank cut him off. "Jason's a damn fine agent," Frank offered. "His father, Max, was a hell of a partner. Jason's following right in his footsteps." Frank eyed Jason, who had reddened under the praise. "It's people like you, Mr. Abel, who remind us why we do the good work. It's damn hard---even painful sometimes---but kids like yours are the reason we endure it."

  This was a surprisingly eloquent speech from Frank, and Jason wondered. Was he being manipulated?

  Abel cleared his throat, seeming to realize that his raw emotions were making Jason uneasy. "You're on a case, am I right? I thought I overheard you talking about someone being in danger." He didn't wait for confirmation. "I captain a corporate jet. Just flew my employer in on business---from Seattle, in fact. He's a philanthropist. Good man. When I heard you talking, I gave him a call. He agreed... hell, he insisted I fly you to Seattle."

  Jason raised an eyebrow. "But all flights are grounded."

  "All commercial flights are grounded. We don't have to abide by the same rules as the big carriers. I can file a flight plan and have you in the air within the hour. Might be a little choppy until we get out of the weather, but it would be my honor."

  They agreed immediately. As they followed Captain Abel toward the private terminal, Jason thought about Frank's heartfelt speech.

  Although he wished he could deny it, Frank was right. He only needed someone like the man who walked proudly ahead of them to remind him.

  How could he have forgotten what this felt like? The gratitude of people like Abel, who would, without Jason's hard work, spend the rest of their lives in torment, praying for justice and answers that would never come? When he solved a crime or put a criminal behind bars, it gave them the only comfort that could ever be had, and an opportunity for some kind of closure.

  In his own time of need, here was one of them giving something back.

  John Abel had certainly given him some things to think about. If by some miracle the outcome of this current crisis didn't destroy him, perhaps he'd need to rethink his position. Perhaps where he really did belong was back on the force, doing "the good work," as Frank had put it.

  Time would tell.

  BRUNNER sat on the bed, trembling and slightly disoriented, holding a blood-soaked rag to the knot on his forehead. He cowered under the watchful stare of the brute, Watson. He had only ever spoken to the man on the phone, but the voice was unmistakable. He had turned out to be an imposing bruin. The one eye not covered by an eye patch looked cruel, and he fixed Brunner with a cold stare. He had scarcely spoken a word to him since he had dragged him up from unconsciousness, but Brunner could tell he was in dire jeopardy.

  Watson thumbed the speaker button and held out a cell phone to him.

  "Brunner, you're a dead man," The voice issuing out of the phone was cold, angry. "Thought you could pull a fast one on me, did you?"

  "No," he denied vehemently. "I swear. It's not my fault your little birdie---your little dove---turned out to be a fucking homing pigeon, MacQuery. He came to me. I was bringing him back, trying to salvage the situation."

  "Salvage the situation? Do you realize what kind of a mess you've made, you idiot? Because of you, everything is coming apart at the seams. I've waited years, Brunner... years looking for a chance to get my hands on the Heart of the Jungle. Years, goddamn you."

  "I know," Brunner sobbed. "I know, but---"

  "But nothing. You had a very carefully scripted role to play. You and Michael were to remain in hiding until Christian James was dead. Then, and only then, were you to come back to Seattle with Michael Blake and Brianna James so that Michael could be framed for her kidnapping."

  "I told you. He came to me," Brunner protested.

  "Only because you did not leave the Bellagio immediately as I instructed," George shouted. "I warned you the minute Kingsley became involved that he's a very shrewd investigator. You ignored me. You should have disappeared at once and let my man Watson deal with the situation. This mess you've made could still have been cleaned up. But no, you think yourself so smart, so superior."

  Brunner whimpered, realizing his predicament. It didn't matter how smoothly he talked, how convincingly he lied, he wasn't weaseling out of this one. His life of crime---his life, period---was over.

  "I thought if I forced him to hand over the diamond and brought it to you, you would be grateful. I thought---"

  "You fool. Chris knows nothing about the diamond. How, precisely, could he be expected to hand it over?" There was a long silence as George allowed this piece of information to sink in. "He was purposely kept in the dark."

  "I didn't know. I assumed---"

  "And now I
am going to have to kill him myself. Something I very much did not want to do. The risks are just too great."

  "I'm sorry...," he whined.

  "You are sorry, you pathetic fool. But you're not nearly as sorry as you're going to be."

  Brunner moaned, his stomach lurching sickeningly as Watson removed a wicked-looking knife from a sheath at his waist. "You're going to kill me?" he asked, his voice squeaky and strained as the realization of his imminent death dawned. He stared at the gleaming blade in abject horror.

  "Oh no, Watson is not going to kill you. He's going to bring you to me. I have one more important task for you. You see, there may be a way you can salvage the situation after all."

  "Anything," Brunner cried. "I'll do whatever you say."

  George laughed on the other end of the line, but there was no humor in the sound of it. Brunner cringed. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His moment of hope withered. Perhaps he had been too hasty in promising to do anything. From the ugly tenor of George MacQuery's chuckle, anything was exactly what he was going to have to do.

  THE elegantly appointed corporate jet turned out to be a boon. Not only was it lavishly furnished and infinitely more comfortable than a commercial airline, but it was equipped with everything Frank and Jason needed to keep abreast of the operation unfolding on the ground.

  Frank made liberal use of the satellite telephone to check in on the surveillance on MacQuery's residence. He contacted the Las Vegas field office and learned that, surprisingly, the letters had been faxed over as requested. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing about the diamond in any of them, nor anything about David James's suspicions of MacQuery.

  They were, Frank was told, full of remorse and apology for the way Chris had been treated and nothing more of note.

  "There are two possibilities here," Frank said after disconnecting.

  "Either MacQuery has withheld the letters that were germane, or he's telling the truth and Michael Blake is the one who passed them on to Brunner."

  "I agree it's a possibility," Jason admitted, "but I just don't think so. Something is seriously fishy about MacQuery, and it's been bugging me all along. It was only when we learned about the diamond mine that I really started to question his actions." Jason paused. "Forget the fact that he was so helpful and forthcoming on the telephone, he kept important information from Chris and the police. Chris knew nothing about Michael's drug habit or his affair with Brunner. It makes no sense that George would cover it up. If he loved Chris as much as he says he does, he wouldn't want him to stay in a relationship with a cheating drug addict. Aside from that, even if he didn't want Chris to find out, you'd think he would have at least mentioned it to the police."