The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 52
"What do we have on him?"
"Possession, accomplice to kidnapping, not much else at this point. He was obviously in Las Vegas when Cross was murdered, so we can't pin that on him---hell, I don't even know how we're going to implicate Brunner, since he was here too. Maybe an accessory charge, or conspiracy, but until we figure out how deep this rabbit hole goes, it's hard to say. Kingsley, you were right when you said this one was big. It's a doozy."
Jason said, "I think Blake will talk willingly. He seemed... I don't know... resigned or defeated or something before I put his lights out. I get the sense he wanted out or he wasn't as willing as it appears on the surface."
"I hope you're right." Frank consulted his watch. "I'll get the team to work on the APB and this Heart of the Jungle thing while you and I head over to Valley Medical Center, check in on Blake, and rattle his chains a little."
Jason smiled gratefully. Chris and Brianna were still in grave peril, but in absence of his ability to take any kind of direct action, Frank's plan was as good as any. The best he could do now was put his faith in the good men and women of the FBI who were doing everything they could.
Chapter 14
IT HAD been one of the hottest days of the year in Las Vegas, the thermometer topping out at 120 degrees. Late in the day, the gathering thunderheads unleashed an intense storm that buffeted the city in high winds, lightning, and torrential rains. Though the rains moderated the temperature, tourists had been subjected to an intense desert heat they had no natural ability to endure. The sharp increase in heatstroke cases and the subsequent storm---which caused continual power interruptions---had turned Valley Medical Center into a complete and utter madhouse.
When he had been brought in, Michael Blake was stable, and he had been promptly hurried away and set aside. His condition was not dire, so he was relegated to the bottom of a very long triage list.
Because of the chaos in the hospital, when a swarthy man wearing an eye patch slipped through the doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only," nobody noticed. When he pulled a harried orderly into a utility closet and promptly broke the poor man's neck, nobody noticed. When he slipped out of the closet, garbed in the dead man's scrubs and smock, nobody noticed. And when he approached the room where Michael Blake was being held under guard, the police officer stationed in front of the door barely gave him a second glance as he brandished the chart and allowed himself inside.
It was a few moments' work to inject a lethal amount of amphetamine into the IV connected to Michael's arm. He was gone from the hospital before the flatline on the heart monitor announced that Michael Blake would never regain consciousness again. Toxicology results would reveal that he died of cardiac arrest resulting from a massive drug overdose---completely unsurprising, given the clear evidence of his long history of drug abuse in the needle tracks on his arm.
In the end, Michael Blake was nothing more than another junkie, like so many others, who got careless and killed himself in search of his next high.
THEY crossed the border from Nevada into California sometime around midnight. Chris had dozed, lulled into slumber by the gentle rocking of the car as they journeyed north and then west along minimally traveled Nevada byways. They had stopped several times, only long enough to fill the car with gas or attend to their human needs. During their first stop, Brunner had searched Chris and immediately discovered the cell phone.
Cursing himself for his carelessness in not finding it earlier, Brunner had thrown it on the ground and smashed it. Thereafter, he had been watchful to the point of paranoia. Each time they pulled over, though Chris looked for an opportunity to escape, Brunner didn't let him out of his sight.
Since they'd left Reno, the terrain had become increasingly mountainous, tugging back their frenetic pace. They had been driving through Shasta National Forest for some time now, having long since passed the last town. He was jarred rudely awake by the squealing of tires and a shouted curse from Brunner who had apparently been lulled himself.
Chris peered out the window into the blackness. The landscape was dark and mysterious, a forested and mountainous expanse completely devoid of civilization.
The mile-markers flew past, and a sign appeared out of the gloom.
"Weed, 27 miles," it announced. Sounds like a happening place.
The car swerved again. "Brunner," he shouted, wrenching the man back to consciousness. "You're going to kill us."
"Shut up," Brunner snapped.
"We need to stop. If you don't get some sleep you're going to run us off the road... or worse."
"Your concern is touching," Brunner responded sarcastically, "but I'm not stupid. If you think I'm going to stop somewhere and give you an opportunity to escape, you're sorely mistaken."
Chris bit his lip. He should have known Brunner would be cautious.
The man was, after all, a sly criminal who had long experience with treachery.
Chris sat back in the seat, frustrated. After some time had passed, he saw Brunner's head dip again, and he reached out and shook him awake. Brunner jumped and jerked the wheel hard to the right, overcorrecting. The car went into a slide, and he fought with it, struggling to regain control. The front tires bit into the gravel embankment, and the vehicle lurched sickeningly. Brunner slammed on the brakes, and after more fishtailing and sliding, blessedly, they came to a stop. Brianna, awoken by the sudden violence, started wailing. Chris held her tightly, whispering, "Shh, shh, it's okay, baby, Daddy's here," into her ear.
Brunner gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled hands, breathing heavily.
Brianna made