The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 62

"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