The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 69

"It's a good piece," Jason said. "I could probably get something more modern, but I have a bond with this one."

Frank smiled and tucked the gun into his own jacket. "Happens," he empathized. "I'll hold onto it for you, just in case you get any bright ideas about using it." Jason frowned but didn't protest. Something in Frank's expression told him the other man would brook no argument.

Finally traffic began to move. Sometime during their conversation, the ferry had arrived.

SHORTLY after George had secured Chris and Brianna in the second-floor guest room, Watson arrived with Brunner in tow. Their chartered flight had landed at the Whidbey municipal airport, and Watson had brought Brunner directly to George's residence.

Though Watson had been in his employ for several years, he'd never met the man face to face until now.

Watson, for his part, remained coolly professional as he herded Brunner into the study and shoved him roughly into a chair. If he was surprised or perturbed at meeting his mysterious and secretive employer, his composed indifference belied none of it.

Noticing the eye patch, George asked, "What happened to your eye?"

Watson regarded him silently and growled, "Your friend Kingsley." There was a hint of murder in his tone.

"I'm sorry for that," George said smoothly. "I'll give you a bonus when this is all over. And," he added, "your shot at Kingsley. He's got the FBI all riled up, and if we don't take him out of the picture, before long he'll have them poking around in my affairs." He paused, fixing Brunner with a pointed, meaningful look. "Despite how this is going to play out."

Brunner's eye twitched nervously, and he was unable to meet George's gaze.

George walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped. "You look like shit, Johan," he said with something more akin to glee than concern.

Brunner didn't respond. He just continued to stare nervously at his lap. He had the air of a prisoner strapped into the electric chair.

Whatever he might have said in response would be all wrong, so he remained silent. George knew that Brunner was at least smart enough to avoid further provoking his ire---particularly with Watson breathing down his neck.

George kept his hand on Brunner's shoulder for a while longer, enjoying the effect his touch evoked. He could feel Brunner's growing anxiety, and he liked it very much. This is true power. He grinned. This is what it is all about.

Finally, he removed his hand, walked confidently around the desk, and took a seat in his high-backed leather chair.

He reclined casually and stared at Brunner for a time before speaking. "You have been a thorn in my side for far too long." George pulled a quill pen out of a holder on his desk and ran the feather through his fingers. "But then, I knew you were a liability going in," he said. He slammed his fist on the desk suddenly, and Brunner jumped. "Look at me when I am speaking to you," he commanded.

Brunner raised his downturned eyes and stared at George warily.

"Your connection to Michael, your connection to certain resources, these were absolutely necessary." He paused meaningfully. "Your connections, yes, but also your long criminal history. You see, in the end, all of this carefully orchestrated tragedy, this whole outrageous plot surrounding Christian James, was to be your doing. Why do you think it was so elaborate? Hmm?"

Brunner didn't respond.

George chuckled. "The scale, the complexity, the sheer magnitude---hallmarks of your style. I've been playing you like a fiddle all along." Brunner's eyes hardened as George continued. "Michael Blake could never have concocted so elaborate a scheme on his own. The police would have been utterly suspicious, and that may have led them to me. On the other hand, if you were involved, naturally their focus would shift in your direction. With just a small nudge, some carefully arranged pointers, it would suddenly come clear that you had been the orchestrator of the whole affair. I could have played the victim, willingly accepted my role as Brianna's guardian, and you would have rotted in a prison. It would have been perfect but for your breathtaking stupidity."

Brunner's eyes narrowed. George had drawn him in with promises of freedom and wealth. He'd even made good on the first part of that promise by extricating him from his messy legal affairs. "But you bought the jury and got me out of a fraud indictment," Brunner said coldly.

"Indeed," George agreed. "I needed you... unencumbered in order to play your part. Unfortunately, it was to be only a temporary reprieve."

Brunner's anger simmered. As he stared at the smug expression on George's face, the anger flared into fury. He had underestimated George MacQuery. The man was, it seemed, far more conniving than he had ever suspected. "I would never have gone along."

"The evidence against you would have been irrefutable. Even if you tried to implicate me, my role was carefully obscured. They would never have believed you."

He glared. If not for the one-eyed Sasquatch hovering just behind Brunner, he would have climbed over that desk and mutilated George. He kept himself carefully in check, though. He would not be made the fool again.

MacQuery had plans for him. He didn't know what those plans were yet, but presumably he needed him alive, or he'd be dead already.

That gave him a small window of opportunity, one last chance to stick it back to him.

Somewhere in this house, he was certain the treacherous man had secreted away the Heart of the Jungle. Somehow, before George's devious endgame was set in motion, Brunner would find a way to turn the tables.

With crafty, calculating eyes, he stared at MacQuery. He smothered his boiling rage and donned a mask of ersatz fear. Brunner would show George MacQuery what it meant to be sly. This time, he thought, it would be MacQuery who underestimated him.

George looked meaningfully at Watson. "I hate to do this to you, Brunner, I really do, but it