The Heart of the Jungle

by Jeremy Pack

  "If he was trying to protect his firm's reputation---"

  "Yeah, that seems a bit far-fetched. I mean, all he would have to do was say that Michael had been operating on his own and his personal affairs were completely outside of George's control."

  Frank thought for a while. "I agree. Here's what I think: As I said before, David James went to a lot of trouble to keep MacQuery from getting his hands on the rock. He kept it out of his estate, hidden from the world, didn't tell anyone about it. He must have expected his life was in danger and made provisions for its safe transfer to Chris if anything happened to him. Somehow, he must have ensured that only Chris would be able to retrieve it."

  "Safety deposit box," Jason said. "That's how he did it. Has to be."

  Frank agreed and continued. "If Chris found out about the diamond, it would also mean that he'd read his father's warnings about MacQuery in those letters. So MacQuery needed him out of the way---"

  "And there could be no question about his death because of the previous investigation," Jason concluded for him, seeing the direction his train of thought was taking him.

  "There is a jagged edge to this," Frank said, trying to think around the one snag he couldn't readily find an answer for. "If Chris James committed suicide and he had no apparent heir, everything he owned would have become property of the state."

  "Yes, that's why Brianna was being kept safe. Brunner's maid, Rosalita Morales, said she heard him tell Michael they needed her to get to the Heart of the Jungle."

  "But why bring Michael in?" Frank wondered.

  "I think they intended to make him the fall guy. He was so far gone on drugs it would have been easy to overdose him and have him and Brianna turn up somewhere they would be sure to be found. That way it would look like some sick, elaborate kidnapping plot."

  Frank whistled shrilly. "Shee-it," he exclaimed. "That's just about crazy enough to be the truth. I feel like it's twenty years ago and I'm working with your old man." Frank chuckled. "This is another one for the books."

  "In any case, whatever is happening," Jason said seriously, "it's all going down in Seattle. One way or another, that's where everyone will end up eventually."

  "Another hour and forty," John Abel called back to them from the cockpit. He'd apparently been listening to their conversation---the ETA was too "on cue" to have been coincidental.

  Jason looked out the window anxiously. I hope that's soon enough.

  Chapter 17

  SNOHOMISH, Washington, was a quaint, turn-of-the-century hamlet nestled in a river valley to the north of Seattle. From the air, as the Cessna made its final approach into Harvey Field, the tiny municipal airport that served the town, Chris looked down upon an expanse of rolling farmland bisected by the sinuous curve of the Snohomish River.

  He was home.

  Only when the wheels touched down on the short runway and the plane taxied to a stop did he dare allow his joy to bubble over. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. They were safe, Brunner somewhere far, far behind them.

  He knew that the next several days would be trying. He was still wanted for the murder of Jeffrey Cross. He would have to face Jason Kingsley again after the horrible fight they'd had in Las Vegas. He might be required to confront Brunner if the police were able to apprehend him.

  He would take these challenges one at a time. They all seemed trivial now in light of the fact that his daughter was safely back at his side.

  Wincing, he gently prodded his bruised and swollen eye and flexed the fingers of his left hand. His injuries could have been much worse, so he considered himself fortunate.

  "We home?" Brianna asked, yawning and stretching.

  "Yes, baby, we're home," he replied, gathering her up from her seat and nuzzling her neck.

  She giggled and wrapped her arms around him. "I missed you, Daddy," she said in her sweet little voice.

  Tears blurred his vision and his heart swelled with love. He squeezed her gently, pressing his cheek to hers. "I missed you too, my little angel. Daddy missed you so much."

  "I'm hungry," she said after a moment, squirming to break free of the fierce grip he had on her.

  "We'll get you something to eat soon, love," he promised, standing and working his way toward the exit.

  They climbed down from the plane, and Chris looked around the small airport. One of George's security men rushed across the tarmac to greet them. "I'm Charlie," he said, putting his arm around Chris and leading him away toward a waiting car. Once they were settled in the back seat, Charlie passed Chris a pair of shoes and his passport.

  "Mr. MacQuery is waiting for you at Snohomish Trust," Charlie said, as he pulled out of the airport and drove toward the center of the city.

  They turned right onto First Avenue and continued along the narrow street, passing an odd assortment of antique stores, pubs, and novelty shops. The town looked like something Norman Rockwell would have painted.

  Despite all that he had endured, Chris's mood was light. The early morning sun was bright in a blue sky, the charming little town reminded him of happier times, he was safe, Brianna babbled in the seat by his side---life was, for the first time in as long as he could remember, sweet and worth living. Everything really was going to be okay now.

  As promised, when they pulled up in front of the brick building that housed Snohomish Trust, George was waiting for them. Chris had never been so glad to see him. He leapt from the car and rushed into the older man's arms, sinking into the warm, familiar embrace. After a moment, he turned and motioned for Brianna. Gingerly, the toddler climbed out of the car and ran to George, who picked her up and swung her in the air, then snuggled her tenderly.

  "Papa George, I missed you," she exclaimed as he covered her little face with kisses.

  "And I missed you too, young lady," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. After a moment, he shifted her to his hip and turned his attention to Chris. His eyes were troubled as he reached out and gently brushed his fingers over the bruised and swollen eye. "He really did a number on you, little dove. Are you all right?"

  Chris swallowed hard, remembering the horrors he had just endured. The worst traumas, he knew, had left no mark on his body, but deep wounds in his soul. He would carry those scars for long years to come. Fighting down the powerful emotions that threatened to reduce him to tears, he nodded. "I'm fine."

  "We'll have a doctor come take a look at you as soon as we get this minor bit of business out of the way," George assured him.

  "Don't worry about it, George. I don't need a doctor." He turned and surveyed the bank. "Doesn't look like they're open yet."

  "The branch manager should be arriving any minute. He's agreed to special dispensation."

  "Did you get in touch with Jason?" Chris asked next.

  "I did. I assured him I would keep you safe until they locate Brunner. He was worried that I too could be in danger, so I called Charlie in to keep an eye on me. We'll go to the cottage on Whidbey. Nobody knows about it, so we should be safe there until the FBI and the police apprehend Brunner and sort this all out."

  "George," Chris asked, anxious to be away, "why do we need to get the diamond now? Why not just leave it and deal with it another time?"

  George was silent for a moment. "Several people have already died, Christian. We believe Brunner was operating alone, but we cannot be sure. If he wasn't, if by some stroke of bad luck the authorities are unsuccessful in apprehending him, we need to have it on hand. That way, if necessary, we can hand it over. It's too dangerous for it to be out of our reach. It may be the only thing that can save our lives."

  Chris shivered despite the warm morning. "You really think Brunner can evade the police?"

  "I just don't know," George admitted, "and that's what scares me. I don't like the idea that he's not under lock and key. As long as he is free, we have to assume you are still in terrible, terrible danger." He looked firmly into Chris's eyes. "Are we agreed, then? Shall we retrieve the Heart of the Jungle?"

 
; Chris nodded resolutely. George knew best. The things he'd said made perfect sense. He knew firsthand how much Brunner coveted that diamond. If he wanted it, for all Chris cared, he could have it. He had Brianna back, and they were both safe and alive. He could finally look toward a bright future. Those were the important things. That was all he wanted. More, in fact, than he ever expected to have just a few days ago.

  "This thing has caused me enough grief as it is. As soon as this is all over, I'm throwing it in the river. I wish I never heard of the damn thing," Chris said bitterly. "I hate it."

  George's brows knitted. Then, noticing a harried looking man headed their way, he pointed. "This must be our man."

  "You George MacQuery?" he asked as he approached.

  "You must be Larson," George said affably, grasping the man's hand.

  After the handshake, Larson unlocked the doors to the bank and deactivated the alarm. He led them to the vault, examined Chris's passport, and produced a printed sheet of paper, which he instructed Chris to sign. "This affidavit affirms that you are retrieving the contents of your safety deposit box of your own free will and under no duress."

  Larson eyed first the damage done to Chris's face and then George suspiciously. "You aren't under any kind of duress, are you?" he asked.

  Chris was stunned. "Of course not." He bristled at the man's appraisal of his companion. "George is my attorney---but more than that... he's like a father to me," he said firmly. Then, as if to emphasize his point, he signed the affidavit in broad, heavy strokes. "There, all signed." He handed the sheet of paper to Larson, who was looking a little sheepish.

  "Your father left very specific, explicit instructions. We pride ourselves on honoring our commitments to our clients. You understand?"

  Chris's indignation faded slightly, and he smiled in apology. "It's been a rough couple of days. I'm sorry."

  "You should have someone look at that eye. It's bad," Larson said gently.

  Chris smiled. "Thank you. I will."

  Larson led them inside the vault and down a row of safety deposit boxes. "Here it is, 629." He fumbled with a ring of keys and looked at Chris expectantly. "Key?"

  George handed Chris a key, which he inserted into the top slot as Larson inserted his into the bottom. This all seemed a bit ceremonious and melodramatic to Chris, but he just played along, eager to have this done with and be safely ensconced in George's Whidbey cottage.

  Larson slid the box out of its niche in the wall and departed the vault, leaving Chris, George, and Brianna to open it in privacy.

  Chris gave George a hesitant look before opening the lid. The older man smiled encouragingly and indicated he should proceed.

  Slowly, carefully, he slid the lid of the safety deposit box back to reveal a large, opaque, reddish lump of stone within. It sat primly upon a velvet drawstring pouch. For a long while, he stared at it in confusion.

  This didn't look like a diamond to him. It looked like... well... it looked like a lump of rock.

  "This is the Heart of the Jungle?" Chris asked incredulously. "This is the cause of the unrelenting hell I've been through? You've got to be kidding me."

  George was agog. The precious stone was enormous. He knew from the letters describing it that David James had given it over to a series of experts for inspection. Spectrographic and X-ray analysis confirmed it was the most massive red diamond ever discovered---easily overtaking the Moussaieff Red, the record-holder, by more than five times its carat weight. Beneath the opaque chalky cortex, the gemstone was pure and unvarnished. Not a single striation marred its flawless crystalline structure. Properly faceted, it would be worth a staggering sum.

  He gaped at the stone in undisguised avarice, imagining how it would look without the milky chalk obscuring its cranberry-colored depths.

  When Chris turned his eyes away from the diamond, George quickly masked his expression. He cleared his throat. "Well, shall we take it and be off?" he asked, pretending nonchalance.

  Chris shrugged, retrieved the diamond, dropped it into the velvet bag it sat upon, and tugged the drawstring closure tight.

  As they strode out of the vault, Brianna reminded them petulantly that she was hungry.

  "We'll get you something to eat on the ferry to Whidbey, baby,"

  Chris promised, tweaking her cheek and favoring her with a kiss.

  "Are we going on the big boat, Papa George?" she asked, her hunger forgotten.

  "Yes, darling," George replied absently. His mind was on the gemstone that was going to make him rich beyond his wildest imaginings.

  As they made the journey to Whidbey Island, George could barely contain his elation. Until he'd seen it with his own eyes, the Heart of the Jungle had seemed something of a myth to him. After all the years of coveting, plotting, and scheming, dreaming of the fortune it would bring him, it was finally, at long last, within his grasp.

  Knowing that he was so very close emboldened him. There was one last messy task to perform before the diamond was his.

  Christian James had to die.

  FRANK was livid as he shouted invective into his cell phone. They had landed and bid goodbye and thanks to John Abel moments ago, and he had immediately contacted the Seattle field office to let them know he was on the ground.

  "What do you mean he's disappeared?" he shouted, his face red with rage.

  Jason's stomach clenched into a tight knot.

  "You didn't think to watch the back exit?" Frank asked disbelievingly. He listened for a few moments and finally, with a menacing growl, said, "Find out where he's gone. I don't care if you have to hire a fucking psychic. I want his twenty and I want it now."

  He jabbed a finger into the phone and cursed.

  Jason clenched his jaw and took a deep breath before speaking.

  "What now?"

  Frank paced. "Slipped out the back. Disappeared."

  "He must suspect he's being surveilled."

  Frank chewed at his bottom lip. "Possibly. Maybe he's always like this."

  Jason eyed him curiously. Frank was holding something back.

  "What?"

  "He used a credit card to book a couple of chartered flights out of Weed, California. The team is working on it now, but I'm willing to bet Chris and Brianna James were on one of those planes."

  "And Brunner on the other," Jason breathed, stricken. "Frank, Chris has no idea that George is behind all of this. I told you, he'll run right into his arms."

  "I know, kid. Those credit card transactions happened five hours ago. About the time we were trying to get out of Vegas. They've probably already landed."

  "His first step will be to secure the diamond. We have to assume he needs Chris for that. So he won't hurt him until he has his hands on it. Banks don't usually open until nine." Jason looked at his watch. "That's ten minutes from now."

  He took off at a run, waving for a taxi as he went. Frank was right on his heels. "Want to tell me where we're going?"

  "Chris said he grew up in Snohomish. That's about thirty miles north. It's where David James probably banked the diamond."

  They climbed into a taxi, and Frank flashed his badge at the driver.

  "Break every fucking law you know of, but get us to Sno---Sno---"

  "Snohomish," Jason offered.

  "Yeah," Frank said. "What he said."

  The cab peeled out in a squeal of tires, and the diminutive Asian cabbie cast an anxious glance at the two men in the backseat as he sped out of the airport. "Sorry," he apologized.

  Frank waved him off and watched Jason intently as he pulled up a list of banks in Snohomish on his mobile phone.

  "Snohomish Trust," Jason said, pointing. "That's the one. Says here it's the oldest bank in Snohomish. Chris's father wouldn't have trusted a brand-name financial institution. He would have wanted to make sure his instructions were followed to the letter."

  Frank nodded, sticking out his bottom lip. "Sounds reasonable."

  Jason placed a call to the bank, and when the line was
answered, he asked for the branch manager.

  "This is Harry Larson speaking."

  "Mr. Larson, my name is Jason Kingsley. I'm a special investigator with the FBI." Frank raised an eyebrow, and Jason tried to ignore him.

  "We have reason to believe that a client of yours by the name of Christian James may arrive at some point this morning in the company of a man named George MacQuery, potentially to retrieve the contents of a safety deposit box."

  "Yes," Larson said. "In fact, they've come and gone. Not thirty minutes ago."

  Jason cursed. "Damn." He was silent for a moment. "Mr. Larson, did they say where they were going? Please, it's very important. Chris James's life is in jeopardy."

  "But he signed an affidavit---"

  "Please," Jason cut him off. "Think. Did they say where they were going?"

  Larsen was silent for a long time. "I... I was busy, not paying attention," he excused nervously. "I can't---wait... Whidbey. They said Whidbey. Yes, the little girl was hungry, and Mr. James said she could have something to eat on the ferry to Whidbey."

  Jason smiled in triumph. "Whidbey. Thank you, Mr. Larson. Thank you."

  He disconnected. Frank was already on the phone with the field office making arrangements for a check on MacQuery's assets.

  Specifically, he told them to cross-reference property records on Whidbey Island to see if they could find some kind of a match.

  "Driver," Jason said sharply, "skip Snohomish. Get us to Whidbey Island."