Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"Tell me one more time that you want me here, in London, because it's SAFER for me!"
Ilsa was not really angry with Connie. That would have been ridiculous. It was definitely not her fault an IRA breakaway faction had chosen the Foundation's annual garden party to promote their ideas of a protestant-free, independent Northern Ireland.
Well, putting her under pressure to attend by threatening her with cutting off the team's financing, on the other hand, was.
But let's not squabble. At least not when a crew of half a dozen heavily armed thugs with explosives at the ready was around.
"What are you doing?", Connie hissed, grabbing Ilsa's arm, trying to keep her inside the huge bush they were using as concealment.
"These explosives they're using. They're not shielded at all against environmental effects… Amateurs, they just grabbed the stuff as they got it from their dealer, in those thin plastic wrappings that provide no protection from moisture, coldness, heat…"
Connie's mouth fell open. Had her sister-in-law just called armed terrorists "amateurs" because of the way they handled their explosives? With which, by the way, they were planning to blow all the party guests into tiny little pieces, should the government not comply to their wishes. "Of what nature exactly are your team's activities?"
Stupid question, actually. She had seen them at work at the opera. When she and Ilsa had been held hostage by armed thugs…
Maybe they should stop meeting in public places.
"We're in the protection business", Ilsa hissed and crawled forward.
"Ilsa! Let the police handle that!"
"I will let them handle that. I'll just give them a bit of an advantage…" To Connie's utter surprise Ilsa opened some sort of hatch in the lawn.
"The control unit for the sprinkling system", she explained. "Wet explosives don't explode."
"But the machine guns!"
"The police is ready to storm. Didn't you hear the low rustling sounds all around? The SWAT team is getting into position. They're trying a classic triangular attack. The sprinkling system suddenly coming to life might provide them with just the diversion they need to strike."
"Might is the keyword here, Ilsa! You're meddling in the professionals' job. If this goes wrong, we're all in danger." Connie decided that there was NO WAY she'd EVER let Ilsa get close to these people again. She sounded like some sort of thug herself!
"We're in danger already! The police doesn't know about the explosives or where they are positioned." Ilsa was lying flat on the ground, trying to feel her way around the control unit. "This will become a bloodbath if they barge in just like that."
"Or you'll CAUSE a bloodbath by setting off the sprinklers!" Connie wondered what was worse, the thugs with the guns or her apparently lunatic sister-in-law. "The risk is too high!"
Ilsa took a deep breath, as far as that was possible while lying face down on an immaculately cut classic English lawn. Connie was articulating her own fears. Was she really doing the right thing? Chance, Guerrero, Winston, even Ames, they had all told her more than once that avoiding confrontation was the best way not to get hurt.
But not only didn't the police know about the explosives. They also didn't know about the secret leader, who was giving out orders a lot more radical and aggressive than the man they had on the phone, who they thought was the leader. This, combined with the government's attitude of not negotiating with terrorists…
It was a huge risk nevertheless… if the explosives didn't get soaked fast enough… if the police wasn't ready to strike yet…
The moon disappeared behind a thick dark cloud, suddenly reducing the place's illumination significantly.
It was now or never.
Ilsa activated the sprinkling system.
All hell broke loose.
… … …
She didn't pay attention to the cup in her hand. It was her favorite brand of tea, brewed perfectly, she was sure about that. People who know how to poison others also know how to make great tea. It's the same principle.
"You need fluids, Ilsa." Winston's hand on her shoulder. "You haven't taken in anything all day."
"Drink it, dude, or I'll make you." Guerrero's voice, a little further away than Winston's. Suddenly, however, she could hear them both leaving the room.
"I wouldn't test Guerrero's patience too much." Chance, sitting down next to her.
"Thirteen", was all she managed to utter.
"Forty-seven", Chance replied. "Including Connie."
"If I had not… Maybe these thirteen…"
"Or maybe these forty-seven. You'll never know."
Ilsa started crying. Chance pulled her into a tight embrace. "You did well", he whispered.
She really had. He was convinced this could have turned out a lot worse. But he also knew she wouldn't believe him. He never believed himself either.