Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The parking space.
"He's gone! Goddamn it, WHY IS HE GONE?" Winston yelling via earpiece.
"Because there's a world class assassin after him…?" Chance shook off the dust from the explosion, a little confused why Winston was so upset. They had been planning to let Baptiste escape only a moment ago and now exactly that had happened, even without them having to turn against Emma, so what was the big deal?
Actually this was kind of a blessing in disguise, wasn't it?
Granted, very good disguise, given the bomb and the gun shots and all, but still… you know what I mean.
"Not Baptiste! Guerrero! Guerrero is gone! He dashed out the van the second Baptiste said that part about having wanted your help!"
Before Chance could even think about forming a reply, a horribly shrill whistling sound threatened to split their eardrums. A second later the earpieces were dead.
This kind of thing happens when bombs go off at airports – everybody starts making phone calls and in the sudden onslaught of mobile communication the sometimes very delicate signals that keep the earpieces working get lost.
"Winston? WINSTON!" This time it was Chance that was yelling.
On the air nothing but silence.
Damn it!
No means of communication and Guerrero out there on his own. He must be following Baptiste, had probably guessed from the video feed of the security cams where he was heading…
Chance's first impulse was to start running. He knew where he'd go if he were Baptiste.
But there was still Emma hanging on his back! And he had no way to contact Winston...
"Are you okay? You look pretty shaken." Emma looked at him worriedly and tried to wipe dust off his face in a gesture of comfort. He turned away and nodded absent-mindedly.
If Guerrero found Baptiste, what would Baptiste do to him?
What would they do to each other?
And even worse, what if the Crane was still around?
What would he do to them?
… … …
The van.
Winston threw down his headphones in frustration.
Damn Guerrero! How dare he run off like that? He must have had an idea where Baptiste was heading.
But why follow him? Why not let him run?
… … …
A private hangar.
The clicking sound of a gun's safety trigger made Baptiste stop dead in his tracks.
"I couldn't care less about you becoming Crane food or not, but Chance unfortunately does." Guerrero stepped out of the shadowy corner where he had awaited Baptiste. "Hey mate." He was aiming straight at his forehead.
"Hey dude." Baptiste slowly turned around. "I've just told Chance…" he spat out the name like a curse word "…that I'm not interested in his help anymore."
"And you really think that'll matter? You and I both know he'll try and stop the Crane. He'll take on whoever ordered your kill and he won't stop till you're safe."
Baptiste did his best to make the smile on his face look like a smirk.
"So that's why you're here, right? You don't want him to take that risk for me. You're going to kill me, blame it on the Crane, end of story."
Guerrero shrugged his shoulders, his gun hand not wavering the slightest.
… … …
The van.
Think, Winston, think! Where would you go if you were a highly trained assassin on the run from another assassin?
Useless! He'd tried to get into Chance's head for the past six years and still every job felt like a rollercoaster ride in the dark.
What had Guerrero seen?
He hectically replayed the video material from the past few minutes.
… … …
The parking space.
One should think a man with the kind of life Christopher Chance/Junior had led would come up with a couple of veritable torture scenarios if asked about the most nightmarish situation he could think of.
In fact he would describe a situation similar to this: Him in perfect health and not in danger, but without any option whatsoever to help a friend in mortal peril.
The Crane was still lurking somewhere!
Everything inside him screamed to rush to Guerrero's aid.
But with Emma, who was sensing that something was wrong and thus not letting him out of her sight, he couldn't. She'd follow him and arrest Baptiste again and they'd be right back to square one.
He vowed to kick Guerrero's ass for his stubborn solitary ways at the next earliest opportunity.
… … …
The hangar.
Guerrero sighed. He had contemplated killing Baptiste and he had been tempted. But Chance was no idiot, he'd figure it out eventually and not take kindly to this solution, so unfortunately, it wasn't an option.
"The list of your enemies is too long. Without you it'll take an eternity to find out who hired the Crane. You come with me and help us get you out of this mess fast."
Baptiste grinned and stepped closer towards Guerrero. "If I come with you in the end that Barnes woman will arrest me again. No way."
Guerrero shifted his gun. "That I can't kill you doesn't mean I have to spare your kneecaps, mate."
Instead of an answer, Baptiste lunged forward, tackling Guerrero in the mid-section and knocking him off his feet. Guerrero headbutted him and jerked his knee upwards, but Baptiste was already rolling them over, smacking his glasses off in the process. The gun had skidded out of reach.
Out of Baptiste's and Guerrero's reach, that is.
Guerrero grabbed a fistful of Baptiste's newly grown mane and used it to slam his head backwards against the concrete. Baptiste blindly aimed a punch at Guerrero's unprotected rib cage. A muffled crack and a groan told him he had hit straight home.
Unnoticed by both men, footsteps approached, halted, then approached further, treading even more lightly.
Baptiste had managed to grab Guerrero's throat and was blocking his airways, but the bastard still managed to hold on to his ear and pull. It felt like he was tearing it off and God damn it, where did that knee come from?
A shot rang out. The window of an expensive looking jet black private helicopter shattered into a thousand pieces.
Both men froze.
"Hold it."
For a split second Guerrero let his head sink backwards in relief. Then he pushed Baptiste off him and nodded towards the broken window. "Explaining that item on the expense account to Ilsa will be fun."
"Let's get out of here, wiseass", Winston snarled, pointing the gun at Baptiste and motioning him to get up, too.
… … …
The parking space.
"Guerrero just texted. He and Winston are okay", Emma told Chance, looking up from her mobile.
She didn't tell him the second part of the message.
Need to talk to you in private. G.
A/N: Thank you, jackattack, for your encouraging words! As always, they brightened up my day!