Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The hacienda.
"They're not here! None of them!" Emma sank on the desk of what they guessed was Araña's office. Outside the CIA agents were tearing the place apart, arresting all the criminals Araña hadn't managed to auction off.
"Don't move", Guerrero said softly.
Working with Guerrero on the Dean Robinson problem had taught Emma to freeze when he spoke like that. Next thing she knew he somehow unsnapped his belt, revealing two sharp blades. Before she could say anything, could even blink, he threw one of these blades in her direction.
With a frightening "thunk" sound, the weapon got stuck in the wooden desktop, after neatly cutting a black spider right next to her left thigh in two equal halves.
Emma stared at the animal. She hadn't even noticed its presence. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Black widow." Guerrero retrieved his blade and reattached it to his belt. "Fleeing northwards makes the most sense. Let's get out of here before one of your CIA buddies decides to tag along."
… … …
The hut.
Junior's condition hadn't worsened in the past few hours, something both Baptiste and the Old Man had counted on. Black widow bites are very dangerous for children, elderly people or persons of a somehow weakened condition. People as fit as Chance had to endure rather unpleasant poisoning symptoms, but usually got back on their feet even without antidote.
"Another few hours and we can try the donkeys after all", Joubert mused.
Suddenly the silence in the hut, only interrupted by Chance's ragged breathing, became almost palpable.
"So you've made it out of Russia on your own…", the Old Man slowly began.
Baptiste grimaced. "Had to. The Crane was after me."
A tiny flicker in the Old Man's eyes.
The Crane, one of the world's most dangerous assassins…
The flicker was all Baptiste needed to see.
Concern…
He fought not to break into a broad smile.
"You offed him?" Under normal circumstances Joubert would have poured them both a drink now.
Baptiste averted his eyes, rested them on Chance.
"Oh no, not you, too…", the Old Man groaned.
… … …
Ilsa's jet.
Winston and Ames had gone to lure the CIA's attention away from Ilsa's jet. Of course they had left Ilsa behind.
And, in a nice twist of coincidence, also Winston's cell phone…
Maybe he hadn't noticed it lying among the remnants of the dismantled grenade launcher. Ilsa, however, was very surprised to hear a signal coming from the debris. Not too surprised, though, to keep her from reading the message.
It was from Guerrero, in Guerrero-style shortness: Chance. 51°30'26"N 0°07'39"W
Coordinates.
Ilsa used her smartphone to match them with a map.
This wasn't far from the airfield!
She tried to reach Ames but couldn't get hold of her. She and Winston were probably in the middle of something right now. She hesitated. Should she? And if yes, with one of the weapons on board or better unarmed?
… … …
The hut.
One of the reasons people in Joubert's and Co.'s line of work refrain from showing their feelings and having deep, emotional moments (yes, the conversation between Joubert and Baptiste WAS a deeply emotional one – by their standards, definitely) is that it's distracting.
None of the two noticed the hut being approached till Chance croaked "visitors". By then, however, it was already too late, the hut's door burst open, revealing Emma pointing a gun at them, Guerrero by her side. "You are under arrest…", she began.
"They saved my life…", Chance coughed.
Guerrero understood immediately. Change of plans. Someone saves your life, you owe him. Period.
Unfortunately, Emma understood, too.
Incredibly fast – hey, she was an FBI agent after all – she wrested the gun from Guerrero's hands and pushed him forward. "Don't you dare touch your belt", she hissed at him and began again: "You are under arrest…"
Again, she didn't get far.
"Hold it." Ilsa's voice from behind, in a stance she hoped resembled Chance's or Winston's and made it clear that she meant business.
"You've got to be kidding me…", Emma groaned.
Guerrero stepped past her, walked over to Ilsa, discreetly released her gun's safety catch, took Emma's weapon and unceremoniously knocked her unconscious.
… … …
Ilsa's jet.
Chance's eyes were shut. There was still a little bit of sweat on his forehead, but he was breathing calmly.
"I'd really like to shake him awake and give him a piece of my mind regarding his little trip to the jungle…" Ilsa told Guerrero. "But…" She took a wet cloth and wiped Chance's forehead.
"Yeah, his favorite route of escape… Getting himself injured so that nobody dares confronting him…"
"Baptiste and his old boss are gone?"
Guerrero nodded. "For now, yes."
"I think Chance wanted to put an end to his relationship with them. Had he killed one or both he'd started a new cycle of violence. Same, had he had them arrested. Instead he decided to go through with his nobody deserves to die-attitude and form some kind of truce with them. It's pretty safe to say they all don't want to see each other ever again."
Somewhere in the back of his hazy mind Chance realized with surprise that Ilsa had deciphered his actions perfectly. Guerrero, however, saw that Chance was still wearing Baptiste's watch.
… … …
The CIA jet.
Emma Barnes was fuming. Not only had the CIA agents had a good laugh at her expense when they found her unconscious on board, more importantly her prisoners had escaped.
Again.
"I'm going to make you pay for this, Guerrero", she quietly hissed.