Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Still the same night. A cheap hotel room. Emma lying on the floor, blindfolded, hands cuffed on her back.
At least the earpiece was still in place and working.
"Could we reevaluate the whole "worst planned operation ever"-thing? Because I think this one is storming the field from behind…" Emma rubbed her face against her shoulder in an attempt to get rid of the cloth blocking her eyesight.
"The word operation, deriving from Latin operatio, by definition implies a certain level of lead time. Since your blackmailer gave you 45 minutes to make it to this dosshouse and thus left us 45 minutes to get ready for the confrontation with him, I seriously dispute there having been any lead time to speak of. Consequently the word "operation" is not applicable here. I'm sorry, but your escapade at the airport remains on top of the list." Ilsa had insisted on joining Winston in the van. In hindsight not a bad decision since Winston's presence was now required outside, in the maze of back alleys behind the motel where the blackmailer had sought refuge. They were systematically blocking his escape routes, he wouldn't get far.
Hopefully.
"Thank you for the lecture, Mrs. Pucci", Emma replied through clenched teeth. The damn fold just wouldn't come off.
"Got him, Chance." Guerrero's voice via earpiece. "He's heading north."
"I'm heading north, too, I'll try and get him." Ames voice was ragged from running.
"No, you go and free Emma. We manage." Chance sounded like he was climbing something.
"I can uncuff her", Ilsa chimed in. "Ames taught me how to pick locks."
Her offer was met with awkward silence.
"Ames? You said I was making progress, didn't you?"
More silence, then: "Oh yes, Mrs. Pucci, you've made great progress." For a professional thief, Ames was a really bad liar.
Ilsa bit her lips. She hated it when they treated her like that. "If the blackmailer escapes our chances of finding him significantly decrease. In this labyrinth of streets out there you need every hand available."
"Just give Emma the tools, she'll do the rest", Chance finally decided.
His tone, this totally casual way of implying that no, she would not be able to pick the bloody lock, stung like hell.
… … …
Ames rounded the corner and halted. There had been movement at the end of the street. She gripped the gun tighter. Slowly she proceeded down the alley, seeking cover behind dumpsters and parked cars. Guerrero had taught her how to handle a weapon, how to aim and shoot, but this was different than firing practice on one of the warehouse's empty floors.
A lot different. Ames had never fired a gun at a living human being.
"We're advancing towards you, Ames. Try not to shoot one of us." Winston sounded like an old-fashioned locomotive.
"The street is ending in a cul-de-sac. I think he's caught in there", she whispered.
"Hold position. Don't do anything till we're with you." Guerrero's instructions were very clear and she didn't intend to disregard them...
...but there was this strange, soft clanging sound, barely audible.
What if the blackmailer had found a way out of the blind alley? Ilsa was right, if he escaped tonight they'd have a ton of trouble on their hands. Not only that finding him would be more difficult, there was also the chance he would release whatever incriminating material he had on Emma. Ames decided to follow her instincts and gradually moved towards the noise.
… … …
"This looks awkward. Are you sure you don't need help?" Ilsa made a tentative step towards Emma.
"Don't. Just don't. I'm doing perfectly well here." A severe cramp was forming along Emma's left arm and searing pain was shooting along her spine. Picking handcuffs behind the back was no easy task, but the hell she would let this Pucci woman know that. "And could you stop talking, too? I'm trying to concentrate here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, of course lock picking requires a quiet, undisturbed atmosphere, it should never be attempted under stressful circumstances…"
… … …
Ames tried another cautious step. The noise had died down. All she could hear now was her own breathing.
WHAM!
A cat darted forwards from underneath one of the dumpsters, knocking a couple of empty cans over. Ames was so on edge, she pulled the trigger.
Luckily for the cat, Ames didn't hit her. Not so luckily for Ames, the blackmailer saw her muzzle flash.
He fired immediately.
A bullet whizzed past her ear as she threw herself to the ground. Three more followed, close, very close.
Oddly enough, the only thought Ames later clearly remembered having was "Guerrero is going to kill me for that."
Then, finally, the muffled sound of reply fire.
Unfortunately too late – running footsteps passed Ames. The blackmailer had made it out of the cul-de-sac, seconds before the others arrived. Winston stayed by Ames' side, Chance and Guerrero followed the man in close pursuit.
Two minutes later, they were back.
Without the blackmailer.
"I'm sorry", Ames whispered.
… … …
It was close to dawn when they finally made it into the expensive hotel suite Ilsa had booked for them. Guerrero had collected shell casings from the back alley and was now trying to lift fingerprints from them, with the help of Winston.
Whether he wanted it or not.
"That's too much powder."
"It's perfect."
"I've been a cop for 25 years, I know how to lift fingerprints."
"Stay away from the evidence, butterfingers…"
Winston let out a frustrated grunt and looked around, hoping for some backup from Chance, but he had retreated to one of the bedrooms. Made sense. There was nothing he could do till Guerrero got a name to the prints and Emma was safe with Ames in the bedroom at the other end of the suite.
Winston decided to catch some sleep, too. He walked over to bedroom number three – Ilsa had been really generous – only to stop dead in his tracks on the threshold. There was Ilsa, sitting by the window, staring into the darkness, sipping at a drink.
"Everything okay, Mrs. Pucci?", Winston cautiously asked.
"What's so interesting about this Barnes woman?" She took a sip from her tumbler. "Or that Maria? What's so special about them?"
She didn't need to clarify about whose special interests she was inquiring here.
Winston shortly debated to make up something, to tell her that Chance wasn't attracted to Emma, that his interest in Maria stemmed from another time when he had been younger, but it was early in the morning after a very long day, everyone has limits and Winston had reached his.
"Maria and Emma can take care of themselves. They need assistance from time to time, yes, but they do know how to handle complicated situations on their own…"
Ilsa didn't need any further explanation. How many times had she needed Chance to rescue her?
She was just about to take a long swim in the sea of self-pity when another Chance-related thought entered her mind. A far more important one. As she slowly mulled it over, her heart started racing.
No. She couldn't let that happen.
… … …
Chance wasn't sleeping. The events of the day hadn't left him much time to think, but now, in the stillness of the last slow hours of the morning his mind was reeling.
He was thinking about alternatives and consequences when suddenly the door to the bedroom opened quietly and Ilsa walked in.
"I thought you might want something to drink." She sat down by his bedside.
Chance looked at her, looked at the glass of water in her hands…
"This is really kind of you." He accepted the tumbler. "I'm sorry, could you tell me the title of the book on the desk? I've been wondering about it, the cover looks familiar, but I was too lazy to get up."
As Ilsa got up to take a look at the book, he emptied the glass underneath the bed.
"It's a collection of works from Seneca", she told him as she got back.
"Thanks for checking, that was very…." He didn't finish the sentence. Satisfied smile on her face, Ilsa watched him drift off to sleep. Quietly, she left the room.
About five minutes later Guerrero showed up. "Are you pretending to sleep?", he asked his friend.
"Ilsa tried to slip me something. Not sure why, though."
"How did she do it?"
"Spiked drink."
Guerrero snorted. "Course you figured that out."
They both laughed.
"The only chance to get you is speed."
Chance blinked. Something in Guerrero's tone was off. "Hang on a sec, what do you…?"
But Guerrero had already produced a syringe and rammed it rather unceremoniously into his arm.
This time for real, the world turned dark for Chance.