Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A conference room in London.
Connie Pucci tried to rub her arms without attracting too much attention. Ilsa was on a roll, definitely. Connie didn't want to tarnish the impact of her speech in any way, shape or form. It was the least she could do at this advanced stage of the proceedings. A couple of minutes from now they would vote on Ilsa's future as the chairwoman of the Marshall Pucci Foundation.
Connie sighed resignedly.
She had spent months trying to placate the board members regarding Ilsa's overseas activities, but it had all been to no avail. They wanted to get her off the board, had set the necessary procedure in motion.
Connie would have been deeply disappointed, had Ilsa simply accepted her fate, and she was definitely on her side in this. But as far as she knew, the other board members weren't. Would Ilsa's flaming speech change their mind? Connie seriously doubted it. As far as she knew, they had already made their decision, and it wasn't in Ilsa's favor.
She rubbed her arms again. It was bloody cold in here. Come to think of it, she had heard some of the maintenance people talk about a problem with the air conditioning in passing. But strangely, when she looked around, she saw a lot of sweating people. Sebastian, for example, kept wiping his forehead. And Erica's blouse showed sweat stains underneath her arms. They all looked pretty nervous. But well, that was understandable, wasn't it? They were about to make a major decision after all.
A knock on the door interrupted Ilsa just as she talked about the values the Foundation promoted, especially regarding the protection of intact family life. A young secretary poked her head in. "I'm sorry, Ms. Pucci, but a Ms. Gilla Havisham from the Oxford Female Student Association called and left a message for you." The secretary handed Ilsa the message Ames had dictated her.
"Ah yes, Ms. Havisham...", Ilsa smiled. "I think you've met her at a conference last year, Donald, haven't you? Very bright young lady."
Connie frowned. Was it just her or had Donald turned a little green?
… … …
The warehouse. A couple of hours after the incident in the back alley behind the restaurant.
"I saw the van and hoped you'd notice I could do with some backup", Harry explained, pressing a wet washcloth against his bruised forehead.
"Notice? We and half of San Francisco noticed!", Winston exclaimed. "Shootouts tend to do that. I had to call in quite a few favors to cover the whole thing up. And I still don't see why."
"I'm sorry", Harry replied in a rather piqued voice. "It's not my fault someone opened fire on us!"
"That's still up for debate, dude." Guerrero poured himself another cup of tea and offered Harry's client one, too. The blonde woman shook her head. She looked pretty distraught, with dark shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept properly in days.
"The people who are after Nelly are really dangerous! They belong to a sect, and you know how it is with sects! Like krakens with a thousand tentacles, they have their spies everywhere. The police is definitely not an option. You wouldn't believe how many times they've tracked us down already!"
Guerrero rolled his eyes.
"It's not a sect." Everyone turned. So far Harry had done all the talking. The young woman he had introduced as "Nelly" had been so silent, they had started wondering if she was mute.
Well, apparently she was merely exceptionally taciturn.
"It's not a sect", she repeated. "It's a community. A very small community who owns a farm in the hills of California and practices all sorts of alternative lifestyles. It's not primarily religious – we've got Catholics, Jews, Buddhists, atheists, Wicca, one even claims to be Jedi… My father brought me there when I was two. It's where I grew up."
"You've been brainwashed", Harry insisted. "That's what these sects do."
Nelly sighed. "After my father's death a couple of months ago I felt I needed some time of my own… I've been battling with nightmares lately and I thought maybe a change of environment would help. They were very understanding."
"They seemed to be very understanding", Harry chimed in again. "But now they want to avenge that you've left them."
The woman shook her head. "I can't believe this. They were like family to me."
Winston looked at Chance, absolutely sure that this sentence had touched a chord. The Old Man had been his family for a damn long while – coming to see his true colors had been a very painful process, maybe this Nelly was standing at the beginning of it? He could see Chance's protective instinct awaken.
"Well, whatever is going on, we'll figure it out", Chance assured her.
"And here we go...", Winston thought.
Harry looked like a kicked puppy.
"We'll help Harry figure it out, I mean.", Chance quickly corrected himself.
… … …
Emma Barnes' house.
Speaking of figuring something out…
Emma Barnes was currently caught up in a nightmare of her on. She had to figure this out. Goddamn it, she HAD to figure this out.
Narrations – exaggerated narrations – of the disastrous operation at Dulles airport had made their way to the San Franciscan office. Along with other reports regarding her rather erratic behavior in the months prior to her transfer, they hadn't exactly helped building her reputation here.
There had been a time when she had been regarded as one of the Bureau's future stars.
Even the incident at the Russian embassy hadn't really changed that – the case of a lifetime that Chance had handed her had totally repaired the slight dent her reputation had suffered back then.
But the six months after she had killed the Blue Ridge Mountain killer were a different story.
Now that that problem was taken care of – she shuddered at the memory of her and Guerrero going after Robinson – it was time to work on her career again. But with stories like the one of the Dulles airport operation making rounds?
Well, she definitely needed to prove herself.
The only problem was, the case she was working on didn't seem suitable for that at all.
Damnit, she had no idea at all how to behave in that environment, what to say, when to strike…
She knew someone who did, though…
NO. That was definitely not an option.
Or was it?
Emma had spent the last two hours pacing up and down the room, debating exactly that.
… … …
Ames' house.
"I'm sorry for the mess", Ames apologized as she led Nelly into the guestroom of her newly acquired house. "But we've only just moved in and with my husband being away on a conference for the weekend, I didn't get far with tidying up."
"I hope I don't wake you tonight", Nelly replied. "My nightmares are pretty bad."
An incoming text message on her mobile distracted Ames. "Don't worry, I won't sleep much anyway. Winston and I will take turns watching over you." She sighed. The message was from Daisy.
As Ames walked down the stairs to the living-room, Winston nodded appreciatively. "Nice one", he said. "Solidly built. Good houses make good foundations for a long lasting marriages."
Her face shone with pride.
… … …
London.
Ilsa walked out of the conference room with a new spring in her steps. Re-elected. Unanimously!
"We should celebrate this with dinner at Corelli's", Connie suggested.
At this very moment, Ilsa's mobile phone signaled. She pulled it out, read the message and frowned.
"Yes", she answered her sister-in-law, "We should do that."
She needed time to think before reacting.