Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Three days earlier. The warehouse.
Carmine gave it away immediately. The way he lay there, in the center of the office, right by the elevator, head on his front paws...
The world's most depressed dog.
Winston had seen him in that posture before, in the awful days after the book incident, when Chance had left for that ashram.
No surprise the sight sent shivers down Winston's spine.
"Chance? Are you awake yet?" Without even waiting for an answer, Winston stomped upstairs. "Chance!"
His living-room was empty, so was his bathroom and his bedroom. It was hard to say if his bed was untouched, Chance never made it, the sheets were always ruffled, but the air in the chamber felt stale, not like someone had recently breathed it for a good night's sleep and only just left to get fresh milk from the store around the corner or something.
Winston sank down on the bed, unsure what happened but deeply worried. He pulled out his mobile and called Chance's number.
No reply.
He tried it thrice.
Nothing.
What the hell was going on here?
… … …
Ames' house, bedroom.
Ames jerked awake from a strange dream. It hadn't been a nightmare and it hadn't been one of those too-much-Chinese-too-late-in-the-night-dreams where everyone runs around naked, sports metallic antennas and speaks with a funny accent.
She had dreamed about yesterday evening, before the meeting with Ilsa, when she had walked back to her car after getting some groceries for dinner with Alejandro. He loved Tlacoyos. Her last venture into that particular region of Mexican cuisine had been quite a disaster, but she wasn't going to let herself get beaten by a fried cake, so that evening she had been planning to embark on round two.
Nothing, absolutely nothing special had happened on the way back to her car, so why had she dreamed about it? And why was she shivering and bathed in cold sweat?
Ames frowned. The dream had somehow differed from what had really happened, but she wasn't sure in what way. Maybe if she concentrated a little more…
Her cell phone rang, chasing the last remnants of that strange dream away.
Had Winston not called, informing her that they had a big problem at the office, she might have remembered that in the dream, unlike in reality, she had stopped in mid-walk, spun around and seen someone disappearing in the shadows of the building.
But well, Winston had called, so Ames still didn't know that she had been followed.
… … …
The warehouse.
"A kidnapping maybe?" Ilsa's voice was higher than usual and she couldn't stop pacing up and down.
Winston shook his head. "No signs of a struggle. And believe me, someone takes Chance, there ARE signs of a struggle."
"Locks are all intact, security system is still running…" Guerrero put the elevator cam's video feed on fast forward. "Here's Chance leaving. On his own. With a holdall. 5.30 am."
Everyone stared at the conference room's computer screen.
"Where the hell is he going?"
"Dude. You're yelling."
"But he's right! Where the hell is he going?" Ilsa started pacing again.
"Boss…"
"Yes, I know, I'm yelling."
Guerrero closed the window with the video feed and opened another one. "Chance's personal notebook is gone, but if we're lucky he didn't find the new Trojan I slipped him last week and we get a glimpse of what he's been doing on it last night."
They were lucky.
Or not, considering what they found...
"What the…?" Winston couldn't believe it.
"Who is this man?", Ilsa demanded to know.
Guerrero took a deep breath. "That, boss, is Chance's old boss."
The elevator's doors slid open, Ames stepped out and joined them in the conference room. "Do we know that guy?"
"His name is Joubert. Before Chance became Chance he worked for him." Winston stared at the screen with deep contempt.
"And Chance has done research on him? Why?" Ames frowned at the face on the screen. This Joubert looked like really bad news.
"Maybe he received a threat from him? And left to protect us?", Ilsa mused.
Possible scenario, they all had to agree. But Chance hadn't only researched the Old Man.
A few clicks from Guerrero and another name came up.
"And who's this Araña?"
Good question, Ames. Very good question. Guerrero had come across that name before, a lifetime ago.
"Araña and Joubert share a special relationship…" The screen suddenly turned pitch black. "Chance accessed a website that was taken offline in the meantime…" Guerrero took out his mobile. "I need to put one of my guys on it."
As he accessed his e-mail account, a new message popped up. got your del will work on it asap That was good news, but not relevant right now.
"Maybe we should also include Emma Barnes", Winston suggested. "FBI information on Araña would be pretty much up to date…"
"I'm really not sure if it's a good idea to involve the authorities in our cases so much – we are working in the gray areas of legality after all…"
Everyone turned and stared at Ilsa.
"…and you would hate Agent Barnes saving Chance's ass", Ames completed the sentence but wisely didn't state it.
"I've got Chance answering his cell phone half an hour before he left on video", Guerrero said, pointing at another still on the screen.
"No audio?", Winston asked.
"Chance found the bug a couple of hours after I installed it…", Guerrero grumbled. "Camera was better hidden… I think I can find a lip reader… there's this guy in LA…"
"Let me try it."
Now everyone turned and stared at Ames.
"Hey, you grow up in foster homes, the first thing you learn is to figure out how much they know and how angry they are this time. Staring in from the window is quite safe – in case of "everything" and "very" you can run without having to pick the door lock first."
Ames didn't understand the complete conversation Chance had had, a lot of it was quite vague and Guerrero would have to get his LA guy after all. But about one word she was absolutely sure.
One name she swore Chance had said. Right at the beginning of the conversation, as a greeting.
Baptiste.
Oh God damn, Chance had gone to see Baptiste.