Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A couple of hours later. An outpost somewhere in the South American jungle.
"No, I still don't know how Araña managed to trap the Old Man. I have no idea what the message contained or even if it was from Araña in person or not. All I know is that Joubert received it, hissed the name and then demanded to be dropped off at the Mexican border!"
"No reason to get ratty with me, mate." Baptiste reached out and adjusted Chance's tie. "Just trying to get an idea of what happened." Considering what they were about to do – take on a small army of guards on their home battlefield, a hacienda in the middle of South American nowhere, commanded by one of the world's most notorious criminals - he was in remarkably good spirits.
Joubert hadn't rescued him because he was angry with him, Joubert hadn't rescued him because he needed rescuing himself.
Baptiste felt like whistling a tune.
"Given that Araña is the reason Joubert and his old partner had a fallout after which the partner became Christopher Chance, it probably wasn't too difficult to bait him… maybe the message said Araña was caught somewhere…", Chance mused and took a look at himself in the stained mirror of the rundown hotel room they shared with dozens of creatures of the creepy-crawly kind. No banana spiders in sight so far, but Chance was wary. Well, if everything went according to plan, they wouldn't have to come back here.
Oh, come one, Chance, "if everything went according to plan"? When has it ever?
Baptiste wiped his shiny black shoes one more time. The two looked damn good in their formal dress suits.
A knock on the door. "Señores! Your car!"
Chance and Baptiste looked at each other for a moment, then nodded.
Just like old times...
… … …
Same time in San Francisco.
"Chance's formal clothing is missing", Winston reported, coming back from Chance's living-quarters. "Any progress here?"
Sergej shook his bandaged head. "Can't get a hold on that website. Whoever shut it down did it right. It's an expert's work, man." His right hand was bandaged, too, a fact that, of course, didn't escape Guerrero.
"Still seeing that Daisy chick?"
Sergej shrugged his shoulders in a sheepish gesture. "Things have gotten a lot better…" He wondered if Guerrero knew about the incident with the microwave.
Winston walked over to Ilsa's office where the lip reader was working on the video tape of Chance.
"Call Guerrero", Ilsa said, the moment his feet crossed the threshold. "Looks like we're onto something."
… … …
South American jungle. Inside a limousine.
Baptiste watched Chance and smiled.
"What?", Chance snapped.
"Here you are, together with me… on your way to rescue the Old Man… after promising to kill us both!"
His smile became a broad grin.
"Don't read too much into this, Baptiste."
"Then enlighten me, matey, why are you here?"
Chance grimaced, face dark. He was thinking of Winston, Guerrero… Doing this alone was safer for them. But the image of Winston after he had come back from the ashram kept popping up in his mind. He'd be pissed.
And, worse, worried.
"I'm not starting something, Baptiste, I'm finishing something."
Baptiste turned his face away and looked out of the window. In the distance, Araña's hacienda came into view.
… … …
San Francisco.
"He's not dead", the lip reader translated. "Araña has become a vampire. Currently 15 drug lords, major players in organized crime and gangland bosses are held captive at the hacienda. Some have been there for more than a year. They're kept in good shape till they're auctioned off to their enemies in a grand event, the next one being scheduled for Saturday. I've made an opening bid through a website. We attend, buy him, walk out…"
"That's his plan?" Ilsa was shocked.
"Sounds like Chance." Winston made a groaning sound.
"Vampire?" Ames was confused. "Like glittering in the sun? Huh? I swear I was paying attention!"
"A "vampire" is a criminal who turns against other criminals and uses them to gain profit", Winston explained patiently. Ilsa did her best not to show that she found the explanation helpful, too.
"Still sure you don't want to include Agent Barnes?" Guerrero's tone spoke volumes. No matter what she answered, he would bring Emma in. None of that chickfight shit when Chance's life was at stake.
"And I bet he thinks he protecting us with this kind of BS", Winston snarled.
… … …
The hacienda.
A grand event it was, indeed. Lots of beautiful people in beautiful clothes. Caviar. Champagne. And the opportunity to buy your archenemy, take him with you and do with him whatever you want.
Who could ask for more?
Torture specialists all over the world were probably getting ready right now, polishing their gear, making sure everything was in place for all the jobs that had poured in in advance.
Araña always targeted criminals that had lost their support somehow, that had no one who would bail them out. In Joubert's case, apparently Baptiste's arrestment and transfer to Russia had set things in motion.
Everyone made their offers secretly, via mobile phone, just like in the Russian embassy. The price for Joubert climbed fast, there were several potential buyers, but at a million, everyone dropped out except Chance and Baptiste.
… … …
San Francisco.
"The black credit card you gave Chance for emergencies has just been activated", Guerrero told Ilsa.
… … …
The hacienda.
They were led into a room for the formalities. A secretary ran Chance's credit card. Everything seemed to be going fine.
And then a woman walked in, somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age, completely dressed in black. Matching the black spider she was carrying with her in what looked like an expensive, elaborate… canning jar.
Araña. She must have been beautiful once, before a life of crime and too many cosmetic surgeries turned her face into a hard, leathery mask.
Now, Chance was afraid of banana spiders, but that doesn't mean he was relaxed around black widows.
"I see Rosemary is attracting your attention", Araña stated, skipping the introductions. "Beautiful exemplar, isn't she? The common notion that black widow spiders eat their partner after mating is not true, however. But very often the mate receives bite marks. To avoid dying, he pinches off the bitten part of his body before fleeing. Thus the lady leaves a lifelong mark on him. Very sympathetic creatures…" Araña smiled broadly at Chance.
"Did you know Mr. Tony Bevilacqua was attending the party, too? He has made a very generous offer for you and I figured, where one man is willing to pay such an enormous price, there might be others as well. And I'm sure we'll find a new home for your companion, too…" She nodded in the direction of Baptiste.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think we can stick around for that." With one swift motion Chance kicked the jar out of Araña's hand while Baptiste grabbed the secretary and tossed her in the direction of the incoming guards.
"There's a swimming pool underneath the window!", he yelled.
They both jumped.
Araña looked at the empty window sill... and started laughing. "Go and rescue them before my boys have an early dinner", she told the guards who were slowly getting on their feet again.
"It looked like a swimming-pool!", Baptiste told Chance as they stood perfectly still on a very small artificial island in the middle of a large crocodile compound, populated with half a dozen, well, crocodiles.
Dripping wet, they were brought to the cell of the Old Man. He took his time to take in their appearance, the ruined evening clothes, the scratches from the fight with the guards…
"Do I even want to know?"