Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
De Young Museum, San Francisco. Early Evening.
"Mr. Binham is texting quite a lot", Chance observed. Something of the whole situation seemed disturbingly familiar, but he couldn't quite lay a hand on it.
"I'm on it." Guerrero's voice via earpiece. This time it was his turn to sit in the van while Winston was helping out Chance keeping an eye on their client.
Who didn't exactly know he was their client.
Ilsa had tried to contact him, but this time even the mighty Pucci name hadn't opened any doors; till right before the reception at the museum Binham had been "away on private business" and apparently completely out of reach for the rest of the world. Which probably explained why Rebecca had planned on taking him out at this rather public occasion instead of choosing a less risky venue.
"You grab that champagne glass any tighter, it'll break", Chance whispered in Ilsa's ear, his fingertips brushing a loose strand of hair away, his breath ghosting over her skin. He was posing as her date, this gesture of intimacy was perfect to feed the image of a couple in love.
Ilsa swallowed visibly and put the empty glass on a waiter's tray. Chance softly rested his hand on the small of her back. "Relax", he told her.
The look she gave him spoke volumes.
He nodded. "I know you're rattled. But Mr. Binham can't wait for you to take a breather and process what happened first. He needs our help now."
Of course she knew he was right. But less than 24 hours ago a friend (!) had tried to kill (!) her (!) but instead she (!), Ilsa Pucci, though unwittingly – had killed (!) that friend (!). Oh God, she wanted to curl up in some corner, close her eyes and not open them for a week. How in the world did Chance manage to deal with this kind of thing practically on an everyday basis?
Chance could see the despair in her eyes. She was still shell shocked. They should have left her at home, they really should have, but how else to get access to the reception if not through her? In her company he could roam the place freely without drawing attention.
And this was what she wanted, wasn't it? This was what she had fought for so fiercely with the Foundation's board. He felt sorry for her, yes, but this kind of thing came with the territory.
Oh boy, was it the whole ordeal with Emma that had made him so angry regarding the womenfolk in his life? He remembered her telling she understood the reasons for his solitary trip to South America. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment from him.
He used his hand on her back to turn her a little towards him and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You're doing well", he told her.
"Chance?" Guerrero's voice again. "We've got a problem. Can't hack Binham's phone. There's an interfering signal, not sure yet where it's coming from, but it seems to be specifically designed to sabotage…oh…"
Oh? An "oh" from Guerrero, that was a very bad sign.
"Oh? What "oh"? What the hell is going on?" Winston via earpiece.
"There's a second signal – meant to track…"
"Same source?" Chance started looking around even more alert than he already was. Something felt even stranger than before, he couldn't quite pinpoint it, but… with a nod he motioned Ames to get closer to Binham.
"No, different sources. I think I can trace the interfering signal… the tracking signal is more sophisticated, someone did a good job on this… " In the background they could hear him typing away hectically.
"Can you tell to whom the tracking signal leads?" Chance directed Ilsa with a wave of his hand to seek refuge on the sidelines.
"Far end of the room, nine o'clock."
Chance spotted him immediately – a lanky man, not as young as he seemed at first glance. Although he was wearing evening attire, he didn't quite fit in. He reminded Chance a bit of Doug, the anthropologist he had once rescued from the jungle… a perpetual student kind of guy.
The lanky man suddenly looked kind of startled. Had he noticed Chance looking at him? Chance had been very cautious.
The two thugs in black suits who suddenly came out of a side corridor however, hadn't.
Can you say "subtle as a concussion"?
One of them was holding a tiny black box in his hand. A tracker.
The lanky man bolted, made a run for the door, the thugs, suddenly with weapons drawn, in close pursuit.
The second the guns came out, people started screaming. A stampede of reception guests broke out and in the midst of it Guerrero's voice: "I've got the location of the interfering signal – I'll take a look."
Chance and Winston pushed their way through the crowd in order to rescue the young man – he had probably nothing to do with the Binham issue, whatever the Binham issue was, but he was definitely in need of help. Ames, meanwhile, dragged a very surprised Mr. Binham out of harm's way and Ilsa helped the security personnel to get the fleeing guests out. Someone had set off the alarm, too, so the whole turmoil was accompanied with the shrill wailing of a siren.
Great.
Outside it was quieter, but in the distance police sirens could be heard, so there was very little time left to act without hindrance. Guerrero hurried across the parking lot. The source of the interfering signal had to be somewhere around… there! A van, not unlike their own. Cautiously, very cautiously, he crept forward, drew his gun but kept it hidden under his jacket till he was at the car's door.
"We've lost them." Chance's voice via earpiece, and Winston's heavy breathing. "No sign of any of them. No blood or dead body either."
"Could do with backup on the northern parking lot", Guerrero quietly replied.
No guard post outside. Maybe video surveillance? Guerrero couldn't spot any, but nowadays, with all the sophisticated stuff you could buy second hand on e-bay, that didn't mean much.
So speed was the key.
With one fluid motion he yanked the van's back door open and aimed his gun at the occupants.
"You?"
It takes a lot to surprise Guerrero, but he would have genuinely never expected Sergej in the van.
Okay, let me specify that: He would have genuinely never expected Sergej in the van accompanied by Daisy.
"Rusty? What are you doing here?"
… … …
The office.
"Daisy is an archeologist specializing in the pre-Columbian era", Sergej explained.
Nobody said a word, but it was easy to tell what they were all thinking: "Seriously? They're letting her into touching distance of priceless ancient objects? Fragile priceless ancient objects?"
Either Daisy didn't notice the team's skeptical expressions or she was a good ignorer. "Six years ago a stone plate with a carved in Tzolk'in calendar popped up on the black market", she explained. "I've seen photos of it, it's spectacular. A very rare masterpiece, practically unique. The museum informed the FBI and posed as a potential buyer. A meeting was set up, but somehow it all went wrong. Armed thugs appeared and tried to steal the calendar. The FBI managed to arrest the thugs, but the seller disappeared with the calendar. For six years."
While Daisy spoke, her complete behavior changed, from mousy klutz to self-confident scientist. Suddenly they could imagine her handling priceless objects.
"A couple of days ago the calendar came up on the market again. This time the museum didn't inform the FBI – back then it looked so much like they had a mole in the Bureau... we just didn't want to risk the calendar disappearing again or ending up in the hands of a private collector after all. So I offered Sergej's services… " She threw him a loving smile. Sergej smiled back. Only now they noticed half of one of his incisors was missing.
"Why did you try to block Binham's cell phone?", Winston asked.
"The seller of the calendar arranged an auction and it was pretty clear from the beginning that Binham was the richest and most interested private bidder. We wanted to lock him out so that the museum's bid would be accepted."
"Apparently someone else took more drastic measurements to get his hands on the calendar…", Winston mused.
"You've got to save the calendar. You save people, don't you? This calendar is an important piece of mankind's cultural heritage. It's just as worth saving as a human being."
"And it would talk less than the average client..." Guerrero mused.
"Couldn't die on us..." Winston agreed.
Chance slowly tapped his fingers against the surface of the glass he was holding, deep in thought. "If the museum was in contact with the seller…."
Winston nodded. "…and if the seller somehow managed to get away from the thugs…"
"…then maybe the museum could still able to send him a message", Guerrero finished the sentence.
Ilsa and Ames exchanged annoyed glances. Ilsa would have probably phrased it differently than Ames, but oh how they hated this "we've been through so much together, we know what the other one is thinking"- BS.