Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A hilly desert region in North Africa.
According to Chance's sources a rather big group of men had set up camp behind the reddish hill with the dead tree on top. He had reason to believe these men were the kidnappers. His source had fallen meaningfully silent when he had asked about prisoners in long white-brown cloaks, that had been answer enough for Chance.
What worried him, though, was that so far not a single sentinel seemed to be on duty. Very strange. Had they moved on again? With hostages it was important to keep moving, but Chance had tracked them down rather fast and it was a high number of captives, not easy to relocate.
Chance was just about to approach the hill a little more when his cell phone vibrated. He crouched behind a withered bush. "'m listening", he mumbled quietly.
"Hope you're ready for a history lesson." Winston's voice. "When the colonial power gave up its hold over the country, the former rulers supposedly also gave up their hold over the country's oil resources. Actually, however, they used figureheads and kept their control. They exploited the oil for decades quite undisturbed, till Ardeshir got wind of their activities a couple of years ago. Ever since they've been attacking the oil fields….You still listening?"
Chance grunted, gave up his position behind the bush and darted forward. Still no sentinel in sight.
"Naturally, the former colonial power didn't like that too much. Apparently they came up with a very creative plan to destroy Ardeshir…"
"Go on", Chance urged through clenched teeth. He was at the foot of the hill now. No guards and, even more upsetting, no noises. Camps are never really silent – car engines, generators, water recycling units, they all make sounds and in the desert sounds travel far.
But there was nothing.
"Our ex-colonists discovered that Ardeshir is not one monolithic organization but consists of two rivaling groups, a bigger, rather conservative majority and a significant minority that claims to be interested in setting up a "people-friendly autocracy". Guess what happened next?"
Chance rolled his eyes…it was always the same old story…
"The former colonial rulers joined forces with the minority part of Ardeshir and hired them to kidnap the monks. With the life of citizens on the line they would have an excuse for launching a military attack on the Ardeshir majority without the international community crying out in protest. The minority would get the upper hand in their strive for power. A win-win situation…" Chance was still muttering under his breath, but not as softly as before. He was almost at the top of the hill now.
This utter silence all around…
"No surprise the ambassador wasn't worried about blowing the monks into pieces. He knew they were in another camp, in the custody of their allies…." Winston sounded as if he was shaking his head. "It's the old the enemy of my enemy is my friend thing…"
Chance had reached the top of the hill now. After a moment of looking around, he pulled himself up to his full height, taking in the sight of the camp for a long moment. What he saw made him lean against the dead tree. Then he looked down to his feet where the ground felt different, less hardened and parched by the sun than the surrounding soil. That sight made him grab the tree for a tiny second.
"You still there?", Winston asked.
"The camp is destroyed. Dead bodies everywhere", Chance replied, slowly crouching down again. "Looks like an ambush with machine guns to me, hand grenades too, judging from the state of the tents. I'm standing on a grave, Winston."
He started shoveling the earth away with his hands. The grave was shallow. It didn't take him long to reveal a man's face. "It's one of the monks." He quickly made a photo and forwarded it to Guerrero before a gust of wind covered it with a thin layer of dust again.
Guerrero compared the picture with the one in the file Abbot Stevens had given them. "It's Brother Calixt, Chance." As always, his voice didn't give away what he felt, but in the background he could hear Winston kick something. Plaster came down the ceiling.
"This kind of secretive bullshit ALWAYS backfires!"
How did Chance feel about the monk's fate? He stared at the man's face a moment longer than he usually would have. Watched it getting covered again with sand, lightly and softly by the wind's almost caressing touch. Then a faint sound diverted his attention.
"I'm not alone", he told Guerrero, now quietly again, heading down the hill into the remnants of the camp. "I've heard something."
Whoever had ambushed the camp had done a thorough and very well thought out job. The high number of victims pointed to skillful planning. The destruction was not senseless. All valuable assets, the vehicles for example, but also cooking and radio equipment, were missing.
"I think you can scratch the "Ardeshir consists of two groups"-part", Chance told Winston as he stepped over another lifeless body. "The minority is no more."
"What about the other monks?"
"No sign of them either."
A hoarse cough caught Chance's attention. He lifted a tent plane, revealing a young man underneath, not older than Haroun. He was bleeding badly. "You've got maybe two minutes left to tell me what happened", Chance told him in Arabic.
Guerrero, listening in, handed Winston his phone even before Chance started translating. "Tell Ilsa we've got a problem", he said.
"Wiseass, of course we've got a problem. Six monks missing, one dead!" Winston would have never admitted it, but sometimes being able to snarl at Guerrero was a relief.
"Dude, the problem is not that they're missing, that problem is that the boy just told Chance who took them and where they're brought."
Chance lowered the young man's limp body to the ground.
"Call Ilsa, Winston."