Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The impressive office in the embassy in Washington DC.
"Mrs. Pucci is here to see you again, Mr. Ambassador", the embassy's executive secretary announced chirpily via intercom.
Not chirpily at all the ambassador replied: "Please let her know that unfortunately I'm very caught up in ambassadorial work. Had she bothered to ask for an appointment instead of just tra… instead of paying us a surprise visit, we would have gladly informed her that today is not a convenient day. Since she opted not to, however, we are very sorry to have to inform her that she has wasted her time."
A short pause, then: "Mrs. Pucci informed me that she is going to see the president's assistant at a charity event next week and would like to know if there's anything you'd like her to tell him."
The ambassador groaned in deep frustration. This woman was seriously getting on his nerves.
"Let her in. We'll discuss the issue face to face."
The door swung open and in walked Ilsa Pucci.
"Mr. Ambassador! I feel deeply honored that you could manage to sacrifice a few minutes of your spare time." She sat down on the visitor's chair.
The ambassador thought about last week, when he had had a couple of drinks with some secret service people. They had told him about a tasteless drug that made the consumer highly amenable to influence. He should have asked for a bottle. A couple of drops slipped into Ilsa Pucci's tea…
"I'd like to talk about the monks again, Mr. Ambassador", Ilsa began.
Damn, if they had known that the monks were in contact with the Pucci Foundation, they'd given them a wide berth. The alternative to the abduction of the monks would have been the kidnapping of a couple of inhabitants of an orphanage in the capital, but back then they had figured monks were much easier to handle than kids. Well, next time they'd know better. "We feel honored the Marshall Pucci Foundation takes such great interest in the fate of some of our citizens that its chairwoman feels the need to visit us twice within less than 24 hours, but let me assure you, Mrs. Pucci, there's no need to worry."
"Am I assuming correctly that this assurance is based on the assumption that the kidnapped monks are safe with your allies, the minority branch of Ardeshir?", Ilsa replied. She took a deep breath and for a moment the tone of her voice slipped, became deeper, darker. "Well, I've got news for you."
His fake smile froze on his face.
… … …
North Africa, capital.
"How are we going to call this item on our expense account?", Winston asked Guerrero.
"Bribe", Guerrero replied curtly.
"Ilsa hands the expense accounts to the IRS, you know."
"Not our problem."
Winston sighed. Actually he couldn't care less about the paperwork with Ilsa right now. What he really wanted to ask was "Do you think this will work? Are you sure our new found friends in the cellar by the camel market are trustworthy? What if they sell us out to Ardeshir?" But he knew that Guerrero had no better answers to these questions than he himself had. They were gambling this time, and gambling high stakes.
Chance's life was on the line.
… … …
The embassy.
Predictably, the ambassador replied: "I've got no idea what you're talking about."
"I know you joined forces with a group inside Ardeshir that was striving for dominance." Ilsa leaned forward, deliberately violating his personal space. "You promised them assistance with getting rid of their opponents, they promised they'd leave the oil fields alone. Unfortunately the majority group's leader found out that the minority group had kidnapped the monks and decided to put a final stop on what he interpreted as unauthorized activity: He had the minority's camp ambushed and annihilated. We couldn't find most of the monks so we have to assume the majority group took them with them… into the camp you're planning to bombard. You've got to stop the air raid. Now."
The ambassador's face turned white as a ghost. "It's not in my power to do so."
Ilsa slammed her hand down hard on his expensive mahogany desk. "Then get me the bloody hell someone on the phone who can!"
… … …
North Africa, a mountain range.
Chance knew they had seen him. He had noticed at least three guard posts along the road so far and since he was driving in plain sight they couldn't possibly have missed him.
Speaking of "missing him" – not a single bullet had been fired in his direction yet. They all let him pass unharmed.
Chance decided to interpret that as a good sign. Of course it could also mean they were waiting for him to enter the camp and apprehend him there. Why waste ammunition when he was heading towards them anyway? But since it was Guerrero who had come up with this plan and since Guerrero usually had a good instinct for betrayal, he drove on.
Straight into the lion's den.
… … …
The embassy.
"Mrs. Pucci, you're way out of line here. You've got no proof whatsoever that the monks are really in that camp." The general the ambassador had managed to contact was definitely not willing to let a civilian – a foreign civilian – a female foreign civilian – meddle in his affairs.
"If the monks are in that camp and they die during your air raid the Marshall Pucci Foundation will make sure that the public becomes aware of this", Ilsa pointed out, drawing on every bit of strength she had left in her body to sound self-assured and fiercely determined.
What she really wanted to do was scream at them, at the top of her lungs. Time was running out, for Chance, for the monks… the jet fighters were most likely already in the air… But this was not the time to let her emotions take over. She was dealing with people who obviously didn't give a damn about an individual life. A ballistic woman wouldn't impress them. A threat to their careers, on the other hand…
"Just to make one thing very clear, Mrs. Pucci… whether you're right or wrong – when this is over the Marshall Pucci Foundation will never be able to count on our voluntary cooperation again. Do you really want to risk our goodwill?", the general asked in nerve-grating slowness.
Ilsa could imagine what the Foundation's board of directors would have to say on the matter. Well, she'd deal with them later. There was still some of the dirt on the board members left Guerrero had provided her with… maybe it was time to open the vault again…
"Save your people! Now!", Ilsa hissed at the general's image on the monitor, knowing full well she was burning bridges now.
… … …
North Africa.
"So you're the contact we've been informed about?", Ardeshir's now undisputed leader greeted Chance.
Chance nodded – the less words the better – and hoped with all his heart that Guerrero's guy – whoever that was, Winston had told him a complicated story that involved camels – had really managed to convince the leader that the figureheads had given up their possession of the oil fields in exchange for the monks.
It was a lie that wouldn't hold long, but at the moment all Chance needed was to get the monks away from the camp as far as possible. There was no way to be sure Ilsa would really be able to stop the air raid, so this contingency plan was all they had.
The leader rested his gaze on Chance for a long moment. He was holding a single sheet of paper in his hand. A new message from the capital that informed him that he was being played?
The wind picked up again, blew sand in their eyes and tugged at their clothes. The leader held the paper high up in the air and let it be carried away with the wind.
"Well then, they're all yours", he finally said.
Maybe he had picked up the determination in Chance's eyes, maybe he had decided that keeping the monks was too big a risk, maybe he believed the lie Guerrero's cellar contact had told him – they'd never know and it didn't matter anyway.
The six monks eyed Chance suspiciously as they climbed into his vehicle, but they relaxed significantly as he told them (after leaving Ardeshir's camp behind in the distance) that Haroun would be very happy to see them again.
"What happened to Brother Calixt?", Chance asked.
"He had been suffering from high blood pressure for years. Without his pills…" The sadness in the monk's voice reminded Chance of the moment on the hill, when the sand had covered Brother Calixt's face again.
Playing around with people, like pawns in a game of chess. He felt deep anger rise in his chest, like a predator of some kind, something with claws and long sharp teeth.
"We're going to retrieve his body", he said, determined, took out his mobile and speed dialed Winston.
… … …
Outside the embassy.
"I've managed to hold off the air raid!", Ilsa told Winston via mobile. "Chance and the monks are safe!"
"That's fantastic, Ilsa", Winston replied.
The way he took a deep breath told her there was something wrong. Her stomach clenched. Had something happened to Chance?
"Now do you think you could convince the general to send a cargo helicopter or something of that kind to the minority group's destroyed camp? Chance and the monks went there to get Brother Calixt's body. They could do with a lift back to their island, especially since by now Ardeshir is probably on their trail again…" Winston, despite being far away in Africa, kind of ducked, waiting for her reply.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"