Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Emma Barnes closed her eyes and went through her mental list of things to take into consideration one more time.
According to the wire tap not more than five thugs were present at the drug lord's HQ at any time. He didn't like his place overcrowded. Only led to domestics among the boys.
His muscle was always heavily armed, yes, but she was bringing a SWAT team of fifteen people. Should be sufficient.
The HQ had, minus the windows, three exits, one in the front, two in the back.
She had made sure all would be guarded by marksmen on the roof at any time during the operation.
The drug lord himself was present every Friday night to count the week's income. He was extra-careful, yes, but this time his extra-carefulness would cost him. They'd catch him red-handed.
Three months of meticulous observation had shown that he never ever changed this routine, not even with all the road construction noise around the funeral parlor he used as a front for his HQ.
No funeral was set for Friday evening, so no civilians would be around.
She had checked and double-checked this. The drug lord preferred the Friday nights at the funeral home to be quiet. Despite their attempts to make this look like a regular business, on Fridays past six they didn't take any calls, accepted no jobs.
Emma took a deep breath. She had thought of everything. Absolutely everything. Nothing could go wrong. This was a thoroughly planned operation and her ticket to finally becoming unit chief.
"At your command, Agent Barnes", the SWAT team leader told her.
Emma nodded, determined to give the impression of not being worried at all. Appearances were very important at the level she was aiming for.
"Everybody in position?", she asked.
Confirmative noises coming in from all radio channels. All that was left to do for her was to give the go ahead.
Why was she hesitating? A bad gut feeling?
Actually it was the lack thereof. Ever since that dreadful day in that horror house with Chance she had totally lost her instincts. What was right, what was wrong? She hadn't known whether to leave Chance behind or not and ever since deciding to leave this insecurity had stayed with her, even after she had found out he was still alive.
It was ridiculous, who needed instincts when there was meticulous planning?
"Let's go!", she commanded.
They went in through all three doors at once.
And found out there were at least 30 thugs present.
Together with two relatives of a recently deceased high school teacher who had personal ties to one of the higher up-thugs and got through with their insistence on their relation being taken care of immediately.
Two SWAT team members fell prey to a booby trap attached to the left backdoor. Another two were killed when they tried to get upstairs, into the drug lord's "office"…
…while the drug lord escaped through a secret tunnel that had been built under the pretext of road construction right under their noses during the last few weeks.
The two civilians died in the crossfire when the SWAT team tried to get to the cellar.
Five thugs died, holding the door to that cellar, but who is counting them? Unless of course one of them is a thirteen year old boy, apparently affiliated to the thugs, but without a weapon of his own.
Without a weapon.
Oh, damn.
As Emma walked through the mayhem in the aftermath of the raid, she could already hear her boss, shouting at her.
"Why didn't you check if the road construction was real? How come there were so many more thugs in the HQ than you expected? How could a complete funeral car escape your notice? And HOW THE HELL didn't you realize that no one was ever using the left back door?"
What, what, what should she tell him? There had to be something that would save her career. She couldn't blame this on anybody else, she couldn't hold bureaucracy at fault for this disaster, but maybe she could…
"Agent Barnes?" One of the younger agents called her. "A call from the hospital. The third agent that was injured when the booby trap went off just died."
Damn, damn, damn! If she didn't come up with anything FAST, this was it. The end of everything she had worked for so hard.
… … …
Emily Gray looked different than Chance remembered. Older. Thinner. And not in a good "I've-tried-this-fantastic-diet-devised-by-an-Indian-sadhu-and-not-felt-hungry-once"-way. She looked haggard.
"It started while John was still in prison", she began. "At first it was just a cough. He was working in the prison garden at that time, they moved him to the library. It got worse. They suspected an allergy, lifted him of all work duty in the end. No effect. When the cough began to produce black sputum, they released him."
Winston handed Emily a cup of tea.
"It's gotten worse ever since. He can't work, he can't walk, he can't even use the bathroom alone anymore. I took him to all sorts of doctors and when I couldn't transport him anymore I paid them to come and see him. Used up all my family's savings, borrowed money… last month finally somebody managed to come up with a diagnosis…"
"If this is about payment, the Marshall Pucci Foundation has a program that…" Ilsa was already going through her mental list of contacts. Putting in a good word for this poor woman wouldn't pose much of a problem. Granted, her husband was a convicted criminal, but with a careful word choice in the application…
"This is not about payment", Emily whispered, more to herself than to the others. "It's about…crazy."
Winston and Guerrero glanced at each other, then, simultaneously, at Chance. "One could say we're experienced with "crazy", Winston finally replied.
Chance gave him a "Who? Me?" look of total innocence.
"They say the past always catches up with you…" Emily didn't notice any of the exchange between the men. Her hands were shaking badly. "The doctor says it might be a very rare infection with fungal spores. He can develop a treatment, but for that he needs a sample of the original source of infection."
Guerrero rolled his eyes heavenwards. So that was where the "crazy" was coming from. "We're talking ancient fungal spores here, right?"
Winston looked at him in surprise. "How the…?
"Dude, since you don't need your head to carry hair around, maybe you should actually use it. John Gray specialized in expensive art. Where did he snoop around?" Guerrero was addressing Emily directly now. "Medieval dungeon? Celtic grave? Egyptian tomb?"
"He helped stealing a mummy, a couple of months before we met. Queen Tetisheri, the matriarch of the Egyptian royal family of the late 17th Dynasty and early 18th Dynasty."
"And the next thing you're going to tell us is that there's a curse connected with it, right?
"Ever since it was stolen, the mummy had three new owners. None of them kept it long", she said. "They all died – shootout, plane crash, drowned in swimming-pool..."
"And still someone else was willing to buy it every time..." Guerrero shook his head. When he noticed Winston staring at him, he scoffed. "It's a marketing strategy, dude. The scarier the background story, the more people willing to prove how brave they are."
Chance openly laughed at Winston's worried face. "We're taking on a mummy! Don't tell me you aren't excited!"
Ilsa decided she'd put a bit more money into the bank account they used for bribe money. They might need a very special specialist… Exorcists were expensive, or so she had heard.
Winston wondered if a bottle of holy water would do any good and came to the conclusion that it was worth a try.
Ames looked at Chance's shoulder, knowing that it couldn't have recovered this early after getting dislocated. She decided to pack extra cooling gel.
And a stake.