Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"Don't scream! I'm a friend!", Ames told the children, very well aware of the fact that with the blood streaming from her forehead and the shotgun slung around her shoulder, she looked everything but like a friend. The younger of the two children started wailing in a low, heartbreaking tone. The older one was shuddering all over.
"I know things are bad at the moment, but everything will be alright again", she made another attempt to calm the children. Outside the cellar they had retreated to apparently someone was trying to force the door open with something very heavy. When the door started cracking, both girls began to cry loudly for their parents.
"They'll have to go through me first", Ames promised and released her gun's safety catch.
… … …
"Who tells me you're not one of them?", Grunnit's wife screamed at Winston.
"Seriously, what choice do you have?", Winston asked, shielding her as best as he could with his Kevlar vest protected body as he more or less dragged her from one car providing cover to the next, a hail of bullets going down on them the whole time.
"What about my children?", she yelled in his ear as he had no choice but to throw her flat to the ground.
"They're in good hands!", Winston yelled back, ice spreading in his stomach. He had lost contact to Ames ten minutes ago.
… … …
"Hate to tell you, bro, but that exit is blocked, too." Guerrero crouched next to Chance who was doing his best to stop the bleeding in Grunnit's abdomen. Judging from the speed with which he was losing blood, he would be beyond rescue in a couple of minutes.
"What about the roof? We could draw attention with a fire. Some good citizen might call 911." Chance wiped his bloody hands on his trousers, not so much for cleanliness than to gain a tighter grip on his gun.
Guerrero shook his head. The roof was no option either.
Damn, Brax' people were good.
… … …
"You wouldn't shoot me anyway", Emma told Ilsa. "If Guerrero doesn't do it, none of you will."
"Do you think it's wise, provoking me like that?", Ilsa asked, making sure to position the gun on the table within her easy reach, right where Emma could see it. The mere fact that she was armed and Emma wasn't amused the hell out of her.
Well, yeah, as amusing as a situation could be in which she had lost contact to all team members. The earpieces had gone dead one by one during the last few minutes, all in the context of shootouts, as it seemed.
Emma was right, though. Unless her life depended on it, she wouldn't kill her and, more importantly, the unborn child. Ilsa felt a slight pang of something, not really jealousy, more sadness, that Emma, who had screwed up so many times, was now getting something that had always been denied to Marshall and her.
The idea of ... reproducing ... with Guerrero was simply absurd. They hadn't talked about it, but the last two years of working with the team had taught her very thoroughly that children, with parents in this line of business, provided a constant source of worries of the life and death kind.
Even if Guerrero decided to leave it all behind from one day to the next, his child would still be in danger. The thirst for revenge is a flame that burns long and the past always comes catching up with you – some other lessons learned... She needed to accept the fact that some things just weren't meant to be and in a way she already had. Only when someone shoved it in her face, like Emma had done with her damn pregnancy test... Ah well, there were more urgent problems at hand.
Guerrero had left the gun with her for protection alright, but not exactly against Emma, who was securely tied to a chair Guerrero had bolted to the floor - explaining that to the hotel manager would be an ordeal... and she would surely not just cover the damage with a carpet, as he had suggested… Ilsa stopped herself.
She was letting her thoughts go astray, apparently trying not to go crazy with worries about the rest of the team. Brax people were very, very dangerous…
STOP.
She needed to FOCUS. Taking a deep breath, Ilsa picked up the phone again and dialed. "Is Mr. Kendrick available now?", she asked the maid she had already talked to, twice.
"Ilsa…" A male voice, very cultivated and yet oddly croaking when it came to words with low vowels. Unmistakably, Warren Kendrick, head lawyer of the Marshall Pucci Foundation.
Ilsa couldn't remember that she was on a first name basis with him. And since Kendrick had a very good memory… what was he implying?
"Dr. Kendrick" Ilsa hoped he understood what she was implying "if I remember correctly you were directly involved in the negotiations regarding three kidnapped employees of the Foundation. I need to get in contact with the negotiating party, G. Brax, as fast as possible, and I believe you can provide the necessary data."
Long, ill-boding silence. Finally:
"Ilsa, you're not chairing the Foundation's board of directors anymore. In fact you're not even part of the board. I'm pretty sure it would be against protocol – a protocol you once helped to develop and approved, if I may remind you…"
Ilsa took a deep breath. Oh great, he wanted to play politics. Right now. While the life of the client was on the line. His family's. THE TEAM'S…
"Cut the crap, Warren."
Silence again, this time of the shocked kind – she had dared to talk back. And she had used an Americanism!
Ilsa didn't give him a chance to recover: "You are forgetting that I'm still Ilsa Pucci. I'm friends with Senator Elroy, industrial magnate Tompkins, media tycoon Raggerty… what do you think would all this people – clients of your son's law firm, if I may remind you – say if I told them that the Kendrick family's disloyalty ruined a project of mine and cost me a significant amount of money?"
Kendrick gave her the data.
… … …
Guerrero had taught Ames the hard way to count how many times she shot and to always know how many bullets she had left.
Very valuable advice. Thanks to it she now knew that nothing but five bullets separated her and the kids from certain death.
… … …
Winston had been in a couple of difficult situations before, but this one… They had them cornered. And they were too many.
"Please tell me that my children are safe. Please tell me that they're not in the same situation", Grunnit's wife kept repeating in an infinite loop.
He had told her exactly that, several times, but she either didn't believe him (and given their situation, who could seriously blame her?) or she was so deep in shock, she wasn't listening.
Winston reached out and placed a hand on her shaking shoulder.
"Help will come", he said. What did a lie matter if it made her feel better?
…in what was most likely going to be the last few moments of her life.
… … …
"Explosion might work", Guerrero nodded. "Or might blow us to pieces."
"He won't make it much longer." Chance cautiously moved Grunnit, tried to make breathing a little easier for him.
"Worth a try", Guerrero agreed.
… … …
"I don't see what you could offer me, Mrs. Pucci. Money is of no interest to me when it comes to traitors." Brax' thick Portuguese accent made his smug voice even more unbearable.
"Something money can't buy you…" Ilsa hated making a dramatic pause here, she was running out of time, but if she managed to get his attention now, her next words would have more impact. And she needed them to make impact.
"Now I'm intrigued…" He said it mockingly, but there was a hint of genuine interest in his tone.
"We can get your brother out of prison."