Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Thanks to Chance's "Aunt Suzie" maneuver back in the bank with the bearded guy during the ordeal with the book, Winston knew exactly what it felt like when a bullet went through a body part of yours – EXCRUCIATING PAIN.
The second she got hit Michele instinctively curled up into a tight ball, whimpering pitifully. But there was no helping it, they needed to get her out of this death trap. For all they knew Innokentij could have simply spared them to play a little more – like a cat, tossing around a mouse before going for the kill.
Lifting her together, they managed to get Michele off the bed. Her cries were stomach-turning and the pain was clouding her judgment. She kept telling them to just leave her alone and even swatted at them. The men both knew well how to deal with struggling people, knew how to handle them and render them immobile. Nevertheless having to move her, having to cause her more pain because there was absolutely no other option... it did not fail to leave a mark on the men.
They expected to be under fire the second they stepped out of the cell, but actually they were met with sinister silence. No sounds at all except the rushing of the water that was slowly filling the tunnel and the station. The lamps were flickering, apparently the moisture was starting to affect the electricity supply. Maybe that was Innokentij's plan – close down all exits and let them drown down here, like cats in a bag. When Chance activated the nearest of Innokentij's disguised freight elevators, he pretty much expected it to be locked down.
He was wrong.
The elevator rattled and stopped a few times, but it finally did bring them to the surface. What the hell…?
... ... ...
Luckily their getaway car was still parked exactly where they had positioned it. Chance, however, was still holding his breath. On the one hand he wasn't putting it beyond Innokentij to have somehow found out about the car and having planted a bomb underneath. On the other hand - and more importantly - they had lost all contact with Ames and Guerrero after Chance had sent them away in the sluice chamber. What if they hadn't made it to Lake Yosemite? Innokentij had had suspiciously few men down in his HQ... probably because he had sent a second crew out to the canal, to "welcome" them.
The bomb problem, however, was more urgent.
"Stay back", Chance told Winston, then carefully approached the rented van, looking for any signs that someone had tampered with it. Michele, in Winston's arms, was still crying. Winston had to put his hand over her mouth so that she wouldn't wake the neighborhood. Mentally and physically exhausted and by now completely breaking down, she struggled once more against his hold. Having to force her into stillness was one of the hardest things Winston had ever done.
Chance quietly circled the car. It looked untouched. But Innokentij was a professional. Maybe they should steal another car altogether... But they had equipment stashed in there, they needed to provide Michele with first care, they needed to find out if Ames and Guerrero were okay, damn it...
A sound from the van. Chance threw himself to the ground.
The vehicle's door slid open.
"Dude, what are you waiting for? Handwritten invitations? Get in, let's go!" Guerrero and Ames, both wet but alive and well. Ames had suffered a few scratches and Guerrero sported bruised knuckles, but aside from that they both seemed okay.
Deep sigh of relief.
Ilsa arranged for a large rescue helicopter to pick them up a little outside Stockton so that Michele's leg could receive proper first care from a doctor while they were all flying back to San Francisco. The wound was severe, though. It required surgical intervention. Winston declared he would stay with Michele at the hospital, no matter what. Since the hospital had a Pucci wing (Ilsa had decided that would make getting special treatment for the team a lot easier and yes, indeed, the hospital was very cooperative) he'd surely have a chance to grab a shower. They had stashed spare clothes in the getaway car, but Ilsa promised to send more comfortable clothes for Winston to the hospital.
A quick glance at the watch told Chance that he would make it to Ash's figure skating contest. He'd even have time for a quick shower if he skipped the first few pairs. Ames insisted she'd accompany him and disappeared into the office's shower facilities once they had finally made it back to the warehouse. When Chance came back down the stairs, however, he found her on the sofa in the lobby. Fully dressed and ready to go, fresh make-up on her face, purse by her side, matching pumps at her feet, but sound asleep.
Ilsa, on tiptoes, handed him a blanket and he cautiously covered Ames with it, removing her shoes and tucking a pillow under her head. She was snoring slightly. It had been a long night. Carmine came trotting in from the direction of the kitchen, took one long look at Ames and then placed himself on the rug in front of the sofa. Always the guardian.
As long as it didn't require fast movements…
"Watch her too, will you? Things got a little rough. If anything happens, call a doctor and send me a message", Chance instructed Ilsa.
"I'll send you my driver", she replied, smiling. For a brief moment their eyes met. He smiled back, not that boyish million watt smile he so often sported, but a much milder, softer version.
Thank you, it said.
Then he headed out the door.
He didn't like leaving Ames behind, but Philippa was stuck in some Eastern European country with a job, Winston was at the hospital, Guerrero had claimed he had an urgent telephone call to make and the Old Man was busy, too. They couldn't leave Ash completely alone on his big day, could they? Especially Joubert's absence was suspicious, Chance had heard a couple of rumors… now that the Michele ordeal was finally over, he needed to take a closer look at them.
… … …
As Chance headed out to the ice-rink, Guerrero was sitting on a park bench, cell phone pressed to his ear, listening to the source he had finally dug out after months and months of tracking, bribing, threatening and, yes, also killing.
Others would have smiled triumphantly after finally getting what they had struggled for so hard. He didn't allow himself any display of emotion. This had cost lives. Not that he mourned those thugs he had had to take out, he wasn't Chance, but he was feeling far from jubilant. Contrary to popular opinion, he didn't take pleasure from blood spilling.
He ended the call and waited. Two seconds later the phone signaled. The evidence for the information his source had just revealed – copies of text messages, very telling text messages. Guerrero punched in a new number, one he hadn't used in a long time and hadn't planned using ever again.
"Basil?", he didn't wait for a reply. Better to get this over with quickly. "I'm forwarding you a couple of text messages you might find interesting." He hung up, sent off the messages and tossed his phone.
This would most likely cause a war inside the Basil's organization. More bloodshed, high possibility of collateral damage: Children, wives, nannies, drivers, innocent bystanders. But the only way to protect Michele from being taken again. Only if the knowledge who had tried to kill the Basil stopped being valuable, they would get off her trail for good.
To Guerrero, the decision had been simple.
Someone always loses.