Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"This is all my fault? Excuse me?" Ilsa sat up on her heels and stared at her sister-in-law, seriously doubting her sense of hearing.
"Why didn't you simply cut that thug's ear off?", Connie, holding her aching head in her hands, was on the verge of crying. "They would have let us go! We could be home by now, safe!"
"Simply cut his ear off?" Ilsa's voice climbed an octave and grew significantly louder, despite her utter exhaustion. "Are you listening to yourself? Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
"Well, your acquaintance, Mr. Guerrero, surely wouldn't have had any qualms about it, and given your track record lately..." With a groan, Connie rolled over and threw up again. Her stomach turning retching sounds, however, were drowned out by a mighty roar suddenly coming from outside. Was that the wind? Seriously, the wind? It sounded like a never ending high speed train was passing the house. Was there a storm out there?
"My track record?" Ilsa got up and started looking around the cellar. She had given it a superficial onceover directly after waking up, but then Connie had vomited... things had somehow gone downhill from there.
"You killed a man in Scotland! The stable hand of the castle at Loch Ceiterein! Did you think I wouldn't find out? I read the police report!"
If the situation hadn't been so grave, Ilsa would have laughed out loud. She had committed a grave sin during that dreadful stint in Scotland, true, but taking a life it had not been. Chance had shot the stable hand. To save him trouble with the police she had taken the killing upon herself - ironically after already having killed two people without anyone except the team ever knowing about it. Hector Lopez had been her first victim, almost two years earlier... and later, with her second killing, she had protected Chance.
Okay, there was also the poisoning of ex-inspector-turned-assassin Rebecca Eddington on her conscience... but just as Hector Lopez, Rebecca hadn't left her much of a choice... talk about a you-or-me type of situation...
Blimey, she missed Guerrero.
"I killed that man in self-defense!", Ilsa hissed angrily in reply.
"Be that as it may, one should think after shooting somebody, cutting off an ear should be a piece of cake for you."
Ilsa felt the urge to throttle Connie.
"I'll hope for you that you never actually experience what you're talking about", she said through clenched teeth, rummaging through the debris accumulated in the far corner of the cellar.
"What are you doing there, for heaven's sake?"
"Trying to get us out of here." Ilsa refrained from letting Connie know what a really stupid question that had been. Her sister-in-law had received a blow to the head after all. And Ilsa remembered - vaguely - that she herself hadn't able to imagine what it meant to kill a human being either... once upon a time, in the South American jungle. It seemed light years ago.
"What? Are you crazy? They surely left some sort of warden! Or booby trapped the door! We're going to sit tight here and wait for your team to arrive! I'm sure they somehow tracked us through the earpiece before it was discovered, or your acquaintance put a knife to somebody's throat."
Okay, blow to the head or not, Connie was seriously overdoing it right now. Granted, she was probably right about Guerrero, but still...
"Now you want to sit and wait? When I told you at that prison that we should just identify ourselves and then sit and wait till the Foundation paid the ransom you had nothing better to do than make up that bloody story!", Ilsa exploded.
"It was a bloody good story!", Connie almost sounded as if she had stomped her feet, hadn't she still been lying on the floor.
"As Ilsa and Connie Pucci we would have been valuable hostages for the rebellious prisoners. They would have used us as leverage and wouldn't have harmed us. But you had to tell them my name was Ames, famous thief and safe cracking expert." Ilsa spoke slowly and with as much composure as she could muster.
"Which was our ticket out of that prison!"
"And right into a group of highly dangerous thugs in need of a safe cracking expert!" Ilsa retrieved a piece of wire from a broken stool. She had practiced picking handcuffs without end under Ames' guidance, but never door locks... Hopefully they both followed the same principle.
"All the women in the prison wanted was money for their families", she said tersely. "The Foundation, as an outside, trustworthy party, could have easily paid the amount they asked for. None of those women in there was a dangerous criminal - prostitutes, pickpockets, drug addicts... none of them would have indulged in torturing us to death. We should have waited for the ransom."
"None of the women prisoners was a dangerous criminal?", Connie asked, and Ilsa could hear that she was raising one of her eye brows in a mocking manner.
"Except the one you convinced I was Ames, so that she informed her boyfriend who was in desperate need of a safe cracking expert and thus broke us out of prison, yes", Ilsa conceded. "But the women had formed a council of elders, they were in charge of the rebellion. They would have protected us."
"Stay away from that door Ilsa! I don't want to be blown into pieces!", Connie snarled at her.
Ilsa, however, was pretty sure the door was not booby trapped. The air in the cellar was very moist, not a good environment for gelignite and thin wire. Aside from that the thugs that had brought them here had not used explosives during the break-in in the bank. She guessed the safe cracking expert that the group had lost in a shootout with the police a couple of weeks prior to the gig had also been their man for demolitions.
"In the prison, sitting tight and waiting would have made sense because we were under surveillance – the authorities were all around us, watching the prison. Any foul play would have been immediately noticed. Aside from that the prisoners had every reason to treat us well. Here in this cellar we're on our own, completely. They can come back anytime and do with us whatever they want. We need to get out of here."
The door made a soft clicking sound. Yes! Ames would be proud of her. Cautiously, Ilsa opened it just a crack – Connie could be right about someone watching the door after all – and gasped.
"The warden?", Connie whispered. "I was right, wasn't I?"
"Water. There's water coming down the corridor. Come on!" Ilsa dashed to Connie's side and pulled her to her feet. "Something is very wrong here."
"But the warden?"
Ilsa chose not to answer. She hadn't seen anyone. That didn't mean there was nobody. But the water… Guerrero had taught her to always weigh her options and prioritize the risks. Water streaming into a cellar meant it would eventually fill up… Holding Connie by the shoulders she pushed the door open completely.
"Where in the world is all the water coming from?", her sister-in-law asked, flabbergasted.
"It sounds like there's some sort of storm going down outside." Ilsa pulled Connie towards the stairs. The water had turned them into a waterfall, making the steps slippery and unsafe. Holding on to the handrail as best as they could, they struggled upwards.
"That noise… is that the wind? What kind of a storm is that?" Connie seemed to have completely forgotten about the possibility of a warden.
Ilsa didn't blame her – the higher they climbed the louder the noises from outside grew… the whole building seemed to be shaking.
"Watch your step!", Ilsa shouted at Connie. "Once we've mastered the stairs we…"
Blackout.
The ceiling lamp had suddenly gone out.
Complete darkness.
A scream from Connie, followed by a massive rumbling sound.