Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Pucci, I truly appreciate your concern, but trust me, I'm in direct contact with the chief of police and all relevant personnel on the spot…" Beads of sweat appeared on the mayor's forehead. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

"It is incredibly touching that you show such deep concern about those unfortunate citizens of San Francisco that became hostages during the ill-fated robbery this morning…" He listened intently for a moment, then took a deep breath, apparently trying to build up enough strength to sound commanding and mayor-like.

"I am terribly sorry Mrs. Pucci, but at this point I cannot give any definite explanation why police cars with sirens and flashing lights were sent to the building. Discussing possible alternatives to the strategy that was chosen by SFPD officials should wait until the situation is actually over and all hostages are back home safe and sound, wouldn't you agree?" The mayor tried to inhale deeply, but the very insisting British accented voice on the other end of the line stopped him half-way through. "It appears that that particular strategy turned the robbery into a hostage taking, yes…", he conceded. Immediately afterwards he was forced to hold the receiver a little away from his ear. It took him a while until he could continue.

"I am convinced, though, that the officers made a conscious decision on the grounds of a very well thought out plan that puts the welfare of the hostages first." He had to remove the receiver even farther from his ear. New beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"By no means, Mrs. Pucci, can I share details of an ongoing police operation with you." In the back of his mind the mayor wondered what would happen if he suffered a heart attack, right here, right now. They'd have to reanimate him, call an ambulance for him, sent him to the ER. He'd probably have to undergo surgery the same day and later would spend a couple of days, maybe a week in intensive care. His life would be at risk and afterwards he'd have to adhere to strict rules regarding eating, sportive activities, alcohol, tobacco etc. for the rest of his life.

Given the overall situation, with that British she-devil coming down on him hard on top of everything else, a very tempting alternative…

"As much as I value your generous offer, Mrs. Pucci, at this point I really don't see any need to involve an FBI team specializing in hostage negotiation. I'm also very impressed by your contacts to the Pentagon, but no, you don't need to fly in an anti-terrorist unit either."

Muttering nonsense about an upcoming meeting with the chief of police regarding the situation, he quickly hung up, cutting Ilsa off mid-sentence, ruing the day he had given her his direct dial number.

"Ilsa Pucci, world-famous billionaire and philanthropist has a vital interest that my little demonstration ends well for the lab rats? Interesting…" The coarse man lounging in the mayor's visitor's chair lazily checked his smartphone. "And apparently she's not the only one… "

He raised an eyebrow, reread the information on the screen, pondered the issue for a moment and then contacted Walter. "Small change of plans", he said. "Search the lockers in the vault. Check if you find anything interesting."

He cut the connection and turned his attention to the mayor again.

"So, did you make up your mind in the meantime?", he asked, smirking.

… … …

"Chance, sit down." Winston's voice was just as tense as the overall atmosphere on the plane. "The jet won't fly any faster, no matter how much you pace it up and down."

Guerrero put a hand on Winston's arm and basically shushed him. "Dude's got nothing to do. Pacing is the only thing that keeps him from losing his mind." Then he returned his attention to the person on the other end of the line again. "Have you tried the Romanian Rat? Yank his gold chain a little. He doesn't cave easily, but he usually knows what's going on in his district… Yeah, that's cool with me. If things go wrong I'll take care of the body."

Ilsa, busy with activating (read: bribing) a couple of contacts of her own, decided better not to listen too closely.

Right after Chance had put down the phone and started pacing, Winston had called a couple of his police buddies and made sure they'd keep them in the loop regarding any new developments inside and outside the bank. He had also sent messages to pretty much everyone who owed them a favor. If there was even the remotest chance that someone could help, he was notified.

Of course Ames had put out feelers to old acquaintances, too. Someone had to know something about the identity of the robbers. So far they'd come up with nothing, but the day was still young. Guerrero was just in the process of giving someone instructions regarding certain parameters when using a car battery.

"What about eyes in the bank?", Chance asked Winston, still pacing. He hadn't even heard his friend trying to convince him to sit down.

Winston shook his head. "Robbers disabled the cameras."

Chance cursed. "Shot them?"

"No, deactivated them."

"That's not a normal grab-and-run-thing." Chance started pacing faster.

Guerrero looked up from the display of his notebook and covered the satellite phone receiver for a moment. Danger of getting hacked or not, he had set up an inflight internet connection, otherwise it would have been impossible to keep an ear to the ground. "We're not the only ones asking questions", he remarked, frowning, then continued explaining the interdependency between sweat and electricity to the person on the other end of the line.

Oh how he hated having to rely on assistants. And what an idiotic timing for the Plumber to be on vacation.

… … …

In the meantime Innokentij had already crossed the delicate line between "painful" and "deadly" electric shocks, but not before forcing the one piece of information from the unfortunate snitch that he had wanted so badly, he would have even been willing to pay for it, had there been no other way: The name of the person behind the robbery.

Well, now he knew it.

And it made him sick to his stomach.

Brax.

Of all people.

B. Brax.