Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: I'm terribly, terribly sorry that the updates are taking me so long right now. Please forgive me… life is a bit complicated right now but well, it's always darkest before dawn. Things will get better.
If you tell someone I told you this, dude, you'll regret it.
The professor's death had left them all in utter disbelief.
I won't… I'm rather fond of my knee caps.
They hadn't seen it coming. They just hadn't seen it coming.
Don't look at the eyes.
The attack had come out of nowhere. They had gotten out of the jet. Customs and border control had required that they made a short trip from the runway to the airport's main building. That's where it happened… a sniper attack, long distance rifle, most likely from somewhere by the private hangars.
The professor jerked from the impact when the bullet hit his cerebral cortex. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
No chance in hell they could have prevented that.
But still….
Seriously, that's your advice?
What dude, too complicated for you?
It's just…big bad Guerrero doesn't look at the eyes? Doesn't sound like you.
What would sound like me then, Junior?
"Always use iron weights to keep a body down… custom-made bullets are great as long as they don't find the molds in your possession… no private information at any time…" It's what you taught Baptiste.
Take the advice or not, dude. It's cool with me.
Chance didn't look at the professor's eyes. He was feeling bad enough already.
"We've got to get that bastard."
None of the team disagreed.
In the distance sirens were wailing.
… … …
Chance, of course, had to slip away before the police arrived. No questioning for him, thanks.
Ilsa had made arrangements for rooms in her favorite London hotel and he could have gotten a cab or taken the train, but he felt like walking. Yes, the whole twenty miles from Heathrow to London. He didn't care it would take him all night.
Not looking at the eyes or not, a man had just died on his watch. A nice, polite, educated elderly man whose passion for knowledge and teaching had shone through his whole persona. Heavens, he had managed to get Ames interested in taxes, of all things…
Granted, technically Professor Alexiou hadn't been his client. But still, he had been with him, in his company… it wasn't right, NOT RIGHT AT ALL that somebody could get killed right under his nose just like that.
Chance kicked an empty garbage can on the sidewalk, sent it rolling down the street.
GODDAMN IT!
First the banker dying off despite all their efforts, now the professor…
Chance started running. No warming phase from cold to hot, no limbering up – he just dashed off, raced forward, ran, ran, ran….
The pavement was uneven, he threatened to stumble a couple of times.
Somewhere in the back of his mind the memory of Philippa was taking shape. Philippa, whom he hadn't been able to save either.
He always made a point of wearing shoes that allowed short sprints, but even the most functional ones were just not up to dealing with a longer run on a concrete sidewalk for long. First his ankles started hurting, then his knees.
Ruining his joints was not a good idea in his line of work. He needed to be careful… or even more people would die. Wishing he'd feel more exhausted, more, yes, punished, Chance stopped. He still felt nauseous, but at least the cool air of the falling night helped to clear his head. He needed to get to the hotel, do some research on the internet – damn, he missed Guerrero – and confer with the others. Together they'd…
Chance froze.
It was almost dark now and the narrow alley he had ended up in wasn't exactly Oxford Street. Chance was not surprised he wasn't alone. Like boars and other potentially damn dangerous animals that live in wild environments, muggers come out at dusk. Chance expected low but treacherous noises, barely perceptible movements on the periphery of his vision, the presence of someone waiting in the shadows with bated breath.
What he didn't expect was what sounded like an old fashioned locomotive. Someone was gasping, really GASPING for air, stumbling against garbage cans and lampposts with unpracticed legs weak from running.
"Hey, everything okay?", Chance asked the shadowy, slightly balloony figure.
Silence. Shocked, stunned, silence.
Finally, way too late to sound in any way unobtrusive: "Yeah, yeah -gasp- I'm fine -gasp- just some… asthma -gasp- attack. Don't -gasp- worry -gasp- it'll -gasp- pass!"
Chance almost broke into a chuckle. "So you're not out of breath because you followed me to mug me and aren't used to running?"
More shocked, stunned silence. Then: "Nooooo. Me? Mugging someone? Naaaaah. Absolutely not. No sir. No. I'm just a pedestrian, taking a stroll, that's all."
He made a deep, wheezing intake of breath.
Okay, now, dead professor and all, that was funny.
Chance walked towards his pursuer. The man saw him approach, turned around, started running while still struggling for air, tripped over some garbage on the ground, toppled over, stumbled against a streetlamp and would have crashed to the ground like a ton of bricks , had Chance not caught him just in time.
Damn, the guy was heavy. He wore a beard that was probably going to look like the professor's one day. At the moment, however, it was mostly downy with bristles on end and hiding lots of pimples.
"Before you hurt yourself…." Chance slowly lowered him to the ground.
Just then the wobbly guy snorted like a walrus, unexpectedly grabbed Chance's arm, dove forward and apparently tried to tackle him off his feet. A little like Emma Barnes back in Washington, prior to Operation Olive Branch, just minus the agility, the speed and the black bra with the little lacey thing.
Jeez, it seemed like a lifetime ago. According to Guerrero, Emma had given birth to a healthy baby girl called Angel. Chance briefly, very briefly wondered how she was dealing with her new role as a mother.
And he made wobbly guy crash to the ground like a ton of bricks after all.
"Okay buddy, care to explain what the hell you're up to?"