Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"So, what we have are about six hundred missing dollars a month." Chance sat down on a creaking desk chair in the branch office director's room. They were planning to conduct the interviews with the employees right there, with Winston acting as keeper of the minutes and Guerrero present for emphasis. Yes, the idea was to scare the hell out of the people.
Better than having the office permanently taken over by some hot shot foreigner, Chance figured. He didn't have much sympathy for the thief. Whoever it was, he or she was putting all of the Foundation's projects in Haiti at risk. There were a million places in the world where the Marshall Pucci Foundation's money and commitment was needed. Philosophy in the Board right now was that where indigenous people didn't show interest in getting help (and stealing was interpreted as "not being interested") the Foundation had no interest to be present.
Debatable attitude, yes, but charity was one thing, effective organization and successfully executed projects another. In the long run, so the main argument, more good could be done where the afflicted people were willing to do everything in their power to support the Foundation's activities instead of wasting time and energy somewhere where too few people were determined to stand up for the right thing.
Chance was determined to demonstrate to the Board that the people of Haiti didn't belong in the second category. No matter how things would play out here in the field, he would send a report to Connie and her cronies that stated all the branch office's employees had done their best to catch the thief and without their help they would have never succeeded.
A young man entered the room and introduced himself as Jean Jacques Heureaux. Winston apparently had expected him, shook his hand and told him to take a seat, someone would soon provide them with cold Malta to make it through the interview sessions in a more comfortable atmosphere.
Chance gave Winston a questioning look that grew in intensity as he noticed Guerrero stifling a grin. He, too, knew what Mr. Heureaux' presence was about. "Care to explain?"
"Mr. Heureaux is an interpreter. The Foundation uses him quite often and Ilsa and I figured it would probably easier if we conducted the interviews in English and he translated…"
"You are aware of the fact that I speak French?" Chance was not willing to let Winston off the hook that easily.
Guerrero was tremendously enjoying himself.
"Well, uh, Chance…" Winston was visibly squirming. "Look… when you robbed that bank in Geneva… the reason why nobody reacted when you walked in and asked the people to lie down… well it maybe had something to do with a certain… communication problem… It's not so much your lack of vocabulary, it's your pronunciation…"
"Are you seriously telling me my French is not good enough to be used in the field? Well, in 1979 the good people at the Hôtel du Châtelet thought differently when I was assigned with…" Chance stopped himself just in time. "…assigned with doing research on their Ministre du Travail et de la Participation…"
Jean Jacques Heureaux looked up, a clear look of confusion on his face. "France has a secretary especially for neck rolls and particles?"
"Winston has a point, dude", Guerrero said and took a glass of Malta from the tray that the branch office's housekeeper had just brought in.
… … …
Upstairs Ash meanwhile tried very hard to concentrate on his job. But oh my, the heat, the humidity, the long flight…
ACHOO!
The dusty pages made him sneeze.
…the fact that he hated nothing more in the world than paperwork…
Okay, except at the moment probably the goddamn wrist watch Guerrero hat put on him.
Sweat was accumulating underneath it, it was uncomfortably heavy and, most importantly, he just didn't want it. They had put the tracker on him because they didn't trust him. They were convinced he couldn't handle himself. They saw him as a baby that needed constant supervision.
GRRRRRRR.
Ash took one of the bobby pins that he always kept hidden in his clothes and started working on the watch's lock. Of course no easy task, nothing hand-made from Guerrero was ever easy to crack, but Ash had learned a lot since the day his dad had put handcuffs on him in the aftermath of that idiotic car accident.
In addition to finding the lock's weak point, Ash also had to make sure that he didn't destroy it… he needed to be able to put it back on later. If they caught him without it, there'd be hell to pay.
The wrist watch lock opened with a soft click.
Okay, so far so good, but what to do now with his newly found freedom? Maybe he should just bath in the knowledge that he had managed to outstubborn his family.
Ash put the watch next to the heap of files on the desk and opened another folder.
ACHOO!
It was the documentation of reconstruction work done in the branch office's building ground floor.
ACHOO!
They had put in an extra showering facility plus toilet.
ACHOO! … Yawn….
Three different local handymen had been involved in the process.
ACHOO! … Yaaaaaawn…
They had been selected after careful comparison of their various estimates of costs in relation to their experience with sanitary installations and of course their family background had been taken into consideration, too.
ACHOO! … YAAAAAAAWN…
Ash decided it was idiotic going through the trouble of cracking a lock and then not making any use of it. There was a fire escape ladder running right outside the window of the room. He could climb outside, take a bit of a breather and then return to his files.
No harm done.
Leaving the watch behind on the desk, Ash walked over to the window, quietly opened it and sneaked outside. Squinting against the sun he straightened himself, looked around… and found himself face to face with a little boy who just came climbing out of the window of the room right next to the one Ash had been sitting in.
The room where the branch office's safe with the cash was accommodated.