Human Target Fic : Cargo (Part 3 of 3)
Title: Cargo (Part 3 of 3)
Author: Tree979
Summary: Case Fic. A blast from the past washes up in San Francisco with a job for the team. Ames may have found herself a new role model despite the new arrival's bad first impression
Fandom: Human Target
Characters: Chance, Guerrero, Winston, Ilsa, Ames
Warnings: Some strong language
Genre: General
Permission to archive to WWOMB: Yes
Acknowledgments/Notes: Originally posted on ff.net
Disclaimer. Human Target does not belong to me. no money made in this
-13-
"You're kidding right?" Colgrove said when Guerrero told him to get into the back of the laundry service van. "Isn't this just an 80's action movie cliché?"
Guerrero gave him an impatient look over the top of his glasses. "You don't mess with the classics, dude. Get your ass in the van."
Once the three of them were in the back of the van, and the driver had carefully rearranged the bales of fresh sheets and the sacks of dirty laundry to conceal them, he slammed the door shut. It was dark, hot and airless in the back of the van and Ilsa yet again found herself wondering if there wasn't an easier way to get inside Bala Perdida's residence without alerting Santiago's assassin to their presence. Although, she had to admit that it was unlikely that Guerrero would have been able to walk through the front door with the sniper rifle he insisted on bring with him.
Ilsa fought the rising waves of claustrophobia as the van made its way to the mansion in the hills. Finally the van lurched to a halt as they seemed to have reached some kind of checkpoint. Ilsa's heart was racing as she reminded herself that Guerrero had warned them that the van would be stopped, and a cursory check of its contents would be performed, but that the driver would handle it. All they had to do was hold still and keep quiet. The doors at the back of the van swung open and she held her breath and prayed that Colgrove didn't panic and reveal their hiding places. Ilsa could hear the muffled sound of voices and what sounded like laughter, but she couldn't make out what was said, or even how many people there were. After a couple of agonising minutes the doors slammed shut, the engine leapt back to life and the van pulled away.
They were in.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Winston asked.
"Yes! I'm sure!" Ames snapped. She knew Winston was only trying to give her one last chance to back out, but this was the fifth time in the last hour he'd asked.
"Quit asking her that!" Pen siad. "Are you trying to psyche her out?"
"He's not psyching me out!" Ames said. "I'm just sick of answering the same question over and over!"
"I think at this point you have to accept it's too late to talk her out of this, Winston," Chance said.
They were parked up at the marina in the surveillance van, and the exchange was now only an hour away. Winston grunted, obviously still unconvinced at the wisdom of sending in Ames to tackle the men on the Indie alone. He produced the box containing the team's earwigs and handed them out to Chance, Ames and Pen before giving Ames the box containing the extra one she was supposed to pass to Johno or Sam.
"Are you sure you're clear on how you're going to disable the guns?" Chance asked.
"You're as bad as Winston! Yes, I know what to do!" Ames said, rolling her eyes.
"Humour me," Chance said. "What are your options?"
Ames gave Chance an exasperated look and recited her answer in a bored tone.
"The three main ways to disable a firearm are: number one, remove the ammunition; number two, remove the firing pin; number three, make the gun jam."
"Don't you think the bad guys are going to notice the difference in weight if you remove their ammo? And how the hell do you think you are going to find the time or opportunity to remove the god-damn firing pins?" Winston demanded.
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" Ames replied, her expression wide-eyed and vacant looking.
"Stop messing with him, Ames!" Pen said, laughing. "Show him what I gave you!"
Ames grinned and held out her hand.
"What are those?" Chance asked, taking one of the bullets from Ames' hand and examining it. "Blanks?"
Pen shook her head. "Nope. Something better. Ames is going for option number three: jamming the guns. Johno made them. I'm not sure how they work exactly but Johno calls them Marley rounds."
"Marley rounds?" Winston asked.
Ames laughed, "You know, as in Bob Marley? Because they're always jamming!"
"These are some prototypes I was planning on showing Guerrero before things went pear-shaped," Pen explained.
"Are they safe?" Winston demanded. "Have you even tested them?"
Pen shrugged. "Johno has. Using one of these will fuck up any handgun you stick it in but there's minimal risk to bystanders, or even the person pulling the trigger. All Ames has to do is make sure one of these is slipped in the chamber instead of a live round. Problem solved."
Chance grinned and handed the Marley round back to Ames.
"If you had these all along, why didn't you tell us?" Winston growled.
"Blame Ames," Pen grinned. "She thought it would be more fun to make you sweat!"
Winston looked about ready to explode.
"It's nearly dark," Chance said, before Winston had time to launch into an angry rant about what Ames was doing to his blood pressure. "You two had better get moving if Pen is going to make back here for the exchange in time."
Ames and Pen climbed out of the van and left Chance to deal with a still fuming Winston.
"Did you know about this?" Winston asked.
"No, but I guessed Pen had something up her sleeve. She wouldn't have backed the idea if she hadn't."
Winston's cell phone rang, effectively preventing him from giving Chance a piece of his mind. He picked it up and when he saw Guerrero name flashing on the screen he jabbed it angrily with his finger to answer the call.
"What?" he barked into the handset.
"We're in," Guerrero said, ignoring Winston's bad tempered tone. "You got eyes on them yet?"
"No sign of Santiago yet," Winston replied. He was till too annoyed to even notice the strangely muffled quality in Guerrero's voice. "Pen and Ames are on their way to intercept the Indie. Hey, did you know about the Marley rounds?"
"Of course, dude."
Guerrero hung up before Winston had a chance to say anything else, so he just glared at the cell phone. Chance laughed and Winston held up one cautioning finger.
"Just don't even…" he spluttered. "Just don't!"
Chance made a zipping motion across his lips and tried to stop laughing.
When the doors of the laundry van opened again Guerrero shoved his way out from underneath the laundry and helped Ilsa climb out. He made no such effort to assist Colgrove, and Ilsa wondered if he was still baring a grudge against their client for trying to stab him back on Pen's boat. Colgrove managed to wriggle his way out of the van and landed in a heap at Ilsa's feet. She helped him up but any sympathy she may have had for him soon evaporated when he looked up, took in their surroundings and pushed her in front of him as if he were using her as a human shield.
Ilsa wasn't surprised to find that the van was parked in a spacious garage away from prying eys, but she was alarmed by the presence of a muscular man in his thirties. He was well-dressed but visibly armed with a walkie-talkie in his hand. She tried to take comfort from the fact that he wasn't making a move to draw his gun from the shoulder holster that he wore over his Armani shirt, and also that Guerrero's confident attitude led her to believe that he had been expecting to see him. She held her head up and looked him squarely in the eye as she tried to ignore Colgrove cowering behind her.
"All clear," the man barked into his radio. "Driver is bringing up the linen now."
"Mrs P, this is Miguel's brother Eduardo. He's also his head of security."
Eduardo gave a polite nod, which Ilsa returned, secretly relieved that she didn't have to shake his hand. She was used to putting on a brave front and rubbing shoulders with people from all works of life, due to her work with the Marshall Pucci Foundation, but she wanted as little as possible to do with Bala Perdida or his men. Ilsa wondered if that was why Guerrero chose not to use her full name. The last thing she needed was to be held to ransom by a drug kingpin!
"We need to get to the roof," Guerrero said.
Eduardo nodded but looked a bit uncomfortable with the idea. "I'm not convinced that this is the best course of action, Guerrero. If you are right about the planned attempt on my brother's life, your plan still leaves him at considerable risk."
"It's your job to keep him safe, dude, not mine," Guerrero said. "But if you want to find out who in your organisation ordered the hit, you're going to have to do this my way."
"It seems that I have no choice in the matter," he said. Ilsa's heart skipped a beat when he reached for his pocket, but he was simply retrieving a smart phone, not a weapon. "Here. It's tapped in to the security feed of Miguel's office, as you requested."
Guerrero glanced at the phone before handing it to Ilsa. She looked down and saw the image of a spacious, stylishly furnished office. The angle of the camera gave an excellent view of the desk although there wasn't anyone currently seated at it.
"Let's go," Guerrero said.
-14-
Chance was wrong, Ames thought, you should never underestimate the power of a short skirt and a winning smile!
Pen had guided her to the best position to greet all the incoming boats, and Ames was watching the progress of the Indie as it slowly made its way through the marina. She was wearing an incredibly short skirt and a tank top that left a bare strip of flesh across her midriff. It was chilly, as the wind swept straight off the ocean, but her skimpy outfit was all part of the plan. She pulled her pashmina a little tighter around her shoulders, and fished a handful of fliers out of the oversize beach bag that hung from her shoulder.
"Hi there!" Ames beamed, as another boat full of tourists passed her slowly. "I see you guys have been having fun! Why not keep the party going at Bar Evissa? It's two-for-one on cocktails with this flier and we have a great DJ in tonight for you guys!"
Ames' sales patter met with mixed responses. Sometimes the crew would shoo her away from the boat with threats of reporting her to the harbour master, but other boats, usually those with young male passengers on board, greeted her with whoops and catcalls and grabbed at the fliers and yelled at her to climb aboard. Ames only made that mistake once, when the Indie was still a way off, thinking that if she hopped on and off a few other boats first, it wouldn't seem as conspicuous when she climbed aboard the Indie. Big mistake. The passengers on board were all men in their early twenties and the smell of stale beer hit her just a second too late. They were all very taken with her skimpy outfit, and she had had to endure several minutes of fighting off wandering hands before she'd managed to squirm free and jump back onto the walkway.
Undeterred, she launched back into her sales pitch for the benefit of the next boat, ignoring the taunts being shouted at her by the passengers of the boat she'd just escaped. As jumping on and off the boats wasn't really a viable option, she'd have to modify her plan slightly to get on board the Indie. Until then she just continued grinning and handing out fliers.
Ames was beginning to worry that her fingers were so cold that she'd have trouble lifting the guns and slipping the Marley rounds in, but eventually the Indie drew level with her.
"Hi there!" Ames called with renewed enthusiasm, leaning a little too far to hand the flier to the men watching her with interest from what she thought of as "the pointy end" of the boat. She 'tripped' over the railing along the side of the Indie and the men had no choice but to catch her as she fell towards them in a flurry of leaflets, beach bag and pashmina. She lifted the first guy's gun as she crashed into him, letting the wind catch her pashmina so that neither man could see her hands as she swapped out a live round for a Marley one. She replaced the gun as the men helped her to her feet.
"Are you okay miss?" The other man asked. He seemed to think Ames' ass was an appropriate place to support her with his hand.
"Oh my god! I am such a klutz!" Ames said, trying to ignore the way the guy's hand was making her flesh creep. She tried to stand on her own but squealed and grabbed hold of him, feigning a twisted ankle. "Ow! My ankle!" Using the oversized beach bag to shield her hands from both the men, she leaned heavily on her second target and managed to swap out the bullet in his gun too.
Two down, one to go.
"What's going on?" the third man called, leaning out from the wheelhouse. "Get her off the damn boat!"
Ames decided that now was probably the time to start crying. "I'm going to get fired, I know it!" she wailed. "I've dropped all my fliers and now I can't even stand up! I've been freezing my ass off in this stupid marina for hours and it's all for nothing! I need this job and now they're probably not even going to pay me!"
Ames knew that most men tended to go to pieces at the sight of a woman crying, and she was relieved to find that Santiago's men were no exception. The added pressure of trying to keep a low profile whilst they had two hostages on board a stolen boat definitely worked in her favour too.
"She can't walk! She's busted her ankle!" the man Ames was clinging to called out.
The man in the wheelhouse swore as he realised that Ames' heart-breaking sobs were beginning to attract attention.
"Okay," he called out, with a distinctly insincere smile. "Bring her in here out of the cold. We'd better take care of our little stow-away."
The two men lifted Ames up and carried her inside the wheelhouse, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at her plan working so smoothly.
Getting her hands on the third man's gun was going to be a lot harder though. Santiago's men dumped her in a seat behind what she assumed was some kind of navigation console, and the third man, who Ames took to be the guy in charge, was steering the boat through the marina from another console about five feet away. His gun wasn't holstered like the other guys' weapons were; it sat in front of him is plain sight on top of the console itself. Ames' heart sank as she realised that it was highly unlikely that she would be able to complete this part of her mission. Still, she had to try, and with a bit of luck if they caught her doing something suspicious she would be taken bellow deck to be held hostage with Pen's crew, and she would at least be able to slip one of them the spare earpiece.
The Indie was making steady progress through the maze of the marina and Ames guessed that they were maybe five or ten minutes away from the rendez-vous. It was now or never.
Ames got unsteadily to her feet, taking care to preserve the illusion of a twisted ankle, and lurched towards the man steering the Indie.
"Oh my god, you have like totally saved my life!" she gushed, throwing her arms around him. She was still carrying her over-size bag, and used it to knock the man's gun to the floor. "Ooops! Did I drop something?"
"Get the fuck off me!" the man snarled, shoving her away.
Ames had hoped to be able to pick up the gun from the floor and make the switch in the process, but the man was too fast for her and grabbed her wrist as she reached for it.
"Huh! Why am I not surprised?" the man grunted. Ames tried to get back into character as the air-head bar promoter, crying and apologising, but Santiago's man just hit her across the face with a back-handed blow that sent her crashing to the floor. He looked around warily, checking to see whether anyone had seen him hit her, but the concerned citizens who had taken such an interest in the girl sobbing over the loss of her fliers had since moved on. Satisfied that he was in the clear, he called his colleagues into the wheelhouse and gave them instructions to take the girl below deck and tie her up, out of the way.
"I still don't quite understand your plan, Guerrero," Ilsa said. "I thought we came here to warn Bala Perdida."
"He needs to know that the threat is real," Guerrero explained, adjusting the sight on his sniper rifle. "If he doesn't believe that his life is in danger, he won't be willing to accept that one of his men is plotting against him."
"So you're going to let the assassin take a shot at him?"
"Yes. As along as Eduardo does his job, Bala Perdida should be fine."
"But…"
"Bala Pedida is a creature of habit," Guerrero interrupted impatiently. "He is usually in his office at this time of the evening. The easiest way to get a target into position for this type of hit is with a phone call. At nine pm the phone on his desk will ring and the sniper will have him exactly where he wants him. We have the advantage of knowing exactly when the hit is supposed to take place, so it's Eduardo's job to let him answer the phone and get him to hit the deck before the shot is fired."
"That sound awfully risky, Guerrero!" Ilsa said. Colgrove didn't look much happier about it either.
"It can't be helped. As long as Eduardo is as loyal as my intel says he is, it should be fine."
"Why don't you just shoot the sniper first?" Colgrove asked. "I mean, that's what you've got your gun for, right?"
"I won't know where he is until he takes the shot. My job is to make sure he doesn't fire a second time."
"He's just walked into his office with Eduardo!" Ilsa said.
"Good. Now shut up."
Ilsa and Colgrove watched the tiny figures on the smart phone's screen, and sure enough, at nine pm precisely the phone rang and Bala Perdida went to answer it.
Ilsa held her breath as he picked up the handset and brought it up to put it against his ear. Eduardo's timing was perfect, he launched himself at Bala Perdida just as the phone reached his ear, knocking them both to the floor behind the desk. Almost simultaneously, the wall behind where Bala Perdida had been standing a split second before exploded in a shower of dust and plaster.
"Gotcha," Guerrero muttered, before squeezing off a shot. He watched his target through the scope for a moment, until he was apparently satisfied that he had hit the mark.
"How did you know…?" Ilsa started to ask.
"Muzzle flash," Guerrero replied. He got out his cellphone and placed a call. "Hey dude. That was a warning shot. Call it a professional courtesy, from one pro to another. You try and take another shot though, and you won't ever need to wear a hat again. If you want to make things right with Bala Perdida, I suggest you confirm the hit with your client and meet me at Tony's in two hours."
Ilsa caught the muffled sound of someone cursing on the other end of the line before Guerrero hung up.
-15-
Ames let her body go completely limp as they carried her down the steep stairs that led bellow deck. They took her bag, as she thought they would, but they didn't bother searching her before tying her up. They must have assumed that her skimpy outfit wasn't substantial enough to hide a weapon, so they missed the bullets she'd taken from their guns and the last Marley round. The spare earpiece was safely tucked out of sight too, in the lining of her bra.
She moaned and squirmed a little as they tied her up, taking care to angle her wrists to ensure a little extra slack in the rope in the way Pen had taught her during her lesson on the roof. She quickly decided that the moaning perhaps wasn't such a great idea, as one of the men stuffed a filthy rag in her mouth to keep her quiet.
Ames was relieved to find that she'd timed things almost perfectly. The creepy guy who'd grabbed her ass when she had faked twisting her ankle only had time to give her a lecherous look before his companion dragged him back up on deck. If she'd have stepped onto the Indie any earlier, he might have had time to do more than just give her a pervy look. She shuddered at the thought before looking around to take in her surroundings.
They'd tied her up and dumped her in what must be the engine room, but there was no sign of Pen's crew. It didn't take her long to work her wrists free from the rope binding them, and after she had removed the disgusting rag from her mouth, she soon had her legs free too. She decided to head towards the back of the boat, as she knew the stairs at the front led straight back to the wheelhouse, and when she reached a doorway that led to the crew's sleeping area, she knew she'd made the right choice. Two of the beds were occupied by men she took to be Pen's crew.
The men were bound at the wrists and ankles, much the same way she had been, but with the addition of handcuffs chaining them to the footholds sticking out from the wall that served as a ladder to climb onto the top bunk. Ames could tell which one was Johno right away. His left hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked towel and his skin had a grey pallor that spoke of recent blood loss. The man on the top bunk didn't look much brighter either. One eye was swollen shut and the rest of his face was covered in bruises and abrasions. Despite his wan appearance and obvious injury, Johno definitely seemed the more alert of the two men, so she decided to give the spare earpiece to him.
She knelt down beside the bunk and began working the knots free. She decided to leave his gag in place until she'd had a chance to explain the situation.
"Pen sent me…" she said.
Winston's suspicions about the nature of Pen's relationship with Johno were confirmed as soon as they heard his voice over the comms link.
"Hey skipper. You took your own sweet time…"
Pen's face lit up with a broad grin as she let out an excited whoop, and punched the air so hard that the surveillance van rocked. "You're lucky I came for you at all, you moron!"
"Yeah, well you can spank me later, hon. First we have to get these shit-for-brains fuck-tards off of your bloody tub!"
Chance smiled at Pen's exuberant response, but Winston was more concerned about being able to keep a low profile in a van that was bouncing around like a newlywed's mattress. He started to tell Pen to keep it down, but Chance put a restraining hand on his arm. "Just let her have this."
Pen soon settled down on her own, once the initial relief subsided and she remembered that they still had a job to do.
"Ames, did you swap the Marley rounds in?" Winston asked.
"I could only get to two of the guns," Ames said. "I'm sorry but the guy steering the boat still has live rounds."
Winston grunted and shook his head, obviously unsurprised that Ames had failed to complete the task.
"Don't worry kiddo," Pen said. "You did great." She gave Chance a meaningful nudge.
"Taking two of them out of commission is still good," Chance said. "That will definitely work to our advantage."
Pen nodded, satisfied that Chance had taken the hint and given Ames some words of praise, even if they were a bit wooden.
"Just stay out of sight," Chance said, "and don't move unless you hear from me, okay?"
"Okay."
"Heads up! I've got eyes on Santiago!" Winston said. "Looks like he's brought some muscle with him. Two goons, plus the driver. I think it's safe to assume they're all packing. Looks like the driver is staying with the car."
"And they're tying off the Indie now. Or at least trying to. Fucking amateurs," Pen muttered, watching on one of the monitors as the men fumbled with the rope, trying to loop it round a mooring.
"Good, then everything is going according to schedule," Chance said, checking his gun and tucking it out of sight beneath his leather jacket.
Winston groaned. "You just had to say it, didn't you? You know that's a sure-fire guarantee that something's going to go wrong now…"
"Oh, grow a pair Winnie," Pen grinned. "This is the fun part!"
"You definitely spent your formative years in the company of the wrong people, Pen," Winston said, shaking his head.
Pen jumped out of the back of the van and cut across the parking lot towards the marina. Guerrero's Eldo was parked up in a distant corner, by the dumpsters at the back of a bar that faced the edge of the marina. Chance had managed to get Guerrero's reluctant permission to use his car, arguing that it was less likely to arouse suspicion than any of the other vehicles at their disposal. Pen got the impression that there had been some kind of deal struck between them to secure Guerrero's permission. He was unlikely to let them use it without there being some kind of strings attached, and whatever he'd managed to get Chance to agree to, Chance really wasn't happy about it.
"We all set?" Pen asked, as she rounded the corner of the storage building at the edge of the marina, her stomach doing back flips as she caught sight of the Indigo Bell.
"I'm in position," Chance said, sounding a little out of breath. Pen knew better than to turn around and check that he was really behind her, hiding in the shadows beside the ticket booth of a sightseeing cruise company. If Chance said he was in position, she knew he would be.
"Yeah, I'm ready," Winston said. "And may I just take this opportunity to say I still don't see why I couldn't hide in the bar!"
Chance laughed. "It's the shotgun, Winston. I think the customers might just notice it."
Pen tuned out Winston's grumbled response and tried to focus on the job in hand. The note had said to be at the marina at nine so, lacking any more specific directions, Pen headed straight for the Indigo Bell. She was about twenty feet away when she felt a gun pressed against her back. She didn't bother turning to look at who was holding a gun to her. Two men stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the Indie. Pen gave a humourless little grunt of a laugh at the fact that they thought she was stupid enough just to climb aboard the Indie when three of his men were clearly still aboard, watching her from the wheelhouse.
"So you would be the Miss Penelope Redfield I've been hearing so much about," the shorter of the two men said. He was wearing an expensively tailored suit over a pale grey t-shirt. It was a look that Pen was familiar with. It was popular with a certain kind of criminal who wanted to advertise their wealth without sacrificing comfort and practicality by wearing a button-down shirt and tie. The other, taller man was aiming for a similar look, but his suit obviously wasn't custom made or specifically tailored to fit his bulky frame, which undermined the effect somewhat.
"It's Captain Redfield to you, Mr Santiago," Pen said to the shorter man. She decided to let the Penelope slide. It wasn't as if she was planning on being on first name terms with the guy anyway.
"Ah, but to be a captain, surely you need a boat," Santiago replied.
"The sooner you quit yapping, the sooner you get Colgrove and I get my boat back," she said.
"Ah, I had been warned about your… candour ," Santiago said in a tone that left no doubt as to how distasteful he found her attitude. "I trust that you came alone?"
"I'm alone. Are my crew alive?"
"Yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to take my word on that," Santiago said with a greasy smile that made Pen's hands itch to hit him. "You see, they aren't exactly what I'd call presentable at the moment. Their appearance might be cause for concern amongst the good patrons of the marina. I'm sure you understand."
"So you want me to hand Colgrove over without any proof of life?"
"Why is she pushing this, Chance? I've untied Johno and Sam! If they come down here to check…"
"Don't worry, Ames," Chance replied. "Pen knows what she'd doing. Just sit tight."
"Consider the lives of your crew as a bonus. We both know your main concern is the safe return of the Indigo Bell, and as you can see, I am definitely in possession of that! If you give me Colgrove, the boat is yours, along with the crew. But if you keep me waiting, your crew will be killed. If you are not here alone, your crew will be killed. If I even get the slightest hint of you trying anything stupid, your crew will be killed. If you fail to deliver Colgrove, not only will I kill your crew, I will return the Indigo Bell to you in pieces no larger than matchsticks, is that clear?"
"Crystal," Pen said. "Now if you want Colgrove, I suggest you get the help to quit poking me withhis gun and put it away before I holster it for him, somewhere permanent and uncomfortable."
Santiago nodded to the man standing behind Pen, who discreetly holstered his weapon.
"Follow me," Pen said, leading them into the bar.
-16-
Eduardo escorted Guerrero, Ilsa and Colgrove from the roof to Bala Perdida's office, and given how jumpy his men were in the aftermath of an attempted assassination, Ilsa was relieved to have him there to vouch for them. Bala Perdida had his back to them as they walked in, so Eduardo discreetly cleared his throat and he turned to greet them.
"El Guerrero! Eduardo tells me I have you to thank for saving my life this evening. I consider myself very fortunate. If it had been your services my enemies had employed, I have no doubt that I would not have survived the evening."
Guerrero nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "Actually I just go by the name Guerrero. You can drop the 'El' part."
"Ah, but we all know that you are the Guerrero, the one and only! But as you wish. I am in your debt."
"I'm not really the person you need to thank, Miguel," Guerrero said, apparently at ease enough with Bala Perdida to use his Christian name. "My client is the one who told me one of your men had taken out a contract on your life."
"And who is this client?" he asked.
"Ed Colgrove. His father was one of your importers until he was jailed a few years ago," Guerrero explained. "Ed took over the business. When he decided he wanted out, one of your men went after him. Colgrove approached my associates for protection, and when I realised the value of the information he had, we came here to strike a deal."
Bala Perdida looked pensive for a moment. "Colgrove. I remember this name. Was it not to dispose of a man by the name of Colgrove that Joubert loaned you to me, some years ago?"
"That was my brother, Greg," Colgrove said stepping forward. Ilsa held her breath, hoping that he wouldn't do anything stupid.
"So you dare come here, in the company of El Guerrero, the very man who executed your brother's death sentence, to bargain for your life?" Bala Pedida asked. "You are either very courageous or you are a fool. I have not yet decided which."
"I believe Mr Colgrove is most definitely the later," Ilsa said, before Colgrove had a chance to speak. "And if you wish to know who is behind the plot to kill you, it would serve you well to remember that he came here to save your life."
"And who might you be?" he asked, giving Ilsa a long, appreciative look.
"This is Mrs Ilsa Pucci. My employer," Guerrero said with only a slight tightening of his expression that only those who knew him well would be able to interpret as discomfort.
Bala Perdida raised his eyebrows in surprise. He obviously recognised her name. "What exalted company you keep, Mr Colgrove. I think perhaps you are not a fool at all. So, enlighten me. Who is responsible for the attempt on my life this evening?"
"Santiago," Guerrero said.
Bala Perdida's expression darkened. "That is a serious accusation, Guerrero."
"Which is why I personally verified it."
Bala Perdida let out a deep sigh. "I am not overly surprised," he said. "Santiago is a man of ambition. Very well, Colgrove, I acknowledge I am in your debt. You are free to do as you wish with your business. If you continue to work for me, you will be well rewarded financially, but if you chose to walk away, you have my personal guarantee that you will do so safely and without repercussions. Santiago will not be so fortunate."
"About that. I have a suggestion for you," Guerrero said, taking him aside.
As soon as they stepped inside the entrance to the bar, Santiago's men gave Pen a thorough pat down, checking for weapons. Pen grit her teeth and let them get on with it. Santiago's cell bleeped with a text message alert, and when he read it he smiled with a look of satisfaction for a moment before assuming a more neutral expression. Once his men had confirmed she was unarmed, Santiago nodded, and they stepped back allowing her to open the inner door that led to the bar itself. The venue was quite busy, but Pen had no trouble elbowing her way through the throng of customers, followed by Santiago and his men, who were a little over-dressed for the nautically themed tourist bar.
She led them to the fire exit at the back and out into the parking lot, where Guerrero's Eldo was parked.
"Well?" Santiago asked.
Pen popped the trunk open to reveal a struggling figure with a coarse fabric bag pulled over his head. Brad the delivery guy was of a similar height and build to Colgrove, so as long as Santiago didn't remove the hood, he was a reasonably convincing double, dressed in Colgrove's clothes.
Unfortunately, the first thing Santiago did was remove the hood.
Santiago shook his head. "You really thought I wouldn't check?"
Pen shrugged. "I'm an optimist."
Santiago nodded to one of his companions, who drew a gun and a silencer. He calmly screwed the silencer into place and shot Brad twice in the chest as Santiago dialled a number on his cell. When the call connected, he looked Pen in the eye and spoke in a flat, slightly bored tone, "Execute the crew and blow the boat."
After Pen took Santiago and his men into the bar, Chance stepped out of the shadows and tagged on to a group of people who were making their way to a boat decorated with lanterns at a mooring a just past the Indie. From the loud music playing over the boat's PA system, and the way the passengers were dressed, Chance guessed that the boat was scheduled to take them out on a party cruise. The noise and general bustle as the party got going meant that Chance was able to sneak aboard the Indie with relative ease, as the bright lights of the party diminished the men's night vision. He stayed low and found a suitable vantage point to hide where he still got a clear view of the wheelhouse and the men inside.
When Chance saw one of the men on the Indie take a call, he knew it was time to act. As only one of the men was carrying a functioning firearm, and there were still quite a few people milling around the marina, Chance decided that he wouldn't draw his own gun unless absolutely necessary. Fortunately the guy who took the call was the one Ames had pointed out as having the only live ammunition, and he sent the other two men bellow deck to deal with the hostages. Knowing that Santiago's men wouldn't be able to just execute Ames, and Pen's crew with a shot to the head was of some comfort. It would buy him a little time to deal with the man still in the wheelhouse, but he would still have to be quick. The crew weren't likely to be in any shape to fight, and Ames wouldn't stand a chance against Santiago's men.
He crept up alongside the wheelhouse and carefully looked inside. The man inside had put his cell down on the console in front of him. He held another small electrical device in one hand and his gun in the other. There simply wasn't time for Chance to do anything more than say "Hey," getting the man's attention and knocking the gun from his hand as he turned to face him. The man grunted and hit a button on the device in his other hand and threw it at Chance. Chance caught it, and took the guy down with a well-aimed kick to the face as he scrambled for the gun that had landed on the floor of the wheelhouse. He grabbed a handful of the fallen man's hair and hit the guy's head against the floor for good measure, ensuring that he was unconscious before looking at the device in his hand.
"That's not good," he muttered. The device seemed to be a remote detonator and it had a small display counting down to zero. There was only two and a half minute left on the clock, and Chance was certain that being on the Indie when it reached zero was a very bad idea.
Bile rose in Pen's throat as Santiago calmly ordered the execution of her crew and the destruction of the Indie, but she knew she had to put her faith in Chance. There was no immediate sound of a detonation, which probably meant that there was some kind of delay to allow Santiago's men to leave the boat before it exploded. Whatever was going on, Pen wasn't inclined to stand there and wait for it to happen. The plan was to take back the Indie and to let Santiago escape so that Bala Perdida could deal with him at a later date, but Pen was in no mood to hang back and let Santiago get away. As he hung up and reached beneath his jacket, Pen dropped to the ground and kicked his legs out from under the man who'd just shot the man in the trunk. She drove an elbow into his face, smashing his nose, as she twisted the gun out of his hands and pointed it at Santiago.
Santiago and the other man both drew guns and trained them on Pen. She would have been in serious trouble if Winston hadn't chosen that moment to throw back the lid of the dumpster he'd been hiding in and rise like a slightly soiled avenging angel out of the garbage with a cocked and loaded shotgun in his hands.
"Walk away, Santiago," Winston said with a cold, menacing tone that not even the rancid scraps of garbage clinging to his clothes could undermine. "Walk away now, whilst you still have the legs to carry you."
Santiago looked at the one of his men who was still standing and nodded towards his fallen comrade. He dragged him to his feet and the three of them slowly backed away, keeping their guns trained on Pen.
It took every ounce of self-control she had not to just shoot Santiago in the face, but somehow she managed to hold back, letting Santiago and his men retreat back to where his car was waiting for him. Just before he closed the door behind him, Santiago called out to her.
"If you hurry, Miss Redfield, you may be in time to see the show. I do hope you like matchsticks…"
He slammed the car door shut and the vehicle sped away as Pen emptied the gun at him.
"Chance! There's a bomb on the Indie!" Pen said, tossing the empty gun to the ground and taking the shotgun from Winston so he had both hands free to try and pull himself out of the dumpster.
"I know. I'm on it."
Chance threw himself feet first down the steep stairway down to the engine room below and hit the floor running.
"Chance! Hurry!" Ames cried.
As he ran into the sleeping quarters, ducking his head to avoid braining himself on the low doorway, he barrelled into one of Santiago's men, knocking him to the floor. Ames was pressed against the back wall of the cabin, holding a small fire extinguisher like a baseball bat, whilst Johno was trying to cuff the other intruder to the wall. Ames swung her makeshift weapon at the man Chance had just knocked to the floor, knocking him out cold, before helping Johno with the cuffs.
It only took a second for Chance to see what had happened. Ames had been waiting with the fire extinguisher and had let it off in the men's faces, blinding them just long enough to take one of them out. Had their guns been functional, she would have been in serious trouble, but she'd handled the situation like a pro.
"Get off the boat now!" Chance ordered. "It's rigged to blow in less than two minutes!"
"Sam can't walk!" Johno said.
"Then we'll carry him! Move! Now!" Chance said, dragging Sam down from the top bunk.
"Wait!" Ames said. "We can't just give up and let them destroy Pen's boat!"
"Ames, we don't have time for this…"
"Johno, where was the tracker the hidden?" Ames asked.
"In a false panel in the engine room. Why?"
"That's got to be the best hiding place on the boat, right? Only you and Pen knew about it!"
"Ames, there's no time!" Chance said.
"She's right," Johno said. "Get Sam off the boat. We're looking for the bomb."
Conscious that the seconds were ticking away and there was no time to argue with them, Chance gave Ames the remote detonator so at least she'd know how much time they had left, and carried Sam off the boat.
Johno led Ames to the secret panel in the engine room, and when she lifted it away it revealed a tangle of wires connected to enough plastic explosives to take out not only the Indie but easily destroy the vessels moored either side as well.
The clock was running down fast and they only had a minute left to deal with the bomb.
"We should yank out the green wire," Johno said. "That looks to be the one linked to the detonator."
"No!" Ames said, grabbing his wrist as he reached for the wire. "I've seen this setup before! There's a secondary detonator, a failsafe in case anyone disconnects the primary!"
Johno looked doubtfully at the scantily clad woman who had to be the least likely looking explosives expert he'd ever seen. "They teach you that at the beauty parlour?" he asked.
There wasn't time for Ames to take offence at the remark. "Explosives are my thing," she said impatiently.
"Johno, trust her! She knows what she's doing!" Chance said over the comms, hoping to God that he was right.
"Pen?" Johno asked.
"Listen to her! If Chance says she knows what she's doing, she does!"
The countdown on the detonator had hit the thirty second mark.
"Okay," Johno said, reluctantly accepting his captain's decision. "What do you want to do?"
Ames carefully pushed aside a bundle of wires that had been taped together, revealing a much smaller blue wire underneath.
"We need to do this simultaneously," she explained, carefully taking the thin blue wire between the fingers of one hand and a larger red wire from the bundle in her other hand. "When I say three, yank out that green wire. Got it?"
"When you say three," Johno repeated, taking the green wire between the index finger and thumb of his good hand.
"Okay. One. Two. Three!"
The device emitted a short beep and the countdown on the bomb's remote froze, with ten seconds left to spare.
"Ames?"
"We got it!" Ames said triumphantly. "The Indie s safe! Give me ten minutes and I'll have the bomb stripped back to its components."
Johno breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Nice one, kiddo."
EPILOGUE
Johno had to spend a couple of days in the hospital for observation after emergency surgery to his hand, and had the doctors had a say in the matter, he would have had to stay considerably longer, but Pen was hell-bent on busting him out as soon as possible. The surgeons weren't able to re-attach the part of his hand that Guerrero had put on ice at the office. Santiago's men had cauterised the wound with a blowtorch, more likely to torture Johno than out of any medical reasons, but the doctors told him it may well have prevented him from bleeding to death. Sam's injuries were potentially more life threatening. He was put into a drug induced coma whilst the doctors waited for his condition to stabilise enough to take him into surgery to deal with his internal injuries.
For the few days that Johno was in the hospital, Pen hung around the office. She'd been banned from setting foot in the hospital after she'd punched out the surgeon who'd told her that re-attaching Johno's fingers was an impossibility. Ames was surprised that she didn't head straight back to the Indie, but she didn't dare ask Pen the reason why. She guessed that she was worried about Johno and Sam. The Indie was bound to feel a little weird without them and it made sense for her to wait for news among friends.
Ilsa and Guerrero returned from Los Angeles the day after the events at the marina. Ilsa told the team that Colgrove was now in the clear with Bala Perdida, but she didn't seemed that pleased about it, and when Winston asked how he was going to deal with the news of Santiago's betrayal, she gave Guerrero a cold, disapproving look and said, "Ask him. He won't tell me what he said to Bala Perdida."
"Ilsa, I'll tell you if you really want to know, but I guarantee you won't like the answer," Guerrero said, with a put-upon look.
"Then I think I'm definitely better off not knowing!" Ilsa snapped. She turned her back on him and marched into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.
"So? What happened?" Chance asked.
"I gave Bala Perdida the whereabouts of a certain sniper who just had a job fall through," Guerrero said. "I told him that he was likely to get a very competitive rate if he wanted to hire him to deal with Santiago."
"You sent Santiago's own assassin after him?" Winston asked.
"That's up to Bala Perdida, dude," Guerrero shrugged.
Chance frowned. "I can see why that would upset Ilsa. I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea either."
"Seriously? The whole 'nobody deserves to die' thing again? What did you think would happen when we let Bala Perdida deal with Santiago? He's not exactly the forgiving type!"
"I guess," Chance said. "I just wish we could have found another way to deal with him. The cops could have got him on attempted murder for shooting Brad."
"Only if Brad had been willing to testify," Winston pointed out. "He was lucky enough to survive two shots to the chest. I doubt he would have been willing to risk pointing the finger at Santiago. Besides, Santiago didn't pull the trigger himself. Even with Brad's testimony, it wouldn't exactly be a slam-dunk case."
"Speaking of Brad, shooting holes in the Eldo was not part of our agreement, Chance!" Guerrero said.
"Yeah, about that agreement…"
"You're not backing out now, dude," Guerrero smirked. "As soon as Johno is out of the hospital, you are going to have to hold up your end of the deal."
"Ames diffused a bomb!" Chance blurted out, in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
Guerrero gave him a pointed look, to let him know that he wasn't off the hook. "I heard. Good call on the secondary detonator, Ames. I didn't think you had that much experience with explosives."
"Thanks!" Ames said, flushed with pride at the rare compliment from Guerrero.
"How did you know to check for it?" he asked.
"Brody taught me some stuff," she said, waving her hands as if she was dismissing it as a small thing. No one was taken in by her false humility. Her mile-wide grin was a dead give-away. "Explosives 101: never just yank out the first wire you see without at least looking the rest of the device over first."
Winston and Guerrero turned to Chance, giving him a meaningful look.
"Hey! I look before I yank!" he protested.
"So you didn't really know what you were doing?" Pen asked, the colour draining from her face as she realised just how close she'd been to losing Johno and the Indie.
"Well… I was pretty sure that if I let Johno pull out that green wire we were toast," Ames said sheepishly.
Guerrero snorted and turned away so Pen wouldn't see him smiling.
Winston took Ames with him to pick Johno up from the hospital, and Guerrero followed them in the Eldo with Pen and Chance. Pen still wasn't allowed to set foot on hospital property, so Guerrero parked a couple of streets away, and he and Chance waited with her to make sure she didn't get any bright ideas about storming the hospital in search of round two with Johno's surgeon.
When Winston's car pulled up, Pen ran to the passenger side door, wrenched it open and pulled Johno out by his shirt. He barely had the time to say, "Easy, boss!" before Pen threw her arm around his neck, ignoring the sling supporting his injured hand, and all but devoured him with a passionate kiss that Johno enthusiastically reciprocated.
Winston got out and watched them with a satisfied expression. "I knew those two were an item."
When Pen finally let Johno surface for air, he grinned at Winston. "Actually we're not. I mean we weren't." He corrected himself, after Pen gave him a none too gentle jab to the ribs.
"Yeah, well we are now, you fuckwit," she said fondly. "I've had with all the unresolved sexual tension bullshit."
"Oh, we know all about that," Winston said, giving Chance a meaningful look.
Chance ignored him. "Okay, let's head back to the office. I've got a bottle of scotch that needs drinking."
"Not so fast, dude," Guerrero said. "You've got an obligation to fulfil, and tonight's the night."
"You're really going to make me do this?" Chance asked.
"Hell, yes!" Guerrero said. "Winston, you remember the way to Drake's bar?"
"Yeah, but I like the sound of that bottle of scotch a whole lot better," Winston grumbled.
"Trust me. You're not going to want to miss this."
Chance downed his third shot of vodka and looked around the bar apprehensively. As usual Drake's was full of the kinds of people that any sane person would go out of their way to avoid. Chance moaned when he saw that there was a group of mean looking bikers taking up three tables along one wall.
"Do I at least get to choose?" Chance asked.
"Of course, dude. But it doesn't really matter," Guerrero smirked, following Chance's gaze to the group of bikers, who were growing rowdier by the minute. "They're all pretty much as bad as each other. You might want to hurry it up though. Those guys look about ready for a fight."
Chance's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I hate you, Guerrero."
"Hate you too buddy," Guerrero smiled, as Chance pushed himself away from the bar and began making his way across the bar.
Ames, Pen, Johno and Winston were sat at a table directly in front of Chance as he stepped on to the small makeshift stage at the end of the bar with all the enthusiasm of a man climbing the steps to the gallows. The barmaid handed him a microphone, and he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Ames and Pen began whooping and cheering, which only served to draw more attention to him. He winced, but the whole bar was likely to be staring at him in a minute anyway.
After a few moments of awkward silence, when it seemed to Chance that everyone in the bar was staring at him with the kind of curiosity that could turn to violence at any time, the opening bars of Billy Joel's 'Up-town Girl' blasted over the bar's PA system. Ames and Pen exploded into laughter as Chance began to sing. Winston face-palmed, before turning to Guerrero at the bar and mouthing, "What the fuck?"
"Uptown girl. She's been living in an uptown world…"
Guerrero grinned, safe in the knowledge that Chance would think twice about drunk dialling him and leaving him musical messages again.
"Louder! We can't hear you!" Pen shouted, and was soon joined by Johno and Ames. "Louder! Louder!" Winston just shook his head and laughed.
The other customers in the bar seemed to take Chance's impromptu performance remarkably well, despite Chance's understandable apprehension, and a few of them were actually singing along. Guerrero kept a close eye on the crowd to make sure no one tried to throw anything at Chance, but the overall mood seemed to be one of bewildered amusement. It was obvious that Chance wasn't singing through choice, so most people just sat back and enjoyed his humiliation.
Chance shot Guerrero a look of pure hatred and Guerrero acknowledged it by grinning and raising his glass in a toast. When Chance didn't get any louder, Ames and Pen climbed up beside him and began singing along with him, adding the woah-woah-woahs at the appropriate moments. Guerrero shook his head and sighed. The deal was that Chance was supposed to be up there singing on his own, but he let it slide. The look on Chance's face was enough to assure him that his point had been well and truly made.
THE END!
Author: Tree979
Summary: Case Fic. A blast from the past washes up in San Francisco with a job for the team. Ames may have found herself a new role model despite the new arrival's bad first impression
Fandom: Human Target
Characters: Chance, Guerrero, Winston, Ilsa, Ames
Warnings: Some strong language
Genre: General
Permission to archive to WWOMB: Yes
Acknowledgments/Notes: Originally posted on ff.net
Disclaimer. Human Target does not belong to me. no money made in this
-13-
"You're kidding right?" Colgrove said when Guerrero told him to get into the back of the laundry service van. "Isn't this just an 80's action movie cliché?"
Guerrero gave him an impatient look over the top of his glasses. "You don't mess with the classics, dude. Get your ass in the van."
Once the three of them were in the back of the van, and the driver had carefully rearranged the bales of fresh sheets and the sacks of dirty laundry to conceal them, he slammed the door shut. It was dark, hot and airless in the back of the van and Ilsa yet again found herself wondering if there wasn't an easier way to get inside Bala Perdida's residence without alerting Santiago's assassin to their presence. Although, she had to admit that it was unlikely that Guerrero would have been able to walk through the front door with the sniper rifle he insisted on bring with him.
Ilsa fought the rising waves of claustrophobia as the van made its way to the mansion in the hills. Finally the van lurched to a halt as they seemed to have reached some kind of checkpoint. Ilsa's heart was racing as she reminded herself that Guerrero had warned them that the van would be stopped, and a cursory check of its contents would be performed, but that the driver would handle it. All they had to do was hold still and keep quiet. The doors at the back of the van swung open and she held her breath and prayed that Colgrove didn't panic and reveal their hiding places. Ilsa could hear the muffled sound of voices and what sounded like laughter, but she couldn't make out what was said, or even how many people there were. After a couple of agonising minutes the doors slammed shut, the engine leapt back to life and the van pulled away.
They were in.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Winston asked.
"Yes! I'm sure!" Ames snapped. She knew Winston was only trying to give her one last chance to back out, but this was the fifth time in the last hour he'd asked.
"Quit asking her that!" Pen siad. "Are you trying to psyche her out?"
"He's not psyching me out!" Ames said. "I'm just sick of answering the same question over and over!"
"I think at this point you have to accept it's too late to talk her out of this, Winston," Chance said.
They were parked up at the marina in the surveillance van, and the exchange was now only an hour away. Winston grunted, obviously still unconvinced at the wisdom of sending in Ames to tackle the men on the Indie alone. He produced the box containing the team's earwigs and handed them out to Chance, Ames and Pen before giving Ames the box containing the extra one she was supposed to pass to Johno or Sam.
"Are you sure you're clear on how you're going to disable the guns?" Chance asked.
"You're as bad as Winston! Yes, I know what to do!" Ames said, rolling her eyes.
"Humour me," Chance said. "What are your options?"
Ames gave Chance an exasperated look and recited her answer in a bored tone.
"The three main ways to disable a firearm are: number one, remove the ammunition; number two, remove the firing pin; number three, make the gun jam."
"Don't you think the bad guys are going to notice the difference in weight if you remove their ammo? And how the hell do you think you are going to find the time or opportunity to remove the god-damn firing pins?" Winston demanded.
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" Ames replied, her expression wide-eyed and vacant looking.
"Stop messing with him, Ames!" Pen said, laughing. "Show him what I gave you!"
Ames grinned and held out her hand.
"What are those?" Chance asked, taking one of the bullets from Ames' hand and examining it. "Blanks?"
Pen shook her head. "Nope. Something better. Ames is going for option number three: jamming the guns. Johno made them. I'm not sure how they work exactly but Johno calls them Marley rounds."
"Marley rounds?" Winston asked.
Ames laughed, "You know, as in Bob Marley? Because they're always jamming!"
"These are some prototypes I was planning on showing Guerrero before things went pear-shaped," Pen explained.
"Are they safe?" Winston demanded. "Have you even tested them?"
Pen shrugged. "Johno has. Using one of these will fuck up any handgun you stick it in but there's minimal risk to bystanders, or even the person pulling the trigger. All Ames has to do is make sure one of these is slipped in the chamber instead of a live round. Problem solved."
Chance grinned and handed the Marley round back to Ames.
"If you had these all along, why didn't you tell us?" Winston growled.
"Blame Ames," Pen grinned. "She thought it would be more fun to make you sweat!"
Winston looked about ready to explode.
"It's nearly dark," Chance said, before Winston had time to launch into an angry rant about what Ames was doing to his blood pressure. "You two had better get moving if Pen is going to make back here for the exchange in time."
Ames and Pen climbed out of the van and left Chance to deal with a still fuming Winston.
"Did you know about this?" Winston asked.
"No, but I guessed Pen had something up her sleeve. She wouldn't have backed the idea if she hadn't."
Winston's cell phone rang, effectively preventing him from giving Chance a piece of his mind. He picked it up and when he saw Guerrero name flashing on the screen he jabbed it angrily with his finger to answer the call.
"What?" he barked into the handset.
"We're in," Guerrero said, ignoring Winston's bad tempered tone. "You got eyes on them yet?"
"No sign of Santiago yet," Winston replied. He was till too annoyed to even notice the strangely muffled quality in Guerrero's voice. "Pen and Ames are on their way to intercept the Indie. Hey, did you know about the Marley rounds?"
"Of course, dude."
Guerrero hung up before Winston had a chance to say anything else, so he just glared at the cell phone. Chance laughed and Winston held up one cautioning finger.
"Just don't even…" he spluttered. "Just don't!"
Chance made a zipping motion across his lips and tried to stop laughing.
When the doors of the laundry van opened again Guerrero shoved his way out from underneath the laundry and helped Ilsa climb out. He made no such effort to assist Colgrove, and Ilsa wondered if he was still baring a grudge against their client for trying to stab him back on Pen's boat. Colgrove managed to wriggle his way out of the van and landed in a heap at Ilsa's feet. She helped him up but any sympathy she may have had for him soon evaporated when he looked up, took in their surroundings and pushed her in front of him as if he were using her as a human shield.
Ilsa wasn't surprised to find that the van was parked in a spacious garage away from prying eys, but she was alarmed by the presence of a muscular man in his thirties. He was well-dressed but visibly armed with a walkie-talkie in his hand. She tried to take comfort from the fact that he wasn't making a move to draw his gun from the shoulder holster that he wore over his Armani shirt, and also that Guerrero's confident attitude led her to believe that he had been expecting to see him. She held her head up and looked him squarely in the eye as she tried to ignore Colgrove cowering behind her.
"All clear," the man barked into his radio. "Driver is bringing up the linen now."
"Mrs P, this is Miguel's brother Eduardo. He's also his head of security."
Eduardo gave a polite nod, which Ilsa returned, secretly relieved that she didn't have to shake his hand. She was used to putting on a brave front and rubbing shoulders with people from all works of life, due to her work with the Marshall Pucci Foundation, but she wanted as little as possible to do with Bala Perdida or his men. Ilsa wondered if that was why Guerrero chose not to use her full name. The last thing she needed was to be held to ransom by a drug kingpin!
"We need to get to the roof," Guerrero said.
Eduardo nodded but looked a bit uncomfortable with the idea. "I'm not convinced that this is the best course of action, Guerrero. If you are right about the planned attempt on my brother's life, your plan still leaves him at considerable risk."
"It's your job to keep him safe, dude, not mine," Guerrero said. "But if you want to find out who in your organisation ordered the hit, you're going to have to do this my way."
"It seems that I have no choice in the matter," he said. Ilsa's heart skipped a beat when he reached for his pocket, but he was simply retrieving a smart phone, not a weapon. "Here. It's tapped in to the security feed of Miguel's office, as you requested."
Guerrero glanced at the phone before handing it to Ilsa. She looked down and saw the image of a spacious, stylishly furnished office. The angle of the camera gave an excellent view of the desk although there wasn't anyone currently seated at it.
"Let's go," Guerrero said.
-14-
Chance was wrong, Ames thought, you should never underestimate the power of a short skirt and a winning smile!
Pen had guided her to the best position to greet all the incoming boats, and Ames was watching the progress of the Indie as it slowly made its way through the marina. She was wearing an incredibly short skirt and a tank top that left a bare strip of flesh across her midriff. It was chilly, as the wind swept straight off the ocean, but her skimpy outfit was all part of the plan. She pulled her pashmina a little tighter around her shoulders, and fished a handful of fliers out of the oversize beach bag that hung from her shoulder.
"Hi there!" Ames beamed, as another boat full of tourists passed her slowly. "I see you guys have been having fun! Why not keep the party going at Bar Evissa? It's two-for-one on cocktails with this flier and we have a great DJ in tonight for you guys!"
Ames' sales patter met with mixed responses. Sometimes the crew would shoo her away from the boat with threats of reporting her to the harbour master, but other boats, usually those with young male passengers on board, greeted her with whoops and catcalls and grabbed at the fliers and yelled at her to climb aboard. Ames only made that mistake once, when the Indie was still a way off, thinking that if she hopped on and off a few other boats first, it wouldn't seem as conspicuous when she climbed aboard the Indie. Big mistake. The passengers on board were all men in their early twenties and the smell of stale beer hit her just a second too late. They were all very taken with her skimpy outfit, and she had had to endure several minutes of fighting off wandering hands before she'd managed to squirm free and jump back onto the walkway.
Undeterred, she launched back into her sales pitch for the benefit of the next boat, ignoring the taunts being shouted at her by the passengers of the boat she'd just escaped. As jumping on and off the boats wasn't really a viable option, she'd have to modify her plan slightly to get on board the Indie. Until then she just continued grinning and handing out fliers.
Ames was beginning to worry that her fingers were so cold that she'd have trouble lifting the guns and slipping the Marley rounds in, but eventually the Indie drew level with her.
"Hi there!" Ames called with renewed enthusiasm, leaning a little too far to hand the flier to the men watching her with interest from what she thought of as "the pointy end" of the boat. She 'tripped' over the railing along the side of the Indie and the men had no choice but to catch her as she fell towards them in a flurry of leaflets, beach bag and pashmina. She lifted the first guy's gun as she crashed into him, letting the wind catch her pashmina so that neither man could see her hands as she swapped out a live round for a Marley one. She replaced the gun as the men helped her to her feet.
"Are you okay miss?" The other man asked. He seemed to think Ames' ass was an appropriate place to support her with his hand.
"Oh my god! I am such a klutz!" Ames said, trying to ignore the way the guy's hand was making her flesh creep. She tried to stand on her own but squealed and grabbed hold of him, feigning a twisted ankle. "Ow! My ankle!" Using the oversized beach bag to shield her hands from both the men, she leaned heavily on her second target and managed to swap out the bullet in his gun too.
Two down, one to go.
"What's going on?" the third man called, leaning out from the wheelhouse. "Get her off the damn boat!"
Ames decided that now was probably the time to start crying. "I'm going to get fired, I know it!" she wailed. "I've dropped all my fliers and now I can't even stand up! I've been freezing my ass off in this stupid marina for hours and it's all for nothing! I need this job and now they're probably not even going to pay me!"
Ames knew that most men tended to go to pieces at the sight of a woman crying, and she was relieved to find that Santiago's men were no exception. The added pressure of trying to keep a low profile whilst they had two hostages on board a stolen boat definitely worked in her favour too.
"She can't walk! She's busted her ankle!" the man Ames was clinging to called out.
The man in the wheelhouse swore as he realised that Ames' heart-breaking sobs were beginning to attract attention.
"Okay," he called out, with a distinctly insincere smile. "Bring her in here out of the cold. We'd better take care of our little stow-away."
The two men lifted Ames up and carried her inside the wheelhouse, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at her plan working so smoothly.
Getting her hands on the third man's gun was going to be a lot harder though. Santiago's men dumped her in a seat behind what she assumed was some kind of navigation console, and the third man, who Ames took to be the guy in charge, was steering the boat through the marina from another console about five feet away. His gun wasn't holstered like the other guys' weapons were; it sat in front of him is plain sight on top of the console itself. Ames' heart sank as she realised that it was highly unlikely that she would be able to complete this part of her mission. Still, she had to try, and with a bit of luck if they caught her doing something suspicious she would be taken bellow deck to be held hostage with Pen's crew, and she would at least be able to slip one of them the spare earpiece.
The Indie was making steady progress through the maze of the marina and Ames guessed that they were maybe five or ten minutes away from the rendez-vous. It was now or never.
Ames got unsteadily to her feet, taking care to preserve the illusion of a twisted ankle, and lurched towards the man steering the Indie.
"Oh my god, you have like totally saved my life!" she gushed, throwing her arms around him. She was still carrying her over-size bag, and used it to knock the man's gun to the floor. "Ooops! Did I drop something?"
"Get the fuck off me!" the man snarled, shoving her away.
Ames had hoped to be able to pick up the gun from the floor and make the switch in the process, but the man was too fast for her and grabbed her wrist as she reached for it.
"Huh! Why am I not surprised?" the man grunted. Ames tried to get back into character as the air-head bar promoter, crying and apologising, but Santiago's man just hit her across the face with a back-handed blow that sent her crashing to the floor. He looked around warily, checking to see whether anyone had seen him hit her, but the concerned citizens who had taken such an interest in the girl sobbing over the loss of her fliers had since moved on. Satisfied that he was in the clear, he called his colleagues into the wheelhouse and gave them instructions to take the girl below deck and tie her up, out of the way.
"I still don't quite understand your plan, Guerrero," Ilsa said. "I thought we came here to warn Bala Perdida."
"He needs to know that the threat is real," Guerrero explained, adjusting the sight on his sniper rifle. "If he doesn't believe that his life is in danger, he won't be willing to accept that one of his men is plotting against him."
"So you're going to let the assassin take a shot at him?"
"Yes. As along as Eduardo does his job, Bala Perdida should be fine."
"But…"
"Bala Pedida is a creature of habit," Guerrero interrupted impatiently. "He is usually in his office at this time of the evening. The easiest way to get a target into position for this type of hit is with a phone call. At nine pm the phone on his desk will ring and the sniper will have him exactly where he wants him. We have the advantage of knowing exactly when the hit is supposed to take place, so it's Eduardo's job to let him answer the phone and get him to hit the deck before the shot is fired."
"That sound awfully risky, Guerrero!" Ilsa said. Colgrove didn't look much happier about it either.
"It can't be helped. As long as Eduardo is as loyal as my intel says he is, it should be fine."
"Why don't you just shoot the sniper first?" Colgrove asked. "I mean, that's what you've got your gun for, right?"
"I won't know where he is until he takes the shot. My job is to make sure he doesn't fire a second time."
"He's just walked into his office with Eduardo!" Ilsa said.
"Good. Now shut up."
Ilsa and Colgrove watched the tiny figures on the smart phone's screen, and sure enough, at nine pm precisely the phone rang and Bala Perdida went to answer it.
Ilsa held her breath as he picked up the handset and brought it up to put it against his ear. Eduardo's timing was perfect, he launched himself at Bala Perdida just as the phone reached his ear, knocking them both to the floor behind the desk. Almost simultaneously, the wall behind where Bala Perdida had been standing a split second before exploded in a shower of dust and plaster.
"Gotcha," Guerrero muttered, before squeezing off a shot. He watched his target through the scope for a moment, until he was apparently satisfied that he had hit the mark.
"How did you know…?" Ilsa started to ask.
"Muzzle flash," Guerrero replied. He got out his cellphone and placed a call. "Hey dude. That was a warning shot. Call it a professional courtesy, from one pro to another. You try and take another shot though, and you won't ever need to wear a hat again. If you want to make things right with Bala Perdida, I suggest you confirm the hit with your client and meet me at Tony's in two hours."
Ilsa caught the muffled sound of someone cursing on the other end of the line before Guerrero hung up.
-15-
Ames let her body go completely limp as they carried her down the steep stairs that led bellow deck. They took her bag, as she thought they would, but they didn't bother searching her before tying her up. They must have assumed that her skimpy outfit wasn't substantial enough to hide a weapon, so they missed the bullets she'd taken from their guns and the last Marley round. The spare earpiece was safely tucked out of sight too, in the lining of her bra.
She moaned and squirmed a little as they tied her up, taking care to angle her wrists to ensure a little extra slack in the rope in the way Pen had taught her during her lesson on the roof. She quickly decided that the moaning perhaps wasn't such a great idea, as one of the men stuffed a filthy rag in her mouth to keep her quiet.
Ames was relieved to find that she'd timed things almost perfectly. The creepy guy who'd grabbed her ass when she had faked twisting her ankle only had time to give her a lecherous look before his companion dragged him back up on deck. If she'd have stepped onto the Indie any earlier, he might have had time to do more than just give her a pervy look. She shuddered at the thought before looking around to take in her surroundings.
They'd tied her up and dumped her in what must be the engine room, but there was no sign of Pen's crew. It didn't take her long to work her wrists free from the rope binding them, and after she had removed the disgusting rag from her mouth, she soon had her legs free too. She decided to head towards the back of the boat, as she knew the stairs at the front led straight back to the wheelhouse, and when she reached a doorway that led to the crew's sleeping area, she knew she'd made the right choice. Two of the beds were occupied by men she took to be Pen's crew.
The men were bound at the wrists and ankles, much the same way she had been, but with the addition of handcuffs chaining them to the footholds sticking out from the wall that served as a ladder to climb onto the top bunk. Ames could tell which one was Johno right away. His left hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked towel and his skin had a grey pallor that spoke of recent blood loss. The man on the top bunk didn't look much brighter either. One eye was swollen shut and the rest of his face was covered in bruises and abrasions. Despite his wan appearance and obvious injury, Johno definitely seemed the more alert of the two men, so she decided to give the spare earpiece to him.
She knelt down beside the bunk and began working the knots free. She decided to leave his gag in place until she'd had a chance to explain the situation.
"Pen sent me…" she said.
Winston's suspicions about the nature of Pen's relationship with Johno were confirmed as soon as they heard his voice over the comms link.
"Hey skipper. You took your own sweet time…"
Pen's face lit up with a broad grin as she let out an excited whoop, and punched the air so hard that the surveillance van rocked. "You're lucky I came for you at all, you moron!"
"Yeah, well you can spank me later, hon. First we have to get these shit-for-brains fuck-tards off of your bloody tub!"
Chance smiled at Pen's exuberant response, but Winston was more concerned about being able to keep a low profile in a van that was bouncing around like a newlywed's mattress. He started to tell Pen to keep it down, but Chance put a restraining hand on his arm. "Just let her have this."
Pen soon settled down on her own, once the initial relief subsided and she remembered that they still had a job to do.
"Ames, did you swap the Marley rounds in?" Winston asked.
"I could only get to two of the guns," Ames said. "I'm sorry but the guy steering the boat still has live rounds."
Winston grunted and shook his head, obviously unsurprised that Ames had failed to complete the task.
"Don't worry kiddo," Pen said. "You did great." She gave Chance a meaningful nudge.
"Taking two of them out of commission is still good," Chance said. "That will definitely work to our advantage."
Pen nodded, satisfied that Chance had taken the hint and given Ames some words of praise, even if they were a bit wooden.
"Just stay out of sight," Chance said, "and don't move unless you hear from me, okay?"
"Okay."
"Heads up! I've got eyes on Santiago!" Winston said. "Looks like he's brought some muscle with him. Two goons, plus the driver. I think it's safe to assume they're all packing. Looks like the driver is staying with the car."
"And they're tying off the Indie now. Or at least trying to. Fucking amateurs," Pen muttered, watching on one of the monitors as the men fumbled with the rope, trying to loop it round a mooring.
"Good, then everything is going according to schedule," Chance said, checking his gun and tucking it out of sight beneath his leather jacket.
Winston groaned. "You just had to say it, didn't you? You know that's a sure-fire guarantee that something's going to go wrong now…"
"Oh, grow a pair Winnie," Pen grinned. "This is the fun part!"
"You definitely spent your formative years in the company of the wrong people, Pen," Winston said, shaking his head.
Pen jumped out of the back of the van and cut across the parking lot towards the marina. Guerrero's Eldo was parked up in a distant corner, by the dumpsters at the back of a bar that faced the edge of the marina. Chance had managed to get Guerrero's reluctant permission to use his car, arguing that it was less likely to arouse suspicion than any of the other vehicles at their disposal. Pen got the impression that there had been some kind of deal struck between them to secure Guerrero's permission. He was unlikely to let them use it without there being some kind of strings attached, and whatever he'd managed to get Chance to agree to, Chance really wasn't happy about it.
"We all set?" Pen asked, as she rounded the corner of the storage building at the edge of the marina, her stomach doing back flips as she caught sight of the Indigo Bell.
"I'm in position," Chance said, sounding a little out of breath. Pen knew better than to turn around and check that he was really behind her, hiding in the shadows beside the ticket booth of a sightseeing cruise company. If Chance said he was in position, she knew he would be.
"Yeah, I'm ready," Winston said. "And may I just take this opportunity to say I still don't see why I couldn't hide in the bar!"
Chance laughed. "It's the shotgun, Winston. I think the customers might just notice it."
Pen tuned out Winston's grumbled response and tried to focus on the job in hand. The note had said to be at the marina at nine so, lacking any more specific directions, Pen headed straight for the Indigo Bell. She was about twenty feet away when she felt a gun pressed against her back. She didn't bother turning to look at who was holding a gun to her. Two men stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the Indie. Pen gave a humourless little grunt of a laugh at the fact that they thought she was stupid enough just to climb aboard the Indie when three of his men were clearly still aboard, watching her from the wheelhouse.
"So you would be the Miss Penelope Redfield I've been hearing so much about," the shorter of the two men said. He was wearing an expensively tailored suit over a pale grey t-shirt. It was a look that Pen was familiar with. It was popular with a certain kind of criminal who wanted to advertise their wealth without sacrificing comfort and practicality by wearing a button-down shirt and tie. The other, taller man was aiming for a similar look, but his suit obviously wasn't custom made or specifically tailored to fit his bulky frame, which undermined the effect somewhat.
"It's Captain Redfield to you, Mr Santiago," Pen said to the shorter man. She decided to let the Penelope slide. It wasn't as if she was planning on being on first name terms with the guy anyway.
"Ah, but to be a captain, surely you need a boat," Santiago replied.
"The sooner you quit yapping, the sooner you get Colgrove and I get my boat back," she said.
"Ah, I had been warned about your… candour ," Santiago said in a tone that left no doubt as to how distasteful he found her attitude. "I trust that you came alone?"
"I'm alone. Are my crew alive?"
"Yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to take my word on that," Santiago said with a greasy smile that made Pen's hands itch to hit him. "You see, they aren't exactly what I'd call presentable at the moment. Their appearance might be cause for concern amongst the good patrons of the marina. I'm sure you understand."
"So you want me to hand Colgrove over without any proof of life?"
"Why is she pushing this, Chance? I've untied Johno and Sam! If they come down here to check…"
"Don't worry, Ames," Chance replied. "Pen knows what she'd doing. Just sit tight."
"Consider the lives of your crew as a bonus. We both know your main concern is the safe return of the Indigo Bell, and as you can see, I am definitely in possession of that! If you give me Colgrove, the boat is yours, along with the crew. But if you keep me waiting, your crew will be killed. If you are not here alone, your crew will be killed. If I even get the slightest hint of you trying anything stupid, your crew will be killed. If you fail to deliver Colgrove, not only will I kill your crew, I will return the Indigo Bell to you in pieces no larger than matchsticks, is that clear?"
"Crystal," Pen said. "Now if you want Colgrove, I suggest you get the help to quit poking me withhis gun and put it away before I holster it for him, somewhere permanent and uncomfortable."
Santiago nodded to the man standing behind Pen, who discreetly holstered his weapon.
"Follow me," Pen said, leading them into the bar.
-16-
Eduardo escorted Guerrero, Ilsa and Colgrove from the roof to Bala Perdida's office, and given how jumpy his men were in the aftermath of an attempted assassination, Ilsa was relieved to have him there to vouch for them. Bala Perdida had his back to them as they walked in, so Eduardo discreetly cleared his throat and he turned to greet them.
"El Guerrero! Eduardo tells me I have you to thank for saving my life this evening. I consider myself very fortunate. If it had been your services my enemies had employed, I have no doubt that I would not have survived the evening."
Guerrero nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "Actually I just go by the name Guerrero. You can drop the 'El' part."
"Ah, but we all know that you are the Guerrero, the one and only! But as you wish. I am in your debt."
"I'm not really the person you need to thank, Miguel," Guerrero said, apparently at ease enough with Bala Perdida to use his Christian name. "My client is the one who told me one of your men had taken out a contract on your life."
"And who is this client?" he asked.
"Ed Colgrove. His father was one of your importers until he was jailed a few years ago," Guerrero explained. "Ed took over the business. When he decided he wanted out, one of your men went after him. Colgrove approached my associates for protection, and when I realised the value of the information he had, we came here to strike a deal."
Bala Perdida looked pensive for a moment. "Colgrove. I remember this name. Was it not to dispose of a man by the name of Colgrove that Joubert loaned you to me, some years ago?"
"That was my brother, Greg," Colgrove said stepping forward. Ilsa held her breath, hoping that he wouldn't do anything stupid.
"So you dare come here, in the company of El Guerrero, the very man who executed your brother's death sentence, to bargain for your life?" Bala Pedida asked. "You are either very courageous or you are a fool. I have not yet decided which."
"I believe Mr Colgrove is most definitely the later," Ilsa said, before Colgrove had a chance to speak. "And if you wish to know who is behind the plot to kill you, it would serve you well to remember that he came here to save your life."
"And who might you be?" he asked, giving Ilsa a long, appreciative look.
"This is Mrs Ilsa Pucci. My employer," Guerrero said with only a slight tightening of his expression that only those who knew him well would be able to interpret as discomfort.
Bala Perdida raised his eyebrows in surprise. He obviously recognised her name. "What exalted company you keep, Mr Colgrove. I think perhaps you are not a fool at all. So, enlighten me. Who is responsible for the attempt on my life this evening?"
"Santiago," Guerrero said.
Bala Perdida's expression darkened. "That is a serious accusation, Guerrero."
"Which is why I personally verified it."
Bala Perdida let out a deep sigh. "I am not overly surprised," he said. "Santiago is a man of ambition. Very well, Colgrove, I acknowledge I am in your debt. You are free to do as you wish with your business. If you continue to work for me, you will be well rewarded financially, but if you chose to walk away, you have my personal guarantee that you will do so safely and without repercussions. Santiago will not be so fortunate."
"About that. I have a suggestion for you," Guerrero said, taking him aside.
As soon as they stepped inside the entrance to the bar, Santiago's men gave Pen a thorough pat down, checking for weapons. Pen grit her teeth and let them get on with it. Santiago's cell bleeped with a text message alert, and when he read it he smiled with a look of satisfaction for a moment before assuming a more neutral expression. Once his men had confirmed she was unarmed, Santiago nodded, and they stepped back allowing her to open the inner door that led to the bar itself. The venue was quite busy, but Pen had no trouble elbowing her way through the throng of customers, followed by Santiago and his men, who were a little over-dressed for the nautically themed tourist bar.
She led them to the fire exit at the back and out into the parking lot, where Guerrero's Eldo was parked.
"Well?" Santiago asked.
Pen popped the trunk open to reveal a struggling figure with a coarse fabric bag pulled over his head. Brad the delivery guy was of a similar height and build to Colgrove, so as long as Santiago didn't remove the hood, he was a reasonably convincing double, dressed in Colgrove's clothes.
Unfortunately, the first thing Santiago did was remove the hood.
Santiago shook his head. "You really thought I wouldn't check?"
Pen shrugged. "I'm an optimist."
Santiago nodded to one of his companions, who drew a gun and a silencer. He calmly screwed the silencer into place and shot Brad twice in the chest as Santiago dialled a number on his cell. When the call connected, he looked Pen in the eye and spoke in a flat, slightly bored tone, "Execute the crew and blow the boat."
After Pen took Santiago and his men into the bar, Chance stepped out of the shadows and tagged on to a group of people who were making their way to a boat decorated with lanterns at a mooring a just past the Indie. From the loud music playing over the boat's PA system, and the way the passengers were dressed, Chance guessed that the boat was scheduled to take them out on a party cruise. The noise and general bustle as the party got going meant that Chance was able to sneak aboard the Indie with relative ease, as the bright lights of the party diminished the men's night vision. He stayed low and found a suitable vantage point to hide where he still got a clear view of the wheelhouse and the men inside.
When Chance saw one of the men on the Indie take a call, he knew it was time to act. As only one of the men was carrying a functioning firearm, and there were still quite a few people milling around the marina, Chance decided that he wouldn't draw his own gun unless absolutely necessary. Fortunately the guy who took the call was the one Ames had pointed out as having the only live ammunition, and he sent the other two men bellow deck to deal with the hostages. Knowing that Santiago's men wouldn't be able to just execute Ames, and Pen's crew with a shot to the head was of some comfort. It would buy him a little time to deal with the man still in the wheelhouse, but he would still have to be quick. The crew weren't likely to be in any shape to fight, and Ames wouldn't stand a chance against Santiago's men.
He crept up alongside the wheelhouse and carefully looked inside. The man inside had put his cell down on the console in front of him. He held another small electrical device in one hand and his gun in the other. There simply wasn't time for Chance to do anything more than say "Hey," getting the man's attention and knocking the gun from his hand as he turned to face him. The man grunted and hit a button on the device in his other hand and threw it at Chance. Chance caught it, and took the guy down with a well-aimed kick to the face as he scrambled for the gun that had landed on the floor of the wheelhouse. He grabbed a handful of the fallen man's hair and hit the guy's head against the floor for good measure, ensuring that he was unconscious before looking at the device in his hand.
"That's not good," he muttered. The device seemed to be a remote detonator and it had a small display counting down to zero. There was only two and a half minute left on the clock, and Chance was certain that being on the Indie when it reached zero was a very bad idea.
Bile rose in Pen's throat as Santiago calmly ordered the execution of her crew and the destruction of the Indie, but she knew she had to put her faith in Chance. There was no immediate sound of a detonation, which probably meant that there was some kind of delay to allow Santiago's men to leave the boat before it exploded. Whatever was going on, Pen wasn't inclined to stand there and wait for it to happen. The plan was to take back the Indie and to let Santiago escape so that Bala Perdida could deal with him at a later date, but Pen was in no mood to hang back and let Santiago get away. As he hung up and reached beneath his jacket, Pen dropped to the ground and kicked his legs out from under the man who'd just shot the man in the trunk. She drove an elbow into his face, smashing his nose, as she twisted the gun out of his hands and pointed it at Santiago.
Santiago and the other man both drew guns and trained them on Pen. She would have been in serious trouble if Winston hadn't chosen that moment to throw back the lid of the dumpster he'd been hiding in and rise like a slightly soiled avenging angel out of the garbage with a cocked and loaded shotgun in his hands.
"Walk away, Santiago," Winston said with a cold, menacing tone that not even the rancid scraps of garbage clinging to his clothes could undermine. "Walk away now, whilst you still have the legs to carry you."
Santiago looked at the one of his men who was still standing and nodded towards his fallen comrade. He dragged him to his feet and the three of them slowly backed away, keeping their guns trained on Pen.
It took every ounce of self-control she had not to just shoot Santiago in the face, but somehow she managed to hold back, letting Santiago and his men retreat back to where his car was waiting for him. Just before he closed the door behind him, Santiago called out to her.
"If you hurry, Miss Redfield, you may be in time to see the show. I do hope you like matchsticks…"
He slammed the car door shut and the vehicle sped away as Pen emptied the gun at him.
"Chance! There's a bomb on the Indie!" Pen said, tossing the empty gun to the ground and taking the shotgun from Winston so he had both hands free to try and pull himself out of the dumpster.
"I know. I'm on it."
Chance threw himself feet first down the steep stairway down to the engine room below and hit the floor running.
"Chance! Hurry!" Ames cried.
As he ran into the sleeping quarters, ducking his head to avoid braining himself on the low doorway, he barrelled into one of Santiago's men, knocking him to the floor. Ames was pressed against the back wall of the cabin, holding a small fire extinguisher like a baseball bat, whilst Johno was trying to cuff the other intruder to the wall. Ames swung her makeshift weapon at the man Chance had just knocked to the floor, knocking him out cold, before helping Johno with the cuffs.
It only took a second for Chance to see what had happened. Ames had been waiting with the fire extinguisher and had let it off in the men's faces, blinding them just long enough to take one of them out. Had their guns been functional, she would have been in serious trouble, but she'd handled the situation like a pro.
"Get off the boat now!" Chance ordered. "It's rigged to blow in less than two minutes!"
"Sam can't walk!" Johno said.
"Then we'll carry him! Move! Now!" Chance said, dragging Sam down from the top bunk.
"Wait!" Ames said. "We can't just give up and let them destroy Pen's boat!"
"Ames, we don't have time for this…"
"Johno, where was the tracker the hidden?" Ames asked.
"In a false panel in the engine room. Why?"
"That's got to be the best hiding place on the boat, right? Only you and Pen knew about it!"
"Ames, there's no time!" Chance said.
"She's right," Johno said. "Get Sam off the boat. We're looking for the bomb."
Conscious that the seconds were ticking away and there was no time to argue with them, Chance gave Ames the remote detonator so at least she'd know how much time they had left, and carried Sam off the boat.
Johno led Ames to the secret panel in the engine room, and when she lifted it away it revealed a tangle of wires connected to enough plastic explosives to take out not only the Indie but easily destroy the vessels moored either side as well.
The clock was running down fast and they only had a minute left to deal with the bomb.
"We should yank out the green wire," Johno said. "That looks to be the one linked to the detonator."
"No!" Ames said, grabbing his wrist as he reached for the wire. "I've seen this setup before! There's a secondary detonator, a failsafe in case anyone disconnects the primary!"
Johno looked doubtfully at the scantily clad woman who had to be the least likely looking explosives expert he'd ever seen. "They teach you that at the beauty parlour?" he asked.
There wasn't time for Ames to take offence at the remark. "Explosives are my thing," she said impatiently.
"Johno, trust her! She knows what she's doing!" Chance said over the comms, hoping to God that he was right.
"Pen?" Johno asked.
"Listen to her! If Chance says she knows what she's doing, she does!"
The countdown on the detonator had hit the thirty second mark.
"Okay," Johno said, reluctantly accepting his captain's decision. "What do you want to do?"
Ames carefully pushed aside a bundle of wires that had been taped together, revealing a much smaller blue wire underneath.
"We need to do this simultaneously," she explained, carefully taking the thin blue wire between the fingers of one hand and a larger red wire from the bundle in her other hand. "When I say three, yank out that green wire. Got it?"
"When you say three," Johno repeated, taking the green wire between the index finger and thumb of his good hand.
"Okay. One. Two. Three!"
The device emitted a short beep and the countdown on the bomb's remote froze, with ten seconds left to spare.
"Ames?"
"We got it!" Ames said triumphantly. "The Indie s safe! Give me ten minutes and I'll have the bomb stripped back to its components."
Johno breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Nice one, kiddo."
EPILOGUE
Johno had to spend a couple of days in the hospital for observation after emergency surgery to his hand, and had the doctors had a say in the matter, he would have had to stay considerably longer, but Pen was hell-bent on busting him out as soon as possible. The surgeons weren't able to re-attach the part of his hand that Guerrero had put on ice at the office. Santiago's men had cauterised the wound with a blowtorch, more likely to torture Johno than out of any medical reasons, but the doctors told him it may well have prevented him from bleeding to death. Sam's injuries were potentially more life threatening. He was put into a drug induced coma whilst the doctors waited for his condition to stabilise enough to take him into surgery to deal with his internal injuries.
For the few days that Johno was in the hospital, Pen hung around the office. She'd been banned from setting foot in the hospital after she'd punched out the surgeon who'd told her that re-attaching Johno's fingers was an impossibility. Ames was surprised that she didn't head straight back to the Indie, but she didn't dare ask Pen the reason why. She guessed that she was worried about Johno and Sam. The Indie was bound to feel a little weird without them and it made sense for her to wait for news among friends.
Ilsa and Guerrero returned from Los Angeles the day after the events at the marina. Ilsa told the team that Colgrove was now in the clear with Bala Perdida, but she didn't seemed that pleased about it, and when Winston asked how he was going to deal with the news of Santiago's betrayal, she gave Guerrero a cold, disapproving look and said, "Ask him. He won't tell me what he said to Bala Perdida."
"Ilsa, I'll tell you if you really want to know, but I guarantee you won't like the answer," Guerrero said, with a put-upon look.
"Then I think I'm definitely better off not knowing!" Ilsa snapped. She turned her back on him and marched into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.
"So? What happened?" Chance asked.
"I gave Bala Perdida the whereabouts of a certain sniper who just had a job fall through," Guerrero said. "I told him that he was likely to get a very competitive rate if he wanted to hire him to deal with Santiago."
"You sent Santiago's own assassin after him?" Winston asked.
"That's up to Bala Perdida, dude," Guerrero shrugged.
Chance frowned. "I can see why that would upset Ilsa. I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea either."
"Seriously? The whole 'nobody deserves to die' thing again? What did you think would happen when we let Bala Perdida deal with Santiago? He's not exactly the forgiving type!"
"I guess," Chance said. "I just wish we could have found another way to deal with him. The cops could have got him on attempted murder for shooting Brad."
"Only if Brad had been willing to testify," Winston pointed out. "He was lucky enough to survive two shots to the chest. I doubt he would have been willing to risk pointing the finger at Santiago. Besides, Santiago didn't pull the trigger himself. Even with Brad's testimony, it wouldn't exactly be a slam-dunk case."
"Speaking of Brad, shooting holes in the Eldo was not part of our agreement, Chance!" Guerrero said.
"Yeah, about that agreement…"
"You're not backing out now, dude," Guerrero smirked. "As soon as Johno is out of the hospital, you are going to have to hold up your end of the deal."
"Ames diffused a bomb!" Chance blurted out, in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
Guerrero gave him a pointed look, to let him know that he wasn't off the hook. "I heard. Good call on the secondary detonator, Ames. I didn't think you had that much experience with explosives."
"Thanks!" Ames said, flushed with pride at the rare compliment from Guerrero.
"How did you know to check for it?" he asked.
"Brody taught me some stuff," she said, waving her hands as if she was dismissing it as a small thing. No one was taken in by her false humility. Her mile-wide grin was a dead give-away. "Explosives 101: never just yank out the first wire you see without at least looking the rest of the device over first."
Winston and Guerrero turned to Chance, giving him a meaningful look.
"Hey! I look before I yank!" he protested.
"So you didn't really know what you were doing?" Pen asked, the colour draining from her face as she realised just how close she'd been to losing Johno and the Indie.
"Well… I was pretty sure that if I let Johno pull out that green wire we were toast," Ames said sheepishly.
Guerrero snorted and turned away so Pen wouldn't see him smiling.
Winston took Ames with him to pick Johno up from the hospital, and Guerrero followed them in the Eldo with Pen and Chance. Pen still wasn't allowed to set foot on hospital property, so Guerrero parked a couple of streets away, and he and Chance waited with her to make sure she didn't get any bright ideas about storming the hospital in search of round two with Johno's surgeon.
When Winston's car pulled up, Pen ran to the passenger side door, wrenched it open and pulled Johno out by his shirt. He barely had the time to say, "Easy, boss!" before Pen threw her arm around his neck, ignoring the sling supporting his injured hand, and all but devoured him with a passionate kiss that Johno enthusiastically reciprocated.
Winston got out and watched them with a satisfied expression. "I knew those two were an item."
When Pen finally let Johno surface for air, he grinned at Winston. "Actually we're not. I mean we weren't." He corrected himself, after Pen gave him a none too gentle jab to the ribs.
"Yeah, well we are now, you fuckwit," she said fondly. "I've had with all the unresolved sexual tension bullshit."
"Oh, we know all about that," Winston said, giving Chance a meaningful look.
Chance ignored him. "Okay, let's head back to the office. I've got a bottle of scotch that needs drinking."
"Not so fast, dude," Guerrero said. "You've got an obligation to fulfil, and tonight's the night."
"You're really going to make me do this?" Chance asked.
"Hell, yes!" Guerrero said. "Winston, you remember the way to Drake's bar?"
"Yeah, but I like the sound of that bottle of scotch a whole lot better," Winston grumbled.
"Trust me. You're not going to want to miss this."
Chance downed his third shot of vodka and looked around the bar apprehensively. As usual Drake's was full of the kinds of people that any sane person would go out of their way to avoid. Chance moaned when he saw that there was a group of mean looking bikers taking up three tables along one wall.
"Do I at least get to choose?" Chance asked.
"Of course, dude. But it doesn't really matter," Guerrero smirked, following Chance's gaze to the group of bikers, who were growing rowdier by the minute. "They're all pretty much as bad as each other. You might want to hurry it up though. Those guys look about ready for a fight."
Chance's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I hate you, Guerrero."
"Hate you too buddy," Guerrero smiled, as Chance pushed himself away from the bar and began making his way across the bar.
Ames, Pen, Johno and Winston were sat at a table directly in front of Chance as he stepped on to the small makeshift stage at the end of the bar with all the enthusiasm of a man climbing the steps to the gallows. The barmaid handed him a microphone, and he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Ames and Pen began whooping and cheering, which only served to draw more attention to him. He winced, but the whole bar was likely to be staring at him in a minute anyway.
After a few moments of awkward silence, when it seemed to Chance that everyone in the bar was staring at him with the kind of curiosity that could turn to violence at any time, the opening bars of Billy Joel's 'Up-town Girl' blasted over the bar's PA system. Ames and Pen exploded into laughter as Chance began to sing. Winston face-palmed, before turning to Guerrero at the bar and mouthing, "What the fuck?"
"Uptown girl. She's been living in an uptown world…"
Guerrero grinned, safe in the knowledge that Chance would think twice about drunk dialling him and leaving him musical messages again.
"Louder! We can't hear you!" Pen shouted, and was soon joined by Johno and Ames. "Louder! Louder!" Winston just shook his head and laughed.
The other customers in the bar seemed to take Chance's impromptu performance remarkably well, despite Chance's understandable apprehension, and a few of them were actually singing along. Guerrero kept a close eye on the crowd to make sure no one tried to throw anything at Chance, but the overall mood seemed to be one of bewildered amusement. It was obvious that Chance wasn't singing through choice, so most people just sat back and enjoyed his humiliation.
Chance shot Guerrero a look of pure hatred and Guerrero acknowledged it by grinning and raising his glass in a toast. When Chance didn't get any louder, Ames and Pen climbed up beside him and began singing along with him, adding the woah-woah-woahs at the appropriate moments. Guerrero shook his head and sighed. The deal was that Chance was supposed to be up there singing on his own, but he let it slide. The look on Chance's face was enough to assure him that his point had been well and truly made.
THE END!