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Claire stared at him, feeling her stomach knot, feeling that knot transforming into a burning, leaden anger. Chris, I won't see Chris… John pushed away from the seat he'd been leaning on and grabbed Trent's arm before Claire could even open her mouth, before anyone had time to respond to his statement.
"Tell your 'acquaintance' to keep right on goin' the way we're goin'," John spat, glowering at Trent. From the way John's hands were shaking, Claire thought there was a good chance that he would break Trent's arm – and found that she didn't think that was such a bad idea. Trent wore an expression of mild discomfort, noth– ing more. "I'm sorry to interrupt your plans," he said, "but if you'll hear me out, I think you'll agree that it's for the best – if you really want to stop Umbrella, that is." For the best? Chris, we have to help Chris and the others, what is this shit?
She waited for the others to explode into action, to storm the cockpit, to tie Mr. Trent to a chair and force him to explain himself – but they were all silent, looking at one another and at Trent with shock, anger – and interest, guarded but interest nonethe-less. John loosened his grip, glancing at David for direction. "This had better be a good story, Mr. Trent," David said coolly. "I'm aware that you've – helped us in the past, but this kind of interference isn't the kind of help we want or need."
He tipped his head at John, who reluctantly let go of Trent and stepped back. Not very far back, Claire noticed. If Trent had been worried at all, there was no sign of it. He nodded at David, and in his low, musical voice, started to speak.
"As I'm sure you're all aware, Umbrella, Inc., has facilities in locations all around the world, factories and plants that employ thousands of people and generate hundreds of millions of dollars each year. Most of them are legitimate pharmaceutical or chemi-cal companies, and have no relevance to this discus-sion, except that they're quite profitable; the money generated by Umbrella's legal enterprises allows them to finance their lesser-known operations – operations that you and yours have recently had the misfortune to come across." "These operations fall into a division known as White Umbrella, and mostly have to do with bioweap– ons research. There are very few who know all of the ins and outs of White Umbrella's business, but the ones who do are extremely powerful. Powerful, and committed to creating all sorts of unpleasantness. Chemical weapons, fatal diseases… the T and G series viruses that have been so troublesome as of late." That's an understatement, Claire thought nastily, but was intrigued in spite of herself. To finally know something about what they were up against… "Why?" Leon asked. "Chemical warfare isn't all that profitable, anyone with a centrifuge and some gardening supplies can come up with a bioweapon." Rebecca was nodding. "And the kind of work they're doing, applying rapid fuse virions to genetic redistribution – it's incredibly expensive, and as haz-ardous to work with as nuclear waste. Worse." Trent shook his head. "They're doing it because they can. Because they want to." He smiled faintly. "Because when you're richer and more powerful than anyone else on the planet, you get bored." "Who gets bored?" David asked.
Trent gazed at him for a moment, then started talking again, blatantly ignoring David's question.
"White Umbrella's current focus is on bio-organic soldiers, if you will – individual specimens, most genetically altered, all injected with some variation of virus intended to make them violent and strong and oblivious to pain. The manner in which these viruses amplify in humans, the 'zombie' reaction, is nothing more than an unexpected side effect; the viruses Umbrella creates are designed for nonhuman use, at least at this point."
Claire was interested, but she was also getting impatient. "So when do we get to the part about why you're here, why you don't want us going to Europe?"
she asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of her voice. Trent looked at her, his dark eyes suddenly sympa– thetic, and she realized that he knew why she was angry, that he knew all about her reasons for wanting to go to Europe. She could see it in the way he gazed at her, his eyes telling her that he understood – and she suddenly felt deeply uneasy.
He knows everything, doesn't he? All about us… "Not all of the White Umbrella facilities are the same," he continued. "There are some that deal strictly with data, some only with the chemistry, some where specimens are grown or surgically pieced to-gether – and a very few where these specimens are tested. And that brings us to why I'm here, and why I'd rather you postponed your plans." "There's an Umbrella testing facility about to go on line in Utah, just north of the salt flats. Right now, it's staffed by a very small crew of technicians and… specimen handlers, and is scheduled to become fully operational in about three weeks. The man overseeing the final preparations is one of White Umbrella's key players, a man named Reston. The job was supposed to have been handled by another fellow, a despicable little man by the name of Lewis, but Mr. Lewis had an unfortunate and not entirely unplanned accident… and now Reston is in charge. And because he is one of the very important men behind White Umbrella, he has, in his possession, a little black book. There are only three of these books, and the other two would be nearly impossible to get hold of…" "So what's in it?" John snapped. "Get to the point."
Trent smiled at John as if he had asked politely.
"Each book is a kind of master key; each has a complete directory of codes used to program every mainframe in every White Umbrella facility. With that book, one could conceivably break into any lab or test site and access everything from personnel files to financial statements. They'll change the codes once the book is stolen, of course – but unless they want to lose everything they've stored, it will take them months."
No one spoke for a moment, the only sound that of the plane's insistent hum. Claire looked at each of them, saw the thoughtful expressions, saw that they were seriously considering Trent's implied propos– al. – and realized that it had just become highly un– likely that they would be going to Europe after all.
"But what about Chris, and Jill and Barry? You said they were okay – how do you know that?" Claire asked, and David could just hear the barely hidden desperation.
"It would take a very long time to explain how I come by my information," Trent said smoothly. "And while I'm certain you don't want to hear this, I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me. Your brother and his companions are in no immediate danger, they don't need you at the moment – but the opportunity to get Reston's book, to get into that lab, will be gone in less than a week. There's no security detail right now, half the systems aren't even running – and as long as you stay away from the test program, there are no creatures to contend with."
David wasn't sure what to think. It sounded good, it sounded like exactly the opportunity they'd been hoping for… but then, so had Caliban Cove. So had a lot of things.
And as for trusting Mr. Trent…"What's your stake in this?" David asked. "Why do you want to hurt Umbrella?" Trent shrugged. "Call it a hobby."I'm serious," David said. "So am I." Trent smiled, his eyes still dancing with that twinkling humor. David had only seen him once before, hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words, but Trent seemed just as strangely happy now as he had then; whatever it was that made him tick, it was certainly bringing him a lot of pleasure. "Why have you been so cryptic?" Rebecca asked, and David nodded, saw that the others were doing the same. "The stuff you gave to Jill, and to David, before – all riddles and clues. Why not just tell us what we need to know?"Because you needed to figure it out," Trent said. "Or, rather, it was necessary that you appeared to figure it out, all by yourselves. As I said before, there are very few people who know what White Umbrella
is doing; if you seemed to know too much, it might come back to me." "Then why take the risk now?" David asked. "For that matter, why do you need us at all? You obviously have some connection to White Umbrella; why not go public, or sabotage them from the inside?" Trent smiled again. "I'm taking the risk because it's time to take a risk. And as to the rest… all I can say is that I have my reasons." He talks and talks, and yet we still don't know what the hell he's doing, or why… how exactly does he manage that? "Why don't you tell us a few of those reasons, Trent?" None of it was sitting well with John, David saw; he was scowling at their stowaway, looking as though he might have to be talked out of punching the man. Trent didn't answer. Instead, he pushed himself off of the seat and picked up his coat, turning to look at David.
"I realize you'll want to discuss this before you make your decision," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll take this opportunity to visit our captain. If you decide against collecting Reston's book, I'll step aside. I said before that you had no choice, but that was my dramatic side showing, I suppose; there's always a choice."
On that, Trent turned and walked to the front of the cabin and slipped behind the curtain without a back-ward glance.
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
"Tell your 'acquaintance' to keep right on goin' the way we're goin'," John spat, glowering at Trent. From the way John's hands were shaking, Claire thought there was a good chance that he would break Trent's arm – and found that she didn't think that was such a bad idea. Trent wore an expression of mild discomfort, noth– ing more. "I'm sorry to interrupt your plans," he said, "but if you'll hear me out, I think you'll agree that it's for the best – if you really want to stop Umbrella, that is." For the best? Chris, we have to help Chris and the others, what is this shit?
She waited for the others to explode into action, to storm the cockpit, to tie Mr. Trent to a chair and force him to explain himself – but they were all silent, looking at one another and at Trent with shock, anger – and interest, guarded but interest nonethe-less. John loosened his grip, glancing at David for direction. "This had better be a good story, Mr. Trent," David said coolly. "I'm aware that you've – helped us in the past, but this kind of interference isn't the kind of help we want or need."
He tipped his head at John, who reluctantly let go of Trent and stepped back. Not very far back, Claire noticed. If Trent had been worried at all, there was no sign of it. He nodded at David, and in his low, musical voice, started to speak.
"As I'm sure you're all aware, Umbrella, Inc., has facilities in locations all around the world, factories and plants that employ thousands of people and generate hundreds of millions of dollars each year. Most of them are legitimate pharmaceutical or chemi-cal companies, and have no relevance to this discus-sion, except that they're quite profitable; the money generated by Umbrella's legal enterprises allows them to finance their lesser-known operations – operations that you and yours have recently had the misfortune to come across." "These operations fall into a division known as White Umbrella, and mostly have to do with bioweap– ons research. There are very few who know all of the ins and outs of White Umbrella's business, but the ones who do are extremely powerful. Powerful, and committed to creating all sorts of unpleasantness. Chemical weapons, fatal diseases… the T and G series viruses that have been so troublesome as of late." That's an understatement, Claire thought nastily, but was intrigued in spite of herself. To finally know something about what they were up against… "Why?" Leon asked. "Chemical warfare isn't all that profitable, anyone with a centrifuge and some gardening supplies can come up with a bioweapon." Rebecca was nodding. "And the kind of work they're doing, applying rapid fuse virions to genetic redistribution – it's incredibly expensive, and as haz-ardous to work with as nuclear waste. Worse." Trent shook his head. "They're doing it because they can. Because they want to." He smiled faintly. "Because when you're richer and more powerful than anyone else on the planet, you get bored." "Who gets bored?" David asked.
Trent gazed at him for a moment, then started talking again, blatantly ignoring David's question.
"White Umbrella's current focus is on bio-organic soldiers, if you will – individual specimens, most genetically altered, all injected with some variation of virus intended to make them violent and strong and oblivious to pain. The manner in which these viruses amplify in humans, the 'zombie' reaction, is nothing more than an unexpected side effect; the viruses Umbrella creates are designed for nonhuman use, at least at this point."
Claire was interested, but she was also getting impatient. "So when do we get to the part about why you're here, why you don't want us going to Europe?"
she asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of her voice. Trent looked at her, his dark eyes suddenly sympa– thetic, and she realized that he knew why she was angry, that he knew all about her reasons for wanting to go to Europe. She could see it in the way he gazed at her, his eyes telling her that he understood – and she suddenly felt deeply uneasy.
He knows everything, doesn't he? All about us… "Not all of the White Umbrella facilities are the same," he continued. "There are some that deal strictly with data, some only with the chemistry, some where specimens are grown or surgically pieced to-gether – and a very few where these specimens are tested. And that brings us to why I'm here, and why I'd rather you postponed your plans." "There's an Umbrella testing facility about to go on line in Utah, just north of the salt flats. Right now, it's staffed by a very small crew of technicians and… specimen handlers, and is scheduled to become fully operational in about three weeks. The man overseeing the final preparations is one of White Umbrella's key players, a man named Reston. The job was supposed to have been handled by another fellow, a despicable little man by the name of Lewis, but Mr. Lewis had an unfortunate and not entirely unplanned accident… and now Reston is in charge. And because he is one of the very important men behind White Umbrella, he has, in his possession, a little black book. There are only three of these books, and the other two would be nearly impossible to get hold of…" "So what's in it?" John snapped. "Get to the point."
Trent smiled at John as if he had asked politely.
"Each book is a kind of master key; each has a complete directory of codes used to program every mainframe in every White Umbrella facility. With that book, one could conceivably break into any lab or test site and access everything from personnel files to financial statements. They'll change the codes once the book is stolen, of course – but unless they want to lose everything they've stored, it will take them months."
No one spoke for a moment, the only sound that of the plane's insistent hum. Claire looked at each of them, saw the thoughtful expressions, saw that they were seriously considering Trent's implied propos– al. – and realized that it had just become highly un– likely that they would be going to Europe after all.
"But what about Chris, and Jill and Barry? You said they were okay – how do you know that?" Claire asked, and David could just hear the barely hidden desperation.
"It would take a very long time to explain how I come by my information," Trent said smoothly. "And while I'm certain you don't want to hear this, I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me. Your brother and his companions are in no immediate danger, they don't need you at the moment – but the opportunity to get Reston's book, to get into that lab, will be gone in less than a week. There's no security detail right now, half the systems aren't even running – and as long as you stay away from the test program, there are no creatures to contend with."
David wasn't sure what to think. It sounded good, it sounded like exactly the opportunity they'd been hoping for… but then, so had Caliban Cove. So had a lot of things.
And as for trusting Mr. Trent…"What's your stake in this?" David asked. "Why do you want to hurt Umbrella?" Trent shrugged. "Call it a hobby."I'm serious," David said. "So am I." Trent smiled, his eyes still dancing with that twinkling humor. David had only seen him once before, hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words, but Trent seemed just as strangely happy now as he had then; whatever it was that made him tick, it was certainly bringing him a lot of pleasure. "Why have you been so cryptic?" Rebecca asked, and David nodded, saw that the others were doing the same. "The stuff you gave to Jill, and to David, before – all riddles and clues. Why not just tell us what we need to know?"Because you needed to figure it out," Trent said. "Or, rather, it was necessary that you appeared to figure it out, all by yourselves. As I said before, there are very few people who know what White Umbrella
is doing; if you seemed to know too much, it might come back to me." "Then why take the risk now?" David asked. "For that matter, why do you need us at all? You obviously have some connection to White Umbrella; why not go public, or sabotage them from the inside?" Trent smiled again. "I'm taking the risk because it's time to take a risk. And as to the rest… all I can say is that I have my reasons." He talks and talks, and yet we still don't know what the hell he's doing, or why… how exactly does he manage that? "Why don't you tell us a few of those reasons, Trent?" None of it was sitting well with John, David saw; he was scowling at their stowaway, looking as though he might have to be talked out of punching the man. Trent didn't answer. Instead, he pushed himself off of the seat and picked up his coat, turning to look at David.
"I realize you'll want to discuss this before you make your decision," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll take this opportunity to visit our captain. If you decide against collecting Reston's book, I'll step aside. I said before that you had no choice, but that was my dramatic side showing, I suppose; there's always a choice."
On that, Trent turned and walked to the front of the cabin and slipped behind the curtain without a back-ward glance.
FOUR
JOHN BROKE THE SILENCE ABOUT TWO SEC-onds after Trent left the cabin. "To hell with this," he said, looking as pissed off as Rebecca had ever seen him. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not all that happy about being played like this – I'm not here to be Mr. Trent's boy, and I don't trust him. I say we get him to talk about Umbrella, tell us what he knows about our team in Europe – and if he gives us one more say-nothing answer, we should drop-kick his evasive ass out the damned door."
Rebecca knew he was royally ticked, but she couldn't help herself. "Yeah, John, but how do you really feel?"
He glared in her direction – and then grinned, and somehow, that broke the tension for all of them. It was as though they all remembered how to breathe again at the same time; the unexpected visit from
their mysterious benefactor had made it hard for a few moments to remember much of anything. "We've got John's vote," David said. "Claire? I know you were worried about Chris…" Claire nodded slowly. "Yeah. And I want to see him again, as soon as possible…" "But," David said, coaxing the rest of it out. "But – I think he's telling the truth. About them being okay, I mean." Leon was nodding. "I do, too. John's right about him being slick – but I don't think he was lying, about anything. He didn't tell us a lot, but I didn't get the impression that he was bullshitting us with what he would say." David turned toward her. "Rebecca?" She sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, John, but I agree. I think he's got some credibility; he's helped us before, in his own weird way, and the fact that he's here, unarmed, says something…" "… it says he's a dumbass," John muttered darkly, and Rebecca punched him lightly on the arm, realiz– ing suddenly, intuitively, why John was so reluctant to accept Trent's word.
Trent wasn't intimidated by him.
She was sure of it; she knew John well enough to know that Trent's indifference would absolutely push his buttons. Choosing her words carefully, keeping her tone light, Rebecca grinned at him. "I think you just hate the fact that he's not scared of your big scary self, John. Most people would've wet their pants with you towering over them."
It was the right thing to say. John frowned thought– fully, then shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe. I still don't trust him, though." "I don't think any of us should," David said. "He's keeping an awful lot to himself for someone who wants our help. The question is, do we seek out this Reston, or do we continue with our original plans?"
No one spoke for a moment, and Rebecca could see that no one wanted to say it – to acknowledge that if Trent was telling the truth, there was no reason to go to Europe. She didn't want to say it, either; somehow, it felt like a betrayal of Jill and Chris and Barry, like, "we've found something better to do than come to your aid."
But if they don't need us…Rebecca decided that she may as well go first. "If this place is as easy as he says… when would we ever have another chance like this?"
Claire was biting at her lip, looking unhappy.
Looking torn. "If we found that book of codes, we'd have something to take with us to Europe. Something that could really make a difference." "If we find the book," John said, but Rebecca could see that the idea was growing on him. "It could be a turning point," David said softly. "It would knock the odds against us down from a million to one to perhaps only a few thousand." "I have to admit, it would be fine to turn over Umbrella's private files to the press," John said. "Download all of their shitty little secrets and pass them out to every paper in the country."
They were all nodding, and although she thought it might take a little more time to get used to the idea, Rebecca knew that the decision had been made. It seemed that they were going to Utah. If anyone had expected Trent to be overjoyed at the news, they would have been deeply disappointed. When David called him back to the cabin and told him that they would go to the new testing facility, Trent only nodded, that same enigmatic smile on his lined and weathered face. "Here are the coordinates for the site," Trent said, pulling a slip of paper from his front pocket. "There are also several numerical codes listed, one of which will provide entry – although the keypad may be hard to find. I'm sorry I wasn't able to narrow it down any further."
Leon watched as David took the paper from Trent, as Trent walked back out to tell the pilot, wondering why it was that he couldn't stop thinking about Ada. Since Trent's little speech about White Umbrella, memories of Ada Wong's skill and beauty, echoes of her deep, sultry voice had been haunting Leon. It wasn't a conscious thing, or at least not at first. It was that something about the man reminded him of her; maybe that supreme self-confidence, or that hint of sly smile -
–and at the end, before that crazy woman shot her, I accused her of being an Umbrella spy – and she'd said that she wasn't, that who she worked for wasn't my concern…
Although he and Claire had come into the fight pretty late in the game, they'd been thoroughly briefed on what the others knew about Umbrella, and what part Trent had played in the past. The one constant – besides being incredibly elusive with in– formation – was that he seemed to know all sorts of things that no one else knew.
It can't hurt to ask.
When Trent walked back into the cabin, Leon
approached him. "Mr. Trent," he said carefully, watching him close– ly, "in Raccoon City, I met a woman named Ada Wong…"
Trent gazed at him, his face giving nothing away.
"Yes?"I was wondering if you knew anything about her, about who she was working for. She was looking for a sample of the G-Virus…" Trent arched his eyebrows. "Was she? And did she find it?"
Leon studied his dark, quick eyes, wondering why he felt like Trent already knew the answer. He couldn't, of course, Ada had been murdered just before the laboratory had exploded. "Yes, she did," Leon said. "In the end, though, she… she sacrificed herself in a way, rather than make a choice. Between killing someone and losing the sample." "And was that someone you?" Trent asked softly. Leon was aware that the others were watching, and was a little surprised that he wasn't at all uncomfort– able. Even a month ago, such a personal conversation would have been embarrassing for him. "Yeah," he said, almost defiantly. "It was me." Trent nodded slowly, smiling a little. "Then it seems to me that you wouldn't need to know anything else about her. About her character or motivations."
Leon wasn't sure if he was evading the question or honestly telling him what he thought, but either way, the simple logic of his answer made Leon feel better. As though he'd known the answer himself all along. Whatever psychology he was working, Trent was quite a piece of work.
He's smooth, cultured, and scary as hell in his own quiet way… Ada would have liked him. "… much as I'd enjoy talking with you, I have some business with our captain that needs to be attended to," Trent was saying. "We'll be at Salt Lake in five or six hours."
With that, he nodded toward them and disappeared through the curtain again. "Too good to sit with the grunts?" John asked, obviously not over his initial dislike. Leon looked around at the others, saw thoughtful and uneasy expressions, saw Claire looking as though she half wanted to change her mind. Leon walked to where she was leaning against a seat, her arms folded tightly, and touched her shoulder. "Thinking about Chris?" He asked gently.
To his surprise, she shook her head, smiling at him nervously. "No. Actually, I was thinking about the Spencer estate, and the raid on Caliban Cove, and what happened in Raccoon. I was thinking that no matter what Trent says about how simple this will be, nothing is ever simple with Umbrella. Things have a way of getting complicated when they're involved. You'd think we would know that by now…"
She trailed off, then shook her head as if trying to clear it, giving him another, brighter smile. "Listen to me talk. I'm going to get a sandwich, you want anything?" "No, thanks," he said absently, still thinking about what she'd said as she walked away – and wondering suddenly if their little trek to Utah was going to be the last mistake that any of them ever made.
Steve Lopez, good ol' Steve, his face as blank and white as a sheet of paper, standing in the middle of the strange, vast laboratory, standing and aiming his semi at them and telling them to drop their weapons -
– and the rage, the pain and red fury that hit John like a hurricane as he realized what had happened, that Karen was dead, that Steve had been turned into one of those crazy asshole's zombie soldiers -
–and John screamed, what did you do to him, not thinking, spinning instead, firing at the blank-faced drone behind them, the round punching neatly through its left temple and the cold air stinking like death as the creature fell -
– and pain! Pain, tearing through him as Steve, Stevie, his friend and comrade, shot him in the back. John felt blood dribble from his lips, felt himself turning, felt more pain than he thought he could feel. Steve had shot him, the mad doctor had used the virus on him and Steve wasn't Steve anymore and the world was spinning, screaming…
"John, John wake up you're having a bad dream. Hey, big guy…"
John sat up, his eyes wide and his heart thumping, feeling disoriented and afraid. The cool hand on his arm was Rebecca's, the touch gentle and soothing, and he realized that he was awake, that he'd been dreaming and was now awake. "Shit," he mumbled, and sagged back against his seat, closing his eyes. They were still on the plane, the soft drone of the engine and the hiss of canned air putting to rest the last of his confusion. "You okay?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded, taking a few deep breaths before he opened his eyes again.
"Did I – did I yell or anything?"
Rebecca smiled at him, watching him closely.
"Nope. Just so happens I was on my way back from the bathroom and saw you twitching like a rabbit. It didn't look like you were having much fun… hope I didn't interrupt anything good."
The last was almost a question. John forced a grin and avoided the subject entirely, glancing out at the passing darkness instead. "Three tuna sandwiches before bed was a bad idea, I guess. We almost there?" Rebecca nodded. "We're just starting the descent. Fifteen, twenty minutes, David says."
She was still scrutinizing him, still wearing an expression of warmth and concern, and John realized he was being an idiot. Keeping that shit to oneself was a sure ticket to losing one's mind. "I was in the lab," he said, and Rebecca nodded, it was all he needed to say. She'd been there.
"I had one just a couple of days ago, right after we decided to leave Exeter," she said softly. "A real nasty one. It was kind of a combination, stuff from the Spencer lab and from the cove."
John nodded, thinking about what a remarkable young woman she was. She'd faced down a houseful of Umbrella monsters on her first S.T.A.R.S. mission, and had still decided to come with them to check out the cove when David had asked.
"You kick ass, 'becca. If I were a few years younger, I think it might be love," he said, and was pleased at her blushing, grinning reaction. She was probably smarter than him by half, but she was also a teenage girl – and if he remembered correctly from back in his day, teenage girls weren't adverse to hearing about how cool they were. "Shut up," she said, her tone of voice telling him that he had, in fact, thoroughly embarrassed her and that she didn't mind. A moment of comfortable silence rested between them, the last dregs of the nightmare fading as the cabin pressure fluctuated, the plane on its way down. In a few minutes, they'd be in Utah, of all places. David had already suggested that they get to a hotel and start making plans, that they would go in tomor– row night.
Go in, get the book, and then get the hell out.
Easy… except hadn't that pretty much been the plan
for the cove?
John decided that once they landed, he wanted to do a little more talking with Trent. He was up for the mission, for getting the book and throwing a few wrenches into Umbrella's works in the process -but he still wasn't happy with Trent's rather selective information. Yeah, the man was helping them, but why so weird about it? And why hadn't he told them what their Europe team was doing, or who was running White Umbrella, or how he'd known to put his own pilot on their charter?
Because he's on some power trip, that's why. Control freak.
That didn't seem quite right, but John couldn't think of any other reason that their Mr. Trent was being such a secret agent wannabe spy. Maybe if he got his arm twisted a little, he'd be more forth– coming…
"John, I know you don't like him, but do you
think he's right about this being a snap job? I mean,
what if this Reston won't give it up? Or what if… what
if something else happens?"
She was trying to sound professional, her tone light and easy, but the troubled look deep in her mild brown eyes gave her away.
Something else. Something like a viral spill, some-thing like a crazy scientist, something like biomonsters getting loose. Like the something that always happens around Umbrella… "If I have anything to say about it, the only thing that will go wrong is that Reston will shit himself and the smell will be terrible," he said, and was again rewarded with a grin from the young woman. "You're a dork," she said, and John shrugged, thinking how easy it was to make the girl smile and wondering if it was such a good idea to get her hopes up. A few moments later the small plane touched down easily and for the first time, the pilot used the inter– com system. He told them to remain seated until the plane had stopped and then clicked off, not bothering with the usual crap about how he hoped they'd enjoyed their flight or what the current temperature was; for that, at least, John was grateful. The small craft rolled across the tarmac, finally coming to a gentle stop, the team standing and stretching and putting on their coats. As soon as he heard the outer door pop, John stepped past Rebecca and walked to the front of the cabin, determined not to let Trent get off before they'd had a chance to chat. He pushed through the curtain, a cold wind blowing into the small passage behind the cockpit, and saw that he was too late. The pilot, Evans, was standing in the doorway to the cockpit by himself. Somehow, Trent had managed to slip away in the few seconds it took John to walk through the tiny plane. The metal stairs that had been pushed to the outside of the craft were empty – and even though John took the steps two at a time, hitting the ground in less than a heartbeat, there was still nothing to see in the endless stretch of tarmac, and no one at all except for the man who'd brought the stairs out. When asked about Trent, the airport worker insisted that the first person off the plane had been John himself. "Son of a bitch," John spat, and it didn't matter, because they were in Utah. Trent or no Trent, they had arrived – and because it was after midnight, they had less than a day to get ready.
Rebecca knew he was royally ticked, but she couldn't help herself. "Yeah, John, but how do you really feel?"
He glared in her direction – and then grinned, and somehow, that broke the tension for all of them. It was as though they all remembered how to breathe again at the same time; the unexpected visit from
their mysterious benefactor had made it hard for a few moments to remember much of anything. "We've got John's vote," David said. "Claire? I know you were worried about Chris…" Claire nodded slowly. "Yeah. And I want to see him again, as soon as possible…" "But," David said, coaxing the rest of it out. "But – I think he's telling the truth. About them being okay, I mean." Leon was nodding. "I do, too. John's right about him being slick – but I don't think he was lying, about anything. He didn't tell us a lot, but I didn't get the impression that he was bullshitting us with what he would say." David turned toward her. "Rebecca?" She sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, John, but I agree. I think he's got some credibility; he's helped us before, in his own weird way, and the fact that he's here, unarmed, says something…" "… it says he's a dumbass," John muttered darkly, and Rebecca punched him lightly on the arm, realiz– ing suddenly, intuitively, why John was so reluctant to accept Trent's word.
Trent wasn't intimidated by him.
She was sure of it; she knew John well enough to know that Trent's indifference would absolutely push his buttons. Choosing her words carefully, keeping her tone light, Rebecca grinned at him. "I think you just hate the fact that he's not scared of your big scary self, John. Most people would've wet their pants with you towering over them."
It was the right thing to say. John frowned thought– fully, then shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe. I still don't trust him, though." "I don't think any of us should," David said. "He's keeping an awful lot to himself for someone who wants our help. The question is, do we seek out this Reston, or do we continue with our original plans?"
No one spoke for a moment, and Rebecca could see that no one wanted to say it – to acknowledge that if Trent was telling the truth, there was no reason to go to Europe. She didn't want to say it, either; somehow, it felt like a betrayal of Jill and Chris and Barry, like, "we've found something better to do than come to your aid."
But if they don't need us…Rebecca decided that she may as well go first. "If this place is as easy as he says… when would we ever have another chance like this?"
Claire was biting at her lip, looking unhappy.
Looking torn. "If we found that book of codes, we'd have something to take with us to Europe. Something that could really make a difference." "If we find the book," John said, but Rebecca could see that the idea was growing on him. "It could be a turning point," David said softly. "It would knock the odds against us down from a million to one to perhaps only a few thousand." "I have to admit, it would be fine to turn over Umbrella's private files to the press," John said. "Download all of their shitty little secrets and pass them out to every paper in the country."
They were all nodding, and although she thought it might take a little more time to get used to the idea, Rebecca knew that the decision had been made. It seemed that they were going to Utah. If anyone had expected Trent to be overjoyed at the news, they would have been deeply disappointed. When David called him back to the cabin and told him that they would go to the new testing facility, Trent only nodded, that same enigmatic smile on his lined and weathered face. "Here are the coordinates for the site," Trent said, pulling a slip of paper from his front pocket. "There are also several numerical codes listed, one of which will provide entry – although the keypad may be hard to find. I'm sorry I wasn't able to narrow it down any further."
Leon watched as David took the paper from Trent, as Trent walked back out to tell the pilot, wondering why it was that he couldn't stop thinking about Ada. Since Trent's little speech about White Umbrella, memories of Ada Wong's skill and beauty, echoes of her deep, sultry voice had been haunting Leon. It wasn't a conscious thing, or at least not at first. It was that something about the man reminded him of her; maybe that supreme self-confidence, or that hint of sly smile -
–and at the end, before that crazy woman shot her, I accused her of being an Umbrella spy – and she'd said that she wasn't, that who she worked for wasn't my concern…
Although he and Claire had come into the fight pretty late in the game, they'd been thoroughly briefed on what the others knew about Umbrella, and what part Trent had played in the past. The one constant – besides being incredibly elusive with in– formation – was that he seemed to know all sorts of things that no one else knew.
It can't hurt to ask.
When Trent walked back into the cabin, Leon
approached him. "Mr. Trent," he said carefully, watching him close– ly, "in Raccoon City, I met a woman named Ada Wong…"
Trent gazed at him, his face giving nothing away.
"Yes?"I was wondering if you knew anything about her, about who she was working for. She was looking for a sample of the G-Virus…" Trent arched his eyebrows. "Was she? And did she find it?"
Leon studied his dark, quick eyes, wondering why he felt like Trent already knew the answer. He couldn't, of course, Ada had been murdered just before the laboratory had exploded. "Yes, she did," Leon said. "In the end, though, she… she sacrificed herself in a way, rather than make a choice. Between killing someone and losing the sample." "And was that someone you?" Trent asked softly. Leon was aware that the others were watching, and was a little surprised that he wasn't at all uncomfort– able. Even a month ago, such a personal conversation would have been embarrassing for him. "Yeah," he said, almost defiantly. "It was me." Trent nodded slowly, smiling a little. "Then it seems to me that you wouldn't need to know anything else about her. About her character or motivations."
Leon wasn't sure if he was evading the question or honestly telling him what he thought, but either way, the simple logic of his answer made Leon feel better. As though he'd known the answer himself all along. Whatever psychology he was working, Trent was quite a piece of work.
He's smooth, cultured, and scary as hell in his own quiet way… Ada would have liked him. "… much as I'd enjoy talking with you, I have some business with our captain that needs to be attended to," Trent was saying. "We'll be at Salt Lake in five or six hours."
With that, he nodded toward them and disappeared through the curtain again. "Too good to sit with the grunts?" John asked, obviously not over his initial dislike. Leon looked around at the others, saw thoughtful and uneasy expressions, saw Claire looking as though she half wanted to change her mind. Leon walked to where she was leaning against a seat, her arms folded tightly, and touched her shoulder. "Thinking about Chris?" He asked gently.
To his surprise, she shook her head, smiling at him nervously. "No. Actually, I was thinking about the Spencer estate, and the raid on Caliban Cove, and what happened in Raccoon. I was thinking that no matter what Trent says about how simple this will be, nothing is ever simple with Umbrella. Things have a way of getting complicated when they're involved. You'd think we would know that by now…"
She trailed off, then shook her head as if trying to clear it, giving him another, brighter smile. "Listen to me talk. I'm going to get a sandwich, you want anything?" "No, thanks," he said absently, still thinking about what she'd said as she walked away – and wondering suddenly if their little trek to Utah was going to be the last mistake that any of them ever made.
Steve Lopez, good ol' Steve, his face as blank and white as a sheet of paper, standing in the middle of the strange, vast laboratory, standing and aiming his semi at them and telling them to drop their weapons -
– and the rage, the pain and red fury that hit John like a hurricane as he realized what had happened, that Karen was dead, that Steve had been turned into one of those crazy asshole's zombie soldiers -
–and John screamed, what did you do to him, not thinking, spinning instead, firing at the blank-faced drone behind them, the round punching neatly through its left temple and the cold air stinking like death as the creature fell -
– and pain! Pain, tearing through him as Steve, Stevie, his friend and comrade, shot him in the back. John felt blood dribble from his lips, felt himself turning, felt more pain than he thought he could feel. Steve had shot him, the mad doctor had used the virus on him and Steve wasn't Steve anymore and the world was spinning, screaming…
"John, John wake up you're having a bad dream. Hey, big guy…"
John sat up, his eyes wide and his heart thumping, feeling disoriented and afraid. The cool hand on his arm was Rebecca's, the touch gentle and soothing, and he realized that he was awake, that he'd been dreaming and was now awake. "Shit," he mumbled, and sagged back against his seat, closing his eyes. They were still on the plane, the soft drone of the engine and the hiss of canned air putting to rest the last of his confusion. "You okay?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded, taking a few deep breaths before he opened his eyes again.
"Did I – did I yell or anything?"
Rebecca smiled at him, watching him closely.
"Nope. Just so happens I was on my way back from the bathroom and saw you twitching like a rabbit. It didn't look like you were having much fun… hope I didn't interrupt anything good."
The last was almost a question. John forced a grin and avoided the subject entirely, glancing out at the passing darkness instead. "Three tuna sandwiches before bed was a bad idea, I guess. We almost there?" Rebecca nodded. "We're just starting the descent. Fifteen, twenty minutes, David says."
She was still scrutinizing him, still wearing an expression of warmth and concern, and John realized he was being an idiot. Keeping that shit to oneself was a sure ticket to losing one's mind. "I was in the lab," he said, and Rebecca nodded, it was all he needed to say. She'd been there.
"I had one just a couple of days ago, right after we decided to leave Exeter," she said softly. "A real nasty one. It was kind of a combination, stuff from the Spencer lab and from the cove."
John nodded, thinking about what a remarkable young woman she was. She'd faced down a houseful of Umbrella monsters on her first S.T.A.R.S. mission, and had still decided to come with them to check out the cove when David had asked.
"You kick ass, 'becca. If I were a few years younger, I think it might be love," he said, and was pleased at her blushing, grinning reaction. She was probably smarter than him by half, but she was also a teenage girl – and if he remembered correctly from back in his day, teenage girls weren't adverse to hearing about how cool they were. "Shut up," she said, her tone of voice telling him that he had, in fact, thoroughly embarrassed her and that she didn't mind. A moment of comfortable silence rested between them, the last dregs of the nightmare fading as the cabin pressure fluctuated, the plane on its way down. In a few minutes, they'd be in Utah, of all places. David had already suggested that they get to a hotel and start making plans, that they would go in tomor– row night.
Go in, get the book, and then get the hell out.
Easy… except hadn't that pretty much been the plan
for the cove?
John decided that once they landed, he wanted to do a little more talking with Trent. He was up for the mission, for getting the book and throwing a few wrenches into Umbrella's works in the process -but he still wasn't happy with Trent's rather selective information. Yeah, the man was helping them, but why so weird about it? And why hadn't he told them what their Europe team was doing, or who was running White Umbrella, or how he'd known to put his own pilot on their charter?
Because he's on some power trip, that's why. Control freak.
That didn't seem quite right, but John couldn't think of any other reason that their Mr. Trent was being such a secret agent wannabe spy. Maybe if he got his arm twisted a little, he'd be more forth– coming…
"John, I know you don't like him, but do you
think he's right about this being a snap job? I mean,
what if this Reston won't give it up? Or what if… what
if something else happens?"
She was trying to sound professional, her tone light and easy, but the troubled look deep in her mild brown eyes gave her away.
Something else. Something like a viral spill, some-thing like a crazy scientist, something like biomonsters getting loose. Like the something that always happens around Umbrella… "If I have anything to say about it, the only thing that will go wrong is that Reston will shit himself and the smell will be terrible," he said, and was again rewarded with a grin from the young woman. "You're a dork," she said, and John shrugged, thinking how easy it was to make the girl smile and wondering if it was such a good idea to get her hopes up. A few moments later the small plane touched down easily and for the first time, the pilot used the inter– com system. He told them to remain seated until the plane had stopped and then clicked off, not bothering with the usual crap about how he hoped they'd enjoyed their flight or what the current temperature was; for that, at least, John was grateful. The small craft rolled across the tarmac, finally coming to a gentle stop, the team standing and stretching and putting on their coats. As soon as he heard the outer door pop, John stepped past Rebecca and walked to the front of the cabin, determined not to let Trent get off before they'd had a chance to chat. He pushed through the curtain, a cold wind blowing into the small passage behind the cockpit, and saw that he was too late. The pilot, Evans, was standing in the doorway to the cockpit by himself. Somehow, Trent had managed to slip away in the few seconds it took John to walk through the tiny plane. The metal stairs that had been pushed to the outside of the craft were empty – and even though John took the steps two at a time, hitting the ground in less than a heartbeat, there was still nothing to see in the endless stretch of tarmac, and no one at all except for the man who'd brought the stairs out. When asked about Trent, the airport worker insisted that the first person off the plane had been John himself. "Son of a bitch," John spat, and it didn't matter, because they were in Utah. Trent or no Trent, they had arrived – and because it was after midnight, they had less than a day to get ready.
FIVE
JAY RESTON WAS PLEASED. IN FACT, HE WAS as happy as he'd been in a long time, and if he'd known it would feel so good to be back in the field, he would have done it years ago.
Managing employees, the kind who actually get their hands dirty. Making things happen and seeing the results unfold, being a part of the process. Being more than just a shadow, more than some nameless darkness to be feared…
Thinking these things made him feel strong and vital again; he was barely fifty, he hadn't yet come to see himself as even middle-aged, but working in the trenches again made him realize how much he'd lost over the years. Reston sat in the control room, the pulse of the Planet, his hands behind his head and his attention fixed on the wall of screens in front of him. On one screen, a man in coveralls was working on a series of trees in Phase One, adding another coat of green to a row of faux evergreens. The man was Tom Something– or-other, from construction, but the name wasn't important. What was important was that Tom was painting the trees because Reston had told him to, face-to-face at the morning briefing. On another screen, Kelly McMalus was recalibrat– ing the desert temp control, also at Reston's request. McMalus was the Scorps lead handler, at least until the permanent staff came in; everyone in the Planet was temporary, one of White's newer policies to avoid sabotage. Once everything was up and running, the nine technical people and half-dozen "preliminary" researchers – actually glorified specimen handlers, al– though he'd never call them that directly – would be relocated. The Planet. The facility was actually "B.O.W. Envi– rotest A," but Reston thought that Planet was a much better name. He wasn't sure who had come up with it, just that it had cropped up at one of the morning briefings and stuck. Referring to the test site as the Planet in his updates to the home team made him feel even more a part of the process.
"The video feeds were connected today, although there's some problem with the mikes, so the audio hasn't been hooked up yet; I'll have that taken care of ASAP. The last of the Ma3Ks came in, no damage to any of the specimens. In all, things are going very well, we expect to have the Planet ready days ahead of schedule…" Reston smiled, thinking of his last conversation with Sidney; had he heard just a touch of jealousy in Sidney's voice, a thread of wistfulness? He was part of a "we" now, a we that called Envirotest A by a nickname. After thirty years of delegation, having to oversee the finishing touches on their most innovative and expensive facility to date had been a blessing in disguise. And to think that he'd been irritated when he'd first heard about Lewis's car going off a cliff; the man's accident was probably the best work he'd ever done for Umbrella, because it meant that he would be overseeing the Planet's birth. Another tech was walking across one of the screens, carrying a tool box and a coil of rope. Cole, Henry Cole, the electrician who'd been working on the intercom and video systems; he was in the main corridor that ran between the faculty quarters and the testing area, leading toward the elevator. Reston had noticed the day before that several of the surface cameras were malfunctioning; none of the cameras in the Planet had been wired for sound as of yet, but the screens for the upper compound would intermittently spew static for minutes at a time, and he had asked Cole to see to it -
– but after he'd finished with the 'com system, not before. How am I supposed to stay in contact with these people if I don't have a working intercom system?
Even the flush of irritation he felt for the tech was exhilarating; instead of pushing a button, telling some yes-man to fix it, he would have to attend to it himself. Reston pushed away from the console, stretching as he stood up, taking a last look at the row of monitors to remind him of anything else he needed to see to as long as he was out.
Intercom, video feeds… the bridge in Three will need reinforcement, that's not a priority, but we really should do something about the city colors, they're still much too flat…
He walked through the sleekly designed control room, past the line of plush leather chairs so new that their rich scent still lingered in the cool filtered air. The chairs faced a wall of high-resolution screens; in less than a month they would be seating the top researchers, scientists, and administrators that were the heart of White Umbrella, as well as the two biggest financiers of the program. Even Sidney and Jackson would be there, to see the initial run of the test program. And Trent, Reston thought hopefully. Surely he wouldn't turn down an invitation to the first test run…
Reston stepped on the pressure plate in front of the door, the thick metal hatch sliding up with only a whisper of sound, and walked out into the wide corridor that ran the length of the Planet. Control wasn't far from the industrial elevator, almost straight across in fact, but the electrician had already started for the surface. There would be four lifts operating within the week out of one of the other surface buildings, but for now, there was only the one indus– trial elevator. He'd have to wait until Cole had exited. He pushed the recall and straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket, thinking about how he would lead the tour. It had been quite a while since Jay Reston had indulged in daydreaming, but in his short time at the Planet, imagining the day when he would welcome the others and guide them through the facility he had managed and transformed into a smoothly running machine had become a favored pastime. Of the hand– ful of people who ran White Umbrella, who made the big decisions, he was the youngest to be accepted into the inner circle – and while Jackson had often as-sured him that he was as valued as anyone else, he'd noted on more than one occasion that he was the last to be consulted. To be considered.
Not after this. Not after they see that even without a dozen assistants waiting on my every word, I've man– aged to get the Planet up and running without a hitch, and before schedule. Id like to see Sidney do half as well…
They'd come in at night, of course, and probably in several groups. He'd have the specimen caretakers at the entrance to greet them and lead them to the elevators (the new ones, not the dirty monstrosity he was about to ride); on the way down, the visitors would hear all about the efficient, elegant living quarters, the self-contained air-filtering system, the surgical theater – everything that made the Planet their most brilliant innovation yet. From the eleva– tors, he'd take them around to the control room and explain the environments and the current series of specimen, eight of each. Then, back out and north, toward the beginning of the testing site.
We walk straight through, all four phases, then view autopsy and the chemical lab. We'll have to stop in for a look at Fossil, of course, and then through the living area – where there will be coffee and rolls, sandwiches maybe – and then circle back to control to observe the first tests. Specimen against specimen only, of course – human experimentation would put such a damper on things…
A soft tone brought his attention back to the errand, alerting him to the elevator's return. The door opened, the gate slid aside, and Reston stepped into the large car, the reinforced steel platform clanking beneath his feet. Dust puffed up from the metal, settling over the polished sheen of his shoes. Reston sighed, tapping the controls that would take him to the surface, thinking of all he'd had to put up with since arriving at the Planet only ten days before. Things were coming along, but he'd never realized just how many inconveniences one had to suffer to get one of these places operational – the lukewarm meals, the constant need to pay attention to every niggling detail, and the dirt: everywhere, thin layers of workman's dust clung to hair and clothes, clogging the niters… even in the control room, he'd had to take all kinds of extra precautions to keep it from getting into the central terminal. He'd had to work with three different programmers to get the mainframe running, yet another of Umbrella's precautions to keep any one of them from knowing too much; but if the system were to go down… Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat square in his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothly upwards. He had the codes; if the system went down, he'd just have to call in new programmers. A setback, but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, now that was a disaster – and all the more reason that he wanted things to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we've had, the spill and those meddling S.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin… I need this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had been Reston's people who'd gone into Raccoon to take Birkin's G-Virus – an action that had resulted in the loss of their lead scientist and just over a billion dollars' worth of equipment, space, and manpower. It wasn't his fault, of course, no one blamed him – but it had been a bad summer for all of them, and having Envirotest A up and running would ease things con-siderably. He thought about what Trent had said, just before Reston had left for the Planet – that as long as they didn't lose their heads, there was no need for concern. Generic placating advice, but hearing it from Trent made it sound like the truth. It was funny; they'd brought Trent in to act as trouble shooter, and in less than six months he'd become one of the most respected members of their circle. Nothing rattled Trent, the man was ice; they were lucky to have him, particularly considering their recent run of misfor– tune. The elevator came to a stop and Reston squared his shoulders, preparing himself to redirect Mr. Cole's efforts – and just the thought of making the man jump made him smile again, all other worries put aside for the moment. Just a working-class Joe, he thought happily, and stepped out to take care of business.
Managing employees, the kind who actually get their hands dirty. Making things happen and seeing the results unfold, being a part of the process. Being more than just a shadow, more than some nameless darkness to be feared…
Thinking these things made him feel strong and vital again; he was barely fifty, he hadn't yet come to see himself as even middle-aged, but working in the trenches again made him realize how much he'd lost over the years. Reston sat in the control room, the pulse of the Planet, his hands behind his head and his attention fixed on the wall of screens in front of him. On one screen, a man in coveralls was working on a series of trees in Phase One, adding another coat of green to a row of faux evergreens. The man was Tom Something– or-other, from construction, but the name wasn't important. What was important was that Tom was painting the trees because Reston had told him to, face-to-face at the morning briefing. On another screen, Kelly McMalus was recalibrat– ing the desert temp control, also at Reston's request. McMalus was the Scorps lead handler, at least until the permanent staff came in; everyone in the Planet was temporary, one of White's newer policies to avoid sabotage. Once everything was up and running, the nine technical people and half-dozen "preliminary" researchers – actually glorified specimen handlers, al– though he'd never call them that directly – would be relocated. The Planet. The facility was actually "B.O.W. Envi– rotest A," but Reston thought that Planet was a much better name. He wasn't sure who had come up with it, just that it had cropped up at one of the morning briefings and stuck. Referring to the test site as the Planet in his updates to the home team made him feel even more a part of the process.
"The video feeds were connected today, although there's some problem with the mikes, so the audio hasn't been hooked up yet; I'll have that taken care of ASAP. The last of the Ma3Ks came in, no damage to any of the specimens. In all, things are going very well, we expect to have the Planet ready days ahead of schedule…" Reston smiled, thinking of his last conversation with Sidney; had he heard just a touch of jealousy in Sidney's voice, a thread of wistfulness? He was part of a "we" now, a we that called Envirotest A by a nickname. After thirty years of delegation, having to oversee the finishing touches on their most innovative and expensive facility to date had been a blessing in disguise. And to think that he'd been irritated when he'd first heard about Lewis's car going off a cliff; the man's accident was probably the best work he'd ever done for Umbrella, because it meant that he would be overseeing the Planet's birth. Another tech was walking across one of the screens, carrying a tool box and a coil of rope. Cole, Henry Cole, the electrician who'd been working on the intercom and video systems; he was in the main corridor that ran between the faculty quarters and the testing area, leading toward the elevator. Reston had noticed the day before that several of the surface cameras were malfunctioning; none of the cameras in the Planet had been wired for sound as of yet, but the screens for the upper compound would intermittently spew static for minutes at a time, and he had asked Cole to see to it -
– but after he'd finished with the 'com system, not before. How am I supposed to stay in contact with these people if I don't have a working intercom system?
Even the flush of irritation he felt for the tech was exhilarating; instead of pushing a button, telling some yes-man to fix it, he would have to attend to it himself. Reston pushed away from the console, stretching as he stood up, taking a last look at the row of monitors to remind him of anything else he needed to see to as long as he was out.
Intercom, video feeds… the bridge in Three will need reinforcement, that's not a priority, but we really should do something about the city colors, they're still much too flat…
He walked through the sleekly designed control room, past the line of plush leather chairs so new that their rich scent still lingered in the cool filtered air. The chairs faced a wall of high-resolution screens; in less than a month they would be seating the top researchers, scientists, and administrators that were the heart of White Umbrella, as well as the two biggest financiers of the program. Even Sidney and Jackson would be there, to see the initial run of the test program. And Trent, Reston thought hopefully. Surely he wouldn't turn down an invitation to the first test run…
Reston stepped on the pressure plate in front of the door, the thick metal hatch sliding up with only a whisper of sound, and walked out into the wide corridor that ran the length of the Planet. Control wasn't far from the industrial elevator, almost straight across in fact, but the electrician had already started for the surface. There would be four lifts operating within the week out of one of the other surface buildings, but for now, there was only the one indus– trial elevator. He'd have to wait until Cole had exited. He pushed the recall and straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket, thinking about how he would lead the tour. It had been quite a while since Jay Reston had indulged in daydreaming, but in his short time at the Planet, imagining the day when he would welcome the others and guide them through the facility he had managed and transformed into a smoothly running machine had become a favored pastime. Of the hand– ful of people who ran White Umbrella, who made the big decisions, he was the youngest to be accepted into the inner circle – and while Jackson had often as-sured him that he was as valued as anyone else, he'd noted on more than one occasion that he was the last to be consulted. To be considered.
Not after this. Not after they see that even without a dozen assistants waiting on my every word, I've man– aged to get the Planet up and running without a hitch, and before schedule. Id like to see Sidney do half as well…
They'd come in at night, of course, and probably in several groups. He'd have the specimen caretakers at the entrance to greet them and lead them to the elevators (the new ones, not the dirty monstrosity he was about to ride); on the way down, the visitors would hear all about the efficient, elegant living quarters, the self-contained air-filtering system, the surgical theater – everything that made the Planet their most brilliant innovation yet. From the eleva– tors, he'd take them around to the control room and explain the environments and the current series of specimen, eight of each. Then, back out and north, toward the beginning of the testing site.
We walk straight through, all four phases, then view autopsy and the chemical lab. We'll have to stop in for a look at Fossil, of course, and then through the living area – where there will be coffee and rolls, sandwiches maybe – and then circle back to control to observe the first tests. Specimen against specimen only, of course – human experimentation would put such a damper on things…
A soft tone brought his attention back to the errand, alerting him to the elevator's return. The door opened, the gate slid aside, and Reston stepped into the large car, the reinforced steel platform clanking beneath his feet. Dust puffed up from the metal, settling over the polished sheen of his shoes. Reston sighed, tapping the controls that would take him to the surface, thinking of all he'd had to put up with since arriving at the Planet only ten days before. Things were coming along, but he'd never realized just how many inconveniences one had to suffer to get one of these places operational – the lukewarm meals, the constant need to pay attention to every niggling detail, and the dirt: everywhere, thin layers of workman's dust clung to hair and clothes, clogging the niters… even in the control room, he'd had to take all kinds of extra precautions to keep it from getting into the central terminal. He'd had to work with three different programmers to get the mainframe running, yet another of Umbrella's precautions to keep any one of them from knowing too much; but if the system were to go down… Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat square in his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothly upwards. He had the codes; if the system went down, he'd just have to call in new programmers. A setback, but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, now that was a disaster – and all the more reason that he wanted things to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we've had, the spill and those meddling S.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin… I need this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had been Reston's people who'd gone into Raccoon to take Birkin's G-Virus – an action that had resulted in the loss of their lead scientist and just over a billion dollars' worth of equipment, space, and manpower. It wasn't his fault, of course, no one blamed him – but it had been a bad summer for all of them, and having Envirotest A up and running would ease things con-siderably. He thought about what Trent had said, just before Reston had left for the Planet – that as long as they didn't lose their heads, there was no need for concern. Generic placating advice, but hearing it from Trent made it sound like the truth. It was funny; they'd brought Trent in to act as trouble shooter, and in less than six months he'd become one of the most respected members of their circle. Nothing rattled Trent, the man was ice; they were lucky to have him, particularly considering their recent run of misfor– tune. The elevator came to a stop and Reston squared his shoulders, preparing himself to redirect Mr. Cole's efforts – and just the thought of making the man jump made him smile again, all other worries put aside for the moment. Just a working-class Joe, he thought happily, and stepped out to take care of business.
SIX
THERE WAS A HALF-MOON IN THE CLEAR night sky, casting a pallid blue light across the vast, open stretch of plain and making it seem even colder than it was. And that's pretty goddamn cold, Claire thought, shivering in spite of the rental's blasting heater. It was another minivan, and even with the three of them moving around in the back, checking weapons and loading clips, they didn't seem to be generating nearly enough heat to ward off the icy air that seeped in through the thin metal shell. "Do you have the 380s?" John asked Leon, who handed over the box of rounds before going back to loading up their hip packs. David was driving, Rebecca checking their position on a GPS. If Trent's coordinates were correct, they'd be getting close. Claire looked out at the pale landscape passing by the dirt track, the seemingly endless miles of nothing beneath the wide open sky, and shivered again. It was a barren, forsaken place, the road they were on scarcely more than a dirt track leading in from no– where; a perfect setting for Umbrella. The plan was simple. Park the van a half mile or so from Trent's coordinates, load up with every weapon they had, and slip into the compound as quietly as they could manage…
"… we'll find this entry keypad of Trent's, run the codes through, and go in strong," David had said, "well after dark. With any luck, the majority of the workers will be asleep; just a matter of finding the staff quarters and rounding them up. We'll confine them and have a check around for this book of Mr. Reston's; John, you and Claire will keep watch over our captives, while the rest of us search. It would probably be in their operations room, or in Reston's private quarters. If we haven't found it within, say, twenty minutes, we'll have to ask Mr. Reston direct– ly – a last resort, to avoid implicating Trent. Book in hand, we go back out the way we came in. Ques-tions?"
Their planning session at the hotel had made it sound easy enough and with as little information as they had, the questions had been few. Now, though, driving through an endless, freezing waste and trying to get psyched up for a confrontation – now it didn't seem so simple. It was a scary prospect, going into a place none of them had ever been before and try to find an item no bigger than a paperback novel.
Plus it's Umbrella, plus we'll have to intimidate the crap out of a bunch of technicians and possibly end up having to strong-arm one of the big boys.
At least they were going in well armed; it seemed that they had learned something about dealing with Umbrella, after all – that taking in a shitload of firepower was a very good idea. In addition to the nine-millimeter handguns and multiple clips that each of them would carry, they had two M-16 A Is, automatic rifles – one for John, one for David – and a half-dozen fragmentation hand grenades. Just in case, David said.
In case everything falls apart. In case we have to blow up some bizarre, murderous creature – or a hun-dred of them… "Cold?" Leon asked. Claire turned away from the window, looking at him. He'd finished with the packs, and was holding one out to her. She took it, nodding in response to his question. "Aren't you?"He shook his head, grinning. "Thermal underwear. Could have used these in Raccoon…"Claire smiled. "How could I have used them? I was running around in a pair of shorts, you at least had your uniform."Which was covered with lizard guts before I was halfway through the sewers," he said, and she was glad to hear him at least try to joke about it.
He's getting better; we both are."Now, children," John said sternly. "If you don't
stop, we're turning this car around…" "Slow down," Rebecca said from the front, her quiet voice stilling them. David let up on the gas, the van slowing to a crawl.
"It looks like it's about a half-mile southeast from our current position," Rebecca said. Claire took a deep breath, saw John pick up one of the rifles, and saw Leon's mouth press into a thin line as David brought the van to a stop. It was time. John opened the side door and the air was ice, dry and bitterly cold. "Hope they got the coffee on," John breathed, and hopped out into the darkness, reaching back in to grab his pack. Rebecca loaded up a few medical supplies, and as she and David climbed out, Leon put his hand on Claire's shoulder. "You up for this?" he asked softly, and Claire smiled inwardly, thinking of how sweet he was; she'd been thinking of asking him the same thing. In the days since Raccoon, they'd gotten pretty close – and although she wasn't positive, she'd picked up on a few signals that suggested he wouldn't mind getting closer. She still wasn't sure if that was a good idea -
–and now's not the time to be deciding. The sooner we get this code book, the sooner we get to Europe. To Chris. "As up as I'm gonna be," she said, and Leon nodded, and they climbed out into the freezing night to join the others. David put John at the rear and took the lead himself, forcing all negative thoughts out of his mind as they struck out for where Trent said the test site would be. It wasn't easy; they were going in cold with less than a day's planning, no layout, no idea what Reston looked like or what kind of security they'd be facing -
–the list is endless, isn't it, and I'm still taking
them in. Because if we're successful, I can step down.
Umbrella will be as good as dead and no one will have
to look to me for anything, ever again.
That was a thought he could hold on to; a peaceful retirement. Once the monsters behind White Umbrella had been brought to justice, vigilante or otherwise, he'd have no greater responsibility than keeping him-self fed and bathed. Perhaps he'd work up to a house– plant… "I think veer left a few degrees," Rebecca said from behind him, startling him, bringing his focus back around. She'd barely spoken above a whisper, but the night was so cold and crisp, the air so perfectly still that every step taken, every breath exhaled seemed to fill the world. David led them through the darkness, wishing they could use their lights; they should be getting quite close. But even dressed all in black, he was worried they'd be spotted before they could get inside – what– ever that meant exactly; Trent had given them no idea of what the facility would look like. In any case, with barely a half moon they wouldn't see it until they were right on top…
There.
A thickening of shadow, straight ahead. David held up his hand, slowing the others as they moved closer, as he saw a dented metal roof reflecting moonlight. And then a fence, and then a handful of buildings, all of them dark and silent. David dropped into a walking crouch, motioning for the rest to follow suit, holding the automatic rifle tight against his chest. They crept closer, close enough to see the lonely group of tall one-story structures behind a low fence.
Five, six buildings, no lights, no movement – a front, surely… "Underground," Rebecca whispered, and David nodded. Probably; they'd discussed several possibili– ties, and it seemed the most likely. Even in the wan light he could see that the buildings were old, dusty and worn. There was a smallish structure in the front, five long, low buildings in a row behind it, all with sloping metal roofs. It was certainly big enough to be some kind of a testing ground, the larger buildings as big as aircraft hangars, but between the site's place-ment – alone, out in the open in the middle of a desert – and the wear and tear, he'd guess under– ground. Good and bad. Good, because they should be able to get into the compound without much trouble; bad because God only knew what kind of surveillance system had been set up. They would have to go in fast. David turned, still in a crouch, and faced the team. "We'll need to double-time," he said softly, "and stay low. We scale the fence, head for the structure closest to the front gate, same order – I'm on point, John's in back. We have to find the entry ASAP. Watch for cameras, and everyone's armed as soon as we're in the compound."
Nods all around, faces grim and set. David turned and started for the fence, head down, his muscles tight and jumping. Twenty meters, the air biting into his lungs, freezing the light sweat on his skin. Ten meters. Five, and he could see the "No Trespassing" signs posted on the fence, and as they reached the
gate, David saw the sign telling them that they were at the privately owned "Weather Monitoring and Survey#7." He looked up and saw the rounded silhouettes of what had to be satellite dishes on two of the buildings, plus the multiple thin lines of antennae stretching up from one of them. David touched the fence with the barrel of the M-16, then with his hand. Nothing, and there was no barbed wire either, no sensor lines that he could see, no alarm trips.
"… we'll find this entry keypad of Trent's, run the codes through, and go in strong," David had said, "well after dark. With any luck, the majority of the workers will be asleep; just a matter of finding the staff quarters and rounding them up. We'll confine them and have a check around for this book of Mr. Reston's; John, you and Claire will keep watch over our captives, while the rest of us search. It would probably be in their operations room, or in Reston's private quarters. If we haven't found it within, say, twenty minutes, we'll have to ask Mr. Reston direct– ly – a last resort, to avoid implicating Trent. Book in hand, we go back out the way we came in. Ques-tions?"
Their planning session at the hotel had made it sound easy enough and with as little information as they had, the questions had been few. Now, though, driving through an endless, freezing waste and trying to get psyched up for a confrontation – now it didn't seem so simple. It was a scary prospect, going into a place none of them had ever been before and try to find an item no bigger than a paperback novel.
Plus it's Umbrella, plus we'll have to intimidate the crap out of a bunch of technicians and possibly end up having to strong-arm one of the big boys.
At least they were going in well armed; it seemed that they had learned something about dealing with Umbrella, after all – that taking in a shitload of firepower was a very good idea. In addition to the nine-millimeter handguns and multiple clips that each of them would carry, they had two M-16 A Is, automatic rifles – one for John, one for David – and a half-dozen fragmentation hand grenades. Just in case, David said.
In case everything falls apart. In case we have to blow up some bizarre, murderous creature – or a hun-dred of them… "Cold?" Leon asked. Claire turned away from the window, looking at him. He'd finished with the packs, and was holding one out to her. She took it, nodding in response to his question. "Aren't you?"He shook his head, grinning. "Thermal underwear. Could have used these in Raccoon…"Claire smiled. "How could I have used them? I was running around in a pair of shorts, you at least had your uniform."Which was covered with lizard guts before I was halfway through the sewers," he said, and she was glad to hear him at least try to joke about it.
He's getting better; we both are."Now, children," John said sternly. "If you don't
stop, we're turning this car around…" "Slow down," Rebecca said from the front, her quiet voice stilling them. David let up on the gas, the van slowing to a crawl.
"It looks like it's about a half-mile southeast from our current position," Rebecca said. Claire took a deep breath, saw John pick up one of the rifles, and saw Leon's mouth press into a thin line as David brought the van to a stop. It was time. John opened the side door and the air was ice, dry and bitterly cold. "Hope they got the coffee on," John breathed, and hopped out into the darkness, reaching back in to grab his pack. Rebecca loaded up a few medical supplies, and as she and David climbed out, Leon put his hand on Claire's shoulder. "You up for this?" he asked softly, and Claire smiled inwardly, thinking of how sweet he was; she'd been thinking of asking him the same thing. In the days since Raccoon, they'd gotten pretty close – and although she wasn't positive, she'd picked up on a few signals that suggested he wouldn't mind getting closer. She still wasn't sure if that was a good idea -
–and now's not the time to be deciding. The sooner we get this code book, the sooner we get to Europe. To Chris. "As up as I'm gonna be," she said, and Leon nodded, and they climbed out into the freezing night to join the others. David put John at the rear and took the lead himself, forcing all negative thoughts out of his mind as they struck out for where Trent said the test site would be. It wasn't easy; they were going in cold with less than a day's planning, no layout, no idea what Reston looked like or what kind of security they'd be facing -
–the list is endless, isn't it, and I'm still taking
them in. Because if we're successful, I can step down.
Umbrella will be as good as dead and no one will have
to look to me for anything, ever again.
That was a thought he could hold on to; a peaceful retirement. Once the monsters behind White Umbrella had been brought to justice, vigilante or otherwise, he'd have no greater responsibility than keeping him-self fed and bathed. Perhaps he'd work up to a house– plant… "I think veer left a few degrees," Rebecca said from behind him, startling him, bringing his focus back around. She'd barely spoken above a whisper, but the night was so cold and crisp, the air so perfectly still that every step taken, every breath exhaled seemed to fill the world. David led them through the darkness, wishing they could use their lights; they should be getting quite close. But even dressed all in black, he was worried they'd be spotted before they could get inside – what– ever that meant exactly; Trent had given them no idea of what the facility would look like. In any case, with barely a half moon they wouldn't see it until they were right on top…
There.
A thickening of shadow, straight ahead. David held up his hand, slowing the others as they moved closer, as he saw a dented metal roof reflecting moonlight. And then a fence, and then a handful of buildings, all of them dark and silent. David dropped into a walking crouch, motioning for the rest to follow suit, holding the automatic rifle tight against his chest. They crept closer, close enough to see the lonely group of tall one-story structures behind a low fence.
Five, six buildings, no lights, no movement – a front, surely… "Underground," Rebecca whispered, and David nodded. Probably; they'd discussed several possibili– ties, and it seemed the most likely. Even in the wan light he could see that the buildings were old, dusty and worn. There was a smallish structure in the front, five long, low buildings in a row behind it, all with sloping metal roofs. It was certainly big enough to be some kind of a testing ground, the larger buildings as big as aircraft hangars, but between the site's place-ment – alone, out in the open in the middle of a desert – and the wear and tear, he'd guess under– ground. Good and bad. Good, because they should be able to get into the compound without much trouble; bad because God only knew what kind of surveillance system had been set up. They would have to go in fast. David turned, still in a crouch, and faced the team. "We'll need to double-time," he said softly, "and stay low. We scale the fence, head for the structure closest to the front gate, same order – I'm on point, John's in back. We have to find the entry ASAP. Watch for cameras, and everyone's armed as soon as we're in the compound."
Nods all around, faces grim and set. David turned and started for the fence, head down, his muscles tight and jumping. Twenty meters, the air biting into his lungs, freezing the light sweat on his skin. Ten meters. Five, and he could see the "No Trespassing" signs posted on the fence, and as they reached the
gate, David saw the sign telling them that they were at the privately owned "Weather Monitoring and Survey#7." He looked up and saw the rounded silhouettes of what had to be satellite dishes on two of the buildings, plus the multiple thin lines of antennae stretching up from one of them. David touched the fence with the barrel of the M-16, then with his hand. Nothing, and there was no barbed wire either, no sensor lines that he could see, no alarm trips.