This synthesis that took up so much of the Dariuses' time was a brilliantly designed viral complex that – if properly developed – had the potential to greatly reduce human suffering, even one day to wipe out death by traumatic injury. Both James and Helen had the highest of hopes for their work – and they were so responsible, so loyal and trusting, that they went to Umbrella immediately, once they realized the potential of what they were designing. And Umbrella, Inc. also realized the potential. Except what they saw was a financial nosedive if such a miracle were to be released. Imagine all the money that a pharmaceutical company would lose if millions of people stopped dying each year; but then, imagine what money could be made if this viral complex could be designed to fit a military application. Imagine the power. With incentives like that, Umbrella really had no choice. They took the synthesis from Darius, they took the notes and research, and they turned it all over to a brilliant young scientist by the name of William Birkin, barely out of his teens and already the head of his own lab. Birkin was one of them, you see. A man with the same vision, the same lack of morals, a man they could use. And with their own puppet in place, they realized that having the good Doctors Darius around could prove to be inconvenient. So, there was a fire. An accident, it was said, a terrible tragedy – two scientists and three loyal assis-tants all burned up. Too bad, so sad, case closed – and so began the division of Umbrella known as White Umbrella. Bioweapons research. A playground for the filthy rich and their toadies, for men who'd lost any-thing resembling a conscience a long, long time ago." I smile again. "For men like you." "White Umbrella had thought of everything, or so they believed. What they hadn't considered – either because they were too shortsighted or ignorantly dis-missive – was the young son of James and Helen, their only child, away at boarding school when his parents were burned alive. Perhaps they simply forgot about him. But Victor Darius didn't forget. In fact, Victor grew up thinking about what Umbrella had done, dare I say obsessing over it. There came a time when Victor could think of nothing else, and that was when he decided to do something about it. To avenge his mother and father, Victor Darius knew he would have to be extremely clever and very, very careful. So he spent years just planning. And more years learning what he needed to know, and even more making the right contacts, moving in the right circles, being as devious and underhanded as his foe. And one day, he murdered Umbrella, just as they murdered his parents. It wasn't easy, but he was determined, and he'd devoted his entire life to the project." I grin. I say, "Oh, and did I mention that Victor Darius changed his name? It was a bit of a risk, but he decided to go with his father's middle name, or at least part of it. James Trenton Darius wasn't using it anymore, after all."
      The speech always changed a little, but the essen– tials stayed the same. Trent knew that he would never have the opportunity to deliver it to all of them at once, but it was the idea that had kept him going, all these many years. On nights when he'd been so enraged that he couldn't sleep, the retelling of the story had come to be a kind of bitter lullaby; he imagined the looks on their tired old faces, the horror in their faded eyes, their trembling indignation at his betrayal. Somehow, the vision always soothed his fury and gave him some small peace.
      Soon. After Europe, my friends…
      The thought followed him down into the dark, to the sweet, dreamless sleep of the righteous.