John cackled, obviously pleased to have somebody new to play with. David appeared at the front of the cabin, stepping through the curtained area that led to the cockpit, and John broke off, their collective attention turning to-ward him. "It seems that we're ready to go," David said. "Our pilot, Captain Evans, has assured me that all systems are fully functional and we'll be taking off in just a moment. He's asked that we remain seated until he's given us leave to do otherwise. Um – the restroom is just back of the cockpit, and there's a small refrigera– tor at the rear of the plane with sandwiches and drinks…"
His voice trailed off, and he looked as if there was something else he wanted to say but wasn't sure what it was. It was a look that Rebecca had seen often enough in the past few weeks, a kind of uneasy uncertainty. Since the day that Raccoon had been blown to shit, she supposed they'd all had that look at one time or another…… because they shouldn't have been able to do it. That should have been the end, and it wasn 't, and now we're all more freaked out than any of us wants to admit.
When news of the disaster first hit the papers, they had all been so certain that this time Umbrella wouldn't be able to cover its tracks. The spill at the Spencer estate had been small, easy enough to write off after fire gutted the mansion and surrounding buildings; the facility at Caliban Cove had been on private land and was too isolated for anyone to know about – again, Umbrella had swept up the broken pieces and kept it quiet. Raccoon City, though. Thousands of people dead and Umbrella had walked away from it smell– ing like a rose, after planting false evidence and getting their scientists to lie for them. It should have been impossible; it had disheartened them all. What chance did a handful of fugitives have against a multi billion-dollar conglomerate that could kill an entire city and get away with it? David had decided not to say anything at all. He nodded briskly and then walked back to join them, pausing next to Rebecca's seat.
"Do you need some company?"
She could see that he was trying to be supportive and she could also see that he was tired. He'd been up late the night before, doublechecking every detail of their trip. "Nah, I'm okay," she said, smiling up at him, "and
I've always got John to talk me through it." "You know it, baby," John called loudly, and David nodded, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before moving to the seats behind her. He needs the rest. We all do, and it's a long flight -
–so why do I have the feeling that we're not going to get any?
Nerves, that was all. The engine sound got louder, higher, and with a stuttering jerk, the plane started to move forward. Rebecca clutched the arm rests on either side and closed her eyes, thinking that if she had the guts to go up against Umbrella, she could certainly survive a plane ride. Even if she couldn't, it was too late to change her mind; they were on their way, no turning back. They'd been in the air for only twenty minutes, and already Claire was nodding off, half-leaning against Leon's shoulder. Leon was tired, too, but knew he wasn't going to get to sleep so easily. He was hungry, for one thing – and then there was the fact that he still wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing.
Great time to think about it, now that you're pretty much committed, his mind whispered sarcastically. Maybe you could just ask them to drop you off in London or something, you could hang out in a pub until they're all finished… or dead. Leon told himself to shut up, sighing a little. He was committed; what Umbrella had been doing wasn't just criminal, it was evil – or at least as close to evil as some money-grubbing corporate dickheads could get. They'd murdered thousands, created bioweapons ca– pable of murdering billions, wiped out his carefully planned future and been responsible for the death of Ada Wong, a woman he'd respected and liked. They'd helped each other through some rough spots on that terrible night in Raccoon; without her, he never would have gotten out alive. He believed in what David and his people were doing, and it wasn't that he was afraid, that wasn't it at all… Leon sighed again. He'd given the matter a hell of a lot of thought since he and Claire and Sherry had stumbled away from the burning city, and the only real reason he could come up with was so stupid that he didn't want to credit it. Standing against Umbrella was the right thing to do – it was that he didn't feel qualified to be there.
Yep, that's pretty stupid.
Maybe it was, but it was holding him back, mak– ing him feel uncertain, and he needed to examine it.
David Trapp had made a career of the S.T.A.R.S., only to watch the organization fall under the control of Umbrella; he'd lost two close friends on a mission to infiltrate a bioweapons testing facility, as had John Andrews. Rebecca Chambers had just been starting out in the S.T.A.R.S., but she was some kind of scientific child prodigy with a deep interest in Um– brella's work; that and the fact that she'd been through more than anyone else made her continued dedication understandable. Claire wanted to find her brother, the only family she had; their parents were dead, and the two of them were close. Chris, Jill, and Barry he'd never met, but he was sure they had compelling reasons of their own; he knew Barry Burton's wife and children had been threatened, Rebecca had mentioned it… And what about Leon Kennedy? He'd stumbled into the fight without a clue, a cop fresh out of the academy on his way to his first day at work – which just happened to be with the Raccoon PD. There was Ada, true – but he'd known her less than half a day, and she had been killed just after admitting to him that she was some kind of an agent, sent to steal a sample of an Umbrella virus.
So I lost a job, and a possible relationship with a woman I barely knew and couldn't trust. Of course Umbrella should be stopped… but do I belong here?
He'd decided to become a cop because he wanted to help people, but he'd always figured that meant keeping the peace – busting drunk drivers, breaking up bar fights, catching crooks. Never in his wild-est dreams would he have figured on being caught up in an international conspiracy, cloak-and-dagger infiltration-type stuff against a giant company that made war monsters. It was crime on a much bigger scale than he felt he was ready for…… and is that the real reason, Officer Kennedy? At exactly that moment, Claire mumbled some– thing from her light doze, nuzzling her head against his arm before falling silent and still again – and making Leon uncomfortably aware of another facet to his involvement with the ex-S.T.A.R.S. Claire. Claire was… she was an incredible woman. In the days after their escape from Raccoon City, they'd talked a lot about what had happened, the experiences they'd had both separately and together. At the time, it had felt like an exchange of information, filling in blanks – she'd told him about her run-in with Chief Irons and the creature she'd called Mr. X, and he'd told her all about Ada and the terrible thing that had once been William Birkin. Between them, they'd been able to come up with a continuous story, with infor– mation that was important to the fugitive team. In retrospect, though, he could see that those long, rambling conversations had been essential for an– other reason entirely – they'd been a way to leach out the poison of what had happened to them, like talking out a bad dream. If he'd had to keep it all inside, he thought, he might have gone crazy. In any case, the feelings he had for her now were convoluted ones – warmth, connection, dependence, respect, others that he had no name for. And that scared him, because he'd never felt so strongly about anyone before and because he wasn't sure how much of it was real and how much was just some kind of a post-traumatic stress thing.
Face it, stop bullshitting yourself. What you're really afraid of is that you're only here because she is, and you don't like what that says about you.
Leon nodded inwardly, realizing that it was the truth, the real reason behind his uncertainty. He'd always believed that want was okay, but need? He didn't like the idea of being led around by some neurotic compulsion to be close to Claire Redfield.
And what if it isn't need? Maybe it's want, and you just don't know it yet…
He scowled at his own pathetic attempts at self– analysis, deciding that maybe it would be best just to stop worrying about it so much. Whatever the reason for becoming involved, he was involved – he could kick ass with the best of them and Umbrella deserved to have their ass kicked, big time. For now, he had to pee, and then he was going to eat something and do his best to catch some sleep. Leon gently moved out from beneath Claire's warm, heavy head, doing his best not to wake her up. He slid out into the aisle, glancing around at the others. Rebecca was staring out her window, John was flipping through a muscle mag, David was dozing. They were all good people, and thinking that made him feel a little easier about things.
They're the good guys. Hell, I'm a good guy, fighting for truth, justice, and fewer viral zombies in the world…
The bathroom was in the front. Leon started to– ward it, steadying himself by touching each seat as he passed, thinking that the steady drone of the plane's engine was a soothing sound, like a waterfall -
–and then the curtain at the front of the cabin was pushed open, and a man stepped out, a tall, smiling man in an expensive-looking trench coat. He wasn't the pilot, and there wasn't anyone else on the plane, and Leon felt his mouth go dry with an almost superstitious dread even though the thin, smiling man didn't seem to be armed. "Hey!" Leon shouted, backing up a step. "Hey, we got company!" The man grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Leon Ken-nedy, I presume," he said softly, and Leon was suddenly absolutely sure that whoever he was, this man was trouble with a capital "T."
THREE
JOHN WAS ON HIS FEET BEFORE LEON HAD finished his warning, hopping out into the aisle and stepping in front of Leon in a single stride. "Who the hell…" John snarled, his shoulders set, ready to break the thin mam in two if he so much as blinked wrong. The stranger held up pale, long-fingered hands, looking as though he could barely contain his de– light – which made John all the more wary. He could easily pound the guy into hamburger, what the hell was he so happy about? "And you're John Andrews," the man said, his voice low and calm and as pleased as his expression.
"Formerly a communications expert and field scout for the Exeter S.T.A.R.S. It's so good to meet you -
–tell me, how are your ribs? Still tender?" Shit. Who is this guy? John had broken two ribs and cracked a third on the cove mission, and didn't know this man – how the hell did this man know him? "My name is Trent," the stranger said easily, nod– ding at both Leon and John. "I believe your Mr. Trapp can vouch for my identity…?"
John flicked a glance back, saw that David and the girls were right behind them. David gave a quick nod, his expression strained.
Trent. Goddamn. The mysterious Mr. Trent.
The same Mr. Trent who had given maps and clues to Jill Valentine, just before the Raccoon
S.T.A.R.S. had discovered Umbrella's initial T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate. The Trent who had given a similar package to David one rainy August night, information about Umbrella's Caliban Cove facility, where Steve and Karen had been murdered. The Trent who'd been playing games with the
S.T.A.R.S. – with people's lives – all along. Trent was still smiling, still holding his hands up. John noticed a black ring made out of stone on one slender finger, the only affectation that Mr. Trent seemed to have; it looked heavy and expensive.
"So what the hell do you want?" John growled. He didn't like secrets or surprises, and he didn't like the fact that Trent seemed totally unimpressed by his formidable size. Most people backed down when he got in their face; Trent seemed amused.
"Mr. Andrews, if you please…?"
John didn't move, glaring into Trent's dark, intelli– gent eyes. Trent gazed back impassively, and John could see cool self-assurance in that bright gaze, a look that was almost but not quite patronizing. As big and buff as John was, he wasn't a violent man, but that confident, mirthful look made John think that Mr. Trent could use a good beating. Not by him, necessarily, but by someone.
How many people have died, just because he decided to stir things up a little? "It's alright, John," David said quietly. "I'm sure that if Mr. Trent meant us harm, he wouldn't be standing here introducing himself."
David was right, whether John liked it or not. He sighed inwardly and stepped aside, but decided that he definitely didn't like it; from what little he knew about the man, he didn't like it at all. Gonna be watching you, "friend"… Trent nodded as though there had never been any question and walked past John, smiling at all of them. He motioned for them to sit in the seats on one side of the cabin; he took off his trench coat and put it aside, moving slowly and carefully, obviously aware that any sudden moves could be detrimental to his health. Beneath the coat he wore a black suit, black tie, and shoes; John didn't know clothes but the shoes were Asante. Trent had taste, anyway, and a shitload of money if he could afford to blow a couple thou on footwear. "This may take a few moments," he said. "Please, get comfortable." He pushed himself up to sit atop one of the chairs opposite their group, moving with a smooth grace that made John feel even less comfort– able. He moved like someone with training, martial arts maybe… The others sat or leaned against the chairs, each of them studying the uninvited guest, each looking as unhappy about his appearance as John felt. Trent studied them in turn.
"Mr. Andrews, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Trapp, and I have already met…" Trent looked back and forth between Rebecca and Claire, his sparkling gaze finally settling on Claire. "Claire Redfield, yes?" He seemed a little more hesitant, which wasn't a surprise. Rebecca and Claire
could have been sisters, both brunettes, same height, only a few months difference in age. "Yes," Claire said. "Does the pilot know you're on board?"
John frowned, irritated with himself for not having asked first. It was a fairly important question, and it hadn't occurred to him. If the pilot had let Mr. Trent aboard… Trent nodded, running one pale hand through his tousled black hair. "Yes, he does. In fact, Captain Evans is an acquaintance of mine, so when I realized that you were going… traveling, I arranged for him to be in the right place at the right time. Much easier than it sounds, really." "Why?" David asked, an edge coming into his voice that John had only ever heard in combat situations. The captain was right on the verge of being seriously upset. "Why would you do that, Mr. Trent?" Trent seemed to ignore him. "I realize that you're concerned about your friends on the continent, but let me assure you that they're in the best of health. Really, there's no reason for you to worry your– selves…" "Why?" David's voice was steel. Trent stared at him, then sighed. "Because I don't want you to go to Europe, and making it so that Captain Evans is your pilot means that you won't. You can't. In fact, we should be turning back any moment now."
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
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.
