He stayed where he was, lowering the Colt slightly
as he waited. He didn't think the ghouls were smart
enough to work the buttons, let alone open the gate,
but he didn't want to take any chances. He was a good
twenty feet from where the booth would open, assum-
ing it stopped in the basement, and would have a clear
shot at whoever stepped around the corner. A glim-
mer of hope sparked through his confusion; maybe it
was one of the Bravos, or someone who lived here and
could tell them what had happened.
With a dull dang, the elevator stopped in the
kitchen. There was a squeal of dry metal hinges and footsteps and Captain Wesker stepped into view, his per-
petual sunglasses propped on his tanned brow.
Barry lowered the revolver, grinning as cool relief
swept over him. Wesker stopped in his tracks and
grinned back at him.
"Barry! Just the man I was looking for," he said lightly.
"God, you gave me a scare! I heard the elevator
start up and thought I was gonna have a heart
attack ..." Barry trailed off, his grin faltering.
"Captain," he said slowly, "where did you go? When we came back, you were gone."
Wesker's grin widened. "Sorry about that. I had some business to attend to - you know, call of na-
ture?"
Barry smiled again, but was surprised by the con-
fession; trapped in hostile territory, and the man had gone off to take a leak?
Wesker reached up and lowered his shades, break-
ing their eye contact, and Barry suddenly felt a little
nervous. Wesker's grin, if anything, seemed to grow
wider. It looked like every tooth was showing.
"Barry, I need your help. Have you ever heard of
White Umbrella?"
Barry shook his head, feeling more uncomfortable
by the second.
"White Umbrella is a sector of Umbrella, Inc., a
very important division. They specialize in ... bio-
logical research, I guess you could say. The Spencer
estate houses their research facilities, and recently, an
accident occurred."
Wesker brushed off a section of the kitchen's center
island and casually leaned against it, his tone almost
conversational.
"This division of Umbrella has a few ties to the
S.T.A.R.S. organization, and not long ago, I was
asked to ... assist in their handling of this situation.
It's a very delicate situation, mind you, very hush-hush;
White Umbrella doesn't want a whisper of their
involvement getting out.”
"Now, what I'm supposed to do is get to the
laboratories on the grounds here and put an end to
some rather incriminating evidence-proof that
White Umbrella is responsible for the accident that's
caused so much trouble in Raccoon as of late. The
problem is, I don't have the key to get to those labs-
keys, actually. And that's where you come in. I need
for you to help me find those keys."
Barry stared at him for a moment, speechless, his
mind churning. An accident, a secret lab doing biolog- ical research . . .
. . . and murdering dogs and zombies loose in the
tvoods. . .
He raised his revolver and pointed it at Wesker's
smiling face, stunned and angry. "Are you insane? You think I'm going to help you destroy evidence?
You crazy son of a bitch!"
Wesker shook his head slowly, acting as if Barry
were a child. "Ah, Barry, you don't understand; you don't have a choice in the matter. See, a few of my
friends from White Umbrella are currently standing
outside of your house, watching your wife and daugh-
ters sleep. If you don't help me, your family is going to
die."
Barry could actually feel the blood drain from his
face. He cocked the hammer back on the Colt, feeling
a sudden, vicious hatred for Wesker infusing every
fiber of his being.
"Before you pull the trigger, I should mention that
if I don't report back to my friends fairly soon, their
orders are to go ahead and do the deed anyway."
The words cut through the red haze that had
flooded Barry's mind, turning his hands clammy with
terror.
Kathy, the babies – I...
"You're bluffing," he whispered, and Wesker's grin finally disappeared, his expression slipping back into
the unreadable mask that he usually wore.
"I'm not," he said coldly. "Try me. You can apolo- gize to their headstones later."
For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence a
palpable thing in the chill air. Then Barry slowly
eased the hammer back down and lowered the weap-
on, his shoulders slumped. He couldn't, wouldn 't risk
it; his family was everything.
Wesker nodded and reached into one of his pockets,
producing a ring of keys, his manner suddenly brisk
and business-like. "There are four copper plates somewhere in this house. Each one is about the size of
a teacup, and has a picture engraved on one side:
sun, moon, stars, and wind. There's a back door on
the other side of the mansion where the four of them
belong."
He unhooked a key from the ring and set it on the
table, sliding it across to Barry. "This should open all of the doors in the other wing, or at least the impor-
tant ones, first and second floor. Find those pieces for
me and your wife and children will be fine."
Barry reached for the key with numb fingers, feeling
weak and more afraid than he'd ever been in his life.
"Chris and Jill. . ."
"... will undoubtedly want to help you search. If you see either of them, tell them that the back door
you've discovered could be the way out. I'm sure
they'll be more than happy to work with their trusted
friend, good ol' Barry. In fact, you should unlock
every door you can in order to promote a more
thorough job."
Wesker smiled again, a friendly half-grin that belied
his words. "Of course, you tell them you've seen me - that could complicate matters. If I run into
trouble, say, get shot in the back . . . well, enough
said. Let's just keep this to ourselves."
The key was etched with a little picture, a chest
plate for a suit of armor. Barry slipped it into his
pocket. "Where will you be?"
"Oh, I'll be around, don't worry. I'll contact you
when the time is right."
Barry looked at Wesker pleadingly, helpless to keep
the wavering fear out of his voice. "You'll tell them that I'm helping you, right? You won't forget to
report?"
Wesker turned and walked toward the elevator,
calling out over his shoulder. "Trust me, Barry. Do what I tell you, and there's nothing to worry about."
There was the rattle of the elevator's gate opening
and closing, and Wesker was gone.
Barry stood a moment longer, staring into the
empty space where Wesker had been, trying to find a
way out of the threat. There wasn't one. There was no
contest between his honor and his family; he could
live without honor.
He set his jaw and walked back toward the stairs,
determined to do what he had to do to save Kathy and
the girls. Though when this was over, when he could
be sure they were safe.
There won't be any place for you to hide, "Captain."
Barry clenched his giant fists, knuckles whitening,
and promised himself that Wesker would pay for what
he was doing. With interest.
TEN
JILL SLID THE HEAVY COPPER CREST WITH
the engraved star into its position on the diagram,
above the other three openings. It settled into place
with a light click, flush against the metal plate.
One down. . . She stepped back from the puzzle lock, smiling triumphantly.
The crows had watched her walk through the hall of
paintings without moving from their perch, crying
out occasionally as she solved the simple puzzle.
There had been six portraits in all, cradle to grave - - from a newborn baby to a rather stern-looking old
man. She'd assumed they were all of Lord Spencer,
though she'd never seen a photo.
The final painting had been a death scene, a pale
man lying in state and surrounded by mourners.
When she'd flipped the switch on that one, the
painting had actually fallen off the wall, pushed out
by tiny metal pegs at each corner. Behind it had been
a small, velvet-lined opening that held the copper
crest. She'd left the hall without any more trouble;
if the birds had been disappointed, she couldn't
say
