"Hey, Forest. What's up?" Chris scooped up a can of club soda from the machine's dispenser and
glanced at his watch. He still had a couple of minutes
before the meeting. He smiled tiredly as Forest
stopped in front of him, blue eyes sparkling. Forest
was carrying an armful of equipment-vest, utility
belt, and shoulder pack.
"Wesker gave Marini the go-ahead to start the
search. Bravo team's goin' in." Even excited, Forest's Alabama twang slowed his words to a stereotypical
drawl. He dropped his stuff on one of the visitors'
chairs, still grinning widely.
Chris frowned. "When?"
"Now. Soon as I warm up the 'copter." Forest
pulled the kevlar vest on over his T-shirt as he spoke.
"While you Alphas sit taking notes, we're gonna go
kick some cannibal ass!"
Nothing if not confident, us S.T.A.R.S. "Yeah, well. .. just watch your ass, okay? I still think there's
more going on here than a couple of slobbering nut
jobs hanging around in the woods."
"You know it." Forest pushed his hair back and grabbed his utility belt, obviously already focused on
the mission. Chris thought about saying more, but
decided against it. For all of his bravado, Forest was a
professional; he didn't need to be told to be careful.
You sure about that, Chris? You think Billy was
careful enough?
Sighing inwardly, Chris slapped Forest's shoulder
lightly and headed for ops through the doorway of the
small upstairs waiting room and down the hall. He
was surprised that Wesker was sending the teams in
separately. Although it was standard for the less
experienced S.T.A.R.S. to do the initial recon, this
wasn't exactly a standard operation. The number of
deaths they were dealing with alone was enough to
call for a more aggressive offense. The fact that there
were signs of organization to the murders should have
brought it to A1 status, and Wesker was still treating it
like some kind of a training run.
Nobody else sees it; they didn't know Billy...
Chris thought again about the late-night call he'd
gotten last week from his childhood friend. He hadn't
heard from Billy in awhile, but knew that he'd taken a
research position with Umbrella, the pharmaceutical
company that was the single biggest contributor to the
economic prosperity of Raccoon City. Billy had never
been the type to jump at shadows, and the terrified
desperation in his voice had jolted Chris awake, filling
him with deep concern. Billy had babbled that his life
was in danger, that they were all in danger, begged
Chris to meet him at a diner at the edge of town and then never showed up. No one had heard from him
since.
Chris had run it over and over again in his mind
during the sleepless nights since Billy's disappear-
ance, trying to convince himself that there was no
connection to the attacks on Raccoon and yet was
unable to shake his growing certainty that there was
more going on than met the eye, and that Billy had
known what it was. The cops had checked out Billy's
apartment and found nothing to indicate foul
play ... but Chris's instincts told him that his friend
was dead, and that he'd been killed by somebody who
wanted to keep him from talking.
And I seem to be the only one. Irons doesn't give a
shit, and the team thinks I'm just torn up over the loss
of an old friend.
He pushed the thoughts aside as he turned the
corner, his boot heels sending muted echoes through
the arched second floor corridor. He had to focus, to
keep his mind on what he could do to find out why
Billy had disappeared, but he was exhausted, run-
ning on a minimum of sleep and an almost constant
anxiety that had plagued him since Billy's call. Maybe
he was losing his perspective, his objectivity dulled by
recent events. . .
He forced himself not to think about anything at all
as he neared the S.T.A.R.S. office, determined to be
clear-headed for the meeting. The buzzing fluores-
cents above seemed like overkill in the blazing eve-
ning light that filled the tight hallway; the Raccoon
police building was a classic, if unconventional, piece
of architecture, lots of inlaid tile and heavy wood, but
it had too many windows designed to catch the sun.
When he'd been a kid, the building had been the
Raccoon City Hall. With the population increase a
decade back, it had been renovated as a library, and
four years ago, turned into a police station. It seemed
like there was always some kind of construction going
on.
The door to the S.T.A.R.S. office stood open, the
muted sounds of gruff male voices spilling out into
the hall. Chris hesitated a moment, hearing Chief
Irons's among them. "Just call me Brian" Irons was a self-centered and self-serving politician masquerad-
ing as a cop. It was no secret that he had his sweaty
fingers in more than a few local pies. He'd even been
implicated in the Cider district land-scam back in '94,
and although nothing had been proved in court,
anyone who knew him personally didn't harbor any
doubt.
Chris shook his head, listening to Irons's greasy voice. Hard to believe he'd once led the Raccoon
S.T.A.R.S., even as a paper-pusher. Maybe even hard-
er to believe that he'd probably end up as mayor
someday.
Of course, it doesn't help much that he hates your
guts, does it, Redfield?
Yeah, well. Chris didn't like to kiss ass, and Irons
didn't know how to have any other kind of relation-
ship. At least Irons wasn't a total incompetent, he'd
had some military training. Chris pasted on a straight
face and stepped into the small, cluttered office that
served as the S.T.A.R.S. filing cabinet and base of
operations.
Barry and Joseph were over by the rookie desk,
going through a box of papers and talking quietly.
Brad Vickers, the Alpha pilot, was drinking coffee and
staring at the main computer screen a few feet away, a
sour expression on his mild features. Across the room
Captain Wesker was leaning back in his chair, hands
behind his head, smiling blankly at something Chief
Irons was telling him. Irons's bulk was leaned against
Wesker's desk, one pudgy hand brushing at his care-
fully groomed mustache as he spoke.
"So I said, 'You're gonna print what I tell you to
print, Bertolucci, and you're gonna like it, or you'll
never get another quote from this office!' And he
says"
"Chris!" Wesker interrupted the chief, sitting for- ward. "Good, you're here. Looks like we can stop wasting time."
Irons scowled in his direction but Chris kept his
poker face. Wesker didn't care much for Irons, either,
and didn't bother trying to be any more than polite in
his dealings with the man. From the glint in his eye, it
was obvious that he didn't care who knew it, either.
Chris walked into the office and stood by the desk
he shared with Ken Sullivan, one of the Bravo team.
Since the teams usually worked different shifts, they
didn't need much room. He set the unopened can of
soda on the battered desktop and looked at Wesker.
"You're sending Bravo in?"
The captain gazed back at him impassively, arms
folded across his chest. "Standard procedure, Chris." Chris sat down, frowning. "Yeah, but with what we talked about last week, I thought"
Irons interrupted. "I gave the order, Redfield. I know you think that there's some kind of cloak and
dagger going on here, but 7 don't see any reason to
deviate from policy."
Sanctimonious prick. . . .
Chris forced a smile, knowing it would irritate Irons. "Of course, sir. No need to explain yourself on my behalf."
Irons glared at him for a moment, his piggy little
eyes snapping, then apparently decided to let it drop.
He turned back to Wesker. "I'll expect a report when Bravo returns. Now if you'll excuse me, Captain."
Wesker nodded. "Chief."
Irons stalked past Chris and out of the room. He'd
been gone less than a minute before Barry started in.
"Think the chief took a shit today? Maybe we all
oughtta chip in for Christmas, get him some laxa-
tives."
Joseph and Brad laughed, but Chris couldn't bring
himself to join in. Irons was a joke, but his mishan-
dling of this investigation wasn't all that funny. The
S.T.A.R.S. should've been called in at the beginning
instead of acting as RPD back up.
He looked back at Wesker, the man's perpetually
composed expression hard to read. Wesker had taken
over the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. only a few months ago,
transferred by the home office in New York, and Chris
still didn't have any real insight into his character.
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