who did all those weird skyscrapers in D.C. - in fact,
Trevor's disappearance may have been the reason that
Spencer shut the mansion down. Rumor has it that
Trevor went crazy during the construction and when
it was finished, he got lost and wandered the halls
until he starved to death."
Brad scoffed, but suddenly looked uneasy. "That's bullshit. I never heard anything like that."
Joseph winked at Barry. "No, it's true. Now his tortured ghost roams the estate each night, pale and
emaciated, and I've heard tell that sometimes you can
hear him, calling out, 'Brad Vickers . . . bring me
Brad Vickers'"
Brad flushed slightly. "Yeah, ha ha. You're a real comedian, Frost."
Barry shook his head, smiling, but wondered again
how Brad had ever made it to Alpha. He was un-
doubtedly the best hacker working for S.T.A.R.S.,
and a decent enough pilot, but he wasn't so hot under
pressure. Joseph had taken to calling him "Chicken-
heart Vickers" when he wasn't around, and while the
S.T.A.R.S. generally stuck up for one another, nobody
disagreed with Joseph's assessment.
"So is that why Spencer shut it down?" Brad
addressed this to Barry, his cheeks still red.
Barry shrugged. "I doubt it. It was supposed to be some kind of guest house for Umbrella's top execs.
Trevor did disappear right about the time of comple-
Tion, but Spencer was whacko, anyway. He decided
to move Umbrella's headquarters to Europe, I forgot
where exactly, and just boarded up the mansion.
Probably a couple million bucks, straight into the
crapper."
Joseph sneered. "Right. Like Umbrella would
suffer."
True enough. Spencer may have been crazy, but
he'd had enough money and business savvy to hire
the right people. Umbrella was one of the biggest
medical research and pharmaceutical companies on
the planet. Even thirty years ago, the loss of a few
million dollars probably hadn't hurt.
"Anyway," Joseph went on, "the Umbrella people told Irons that they'd sent someone out to check the
place over, and that it was secure, no break-ins."
"So why look for blueprints?" Brad asked.
It was Chris who answered, startling Barry. He'd
walked back to join them, his youthful face fixed with
a sudden intensity that almost bordered on obsessive.
"Because it's the only place in the woods that hasn't
been checked over by the police, and it's practically in
the middle of the crime scenes. And because you can't
always trust what people say."
Brad frowned. "But if Umbrella sent somebody out. . ."
Whatever Chris was going to say in response was
cut short by Wesker's smooth voice, rising from the
front of the room.
"All right, people. Since it appears that Ms. Valen-
tine isn't planning on joining us, why don't we get this
started?"
Barry walked to his desk, worried about Chris for
the first time since this whole thing had started. He'd
recruited the younger man for the S.T.A.R.S. a few
years back thanks to a chance encounter in a local gun
shop. Chris had proved to be an asset to the team,
bright and thoughtful as well as a top-notch marks-
man and able pilot.
But now . . .
Barry gazed fondly at the picture of Kathy and the
girls that sat on his desk. Chris's obsession with the
murders in Raccoon was understandable, particularly
since his friend had disappeared. Nobody in town
wanted to see another life lost. Barry had a family,
and was as determined as anyone else on the team to
stop the killers. But Chris's relentless suspicion had
gone a little overboard. What had he meant by that,
"You can't always trust what people say"? Either that Umbrella was lying or Chief Irons was. . .
Ridiculous. Umbrella's branch chemical plant and
administrative buildings on the outskirts of town
supplied three-quarters of the jobs in Raccoon City; it
would be counter-productive for them to lie. Besides,
Umbrella's integrity was at least as solid as any other
major corporation's-maybe some industrial espio-
nage, but medical secret-swapping was a far cry from
murder. And Chief Irons, though a fat, weasely blow-
hard, wasn't the kind to get his hands any dirtier than
they'd get accepting illegal campaign funds; the guy
wanted to be mayor, for chrissake.
Barry's gaze lingered on the picture of his family a
moment longer before he turned his chair around to
face Wesker's desk, and he suddenly realized that he
wanted Chris to be wrong. Whatever was going on in Raccoon City, that kind of vicious brutality couldn't
be planned. And that meant. . .
Barry didn't know what that meant. He sighed, and
waited for the meeting to begin.
TWO
JILL WAS DEEPLY RELIEVED TO HEAR THE
sound of Wesker's voice as she jogged toward the
open door of the S.T.A.R.S. office. She'd seen one of
their helicopters taking off as she'd arrived, and been
positive that they'd left without her. The S.T.A.R.S.
were a fairly casual outfit in some respects. But there
also wasn't any room for people who couldn't keep
up-and she wanted very much to be in on this case
from the beginning.
"The RPD has already established a perimeter
search, spanning sectors one, four, seven, and nine.
It's the central zones we're concerned with, and Bravo
will set down here ..."
At least she wasn't too late; Wesker always ran
meetings the same way-update speech, theory, then
Q and A. Jill took a deep breath and stepped into the
office. Wesker was pointing to a posted map at the
front of the room, dotted with colored tags where
the bodies had been found. He hardly faltered in his
speech as she walked quickly to her desk, feeling
suddenly like she was back in basic training and had
shown up late for class.
Chris Redfield threw her a half-smile as she sat
down, and she nodded back at him before focusing on
Wesker. She didn't know any of the Raccoon team
that well, but Chris had made a real effort to make her
feel welcome since she'd arrived.
". . . after a fly-by of the other central areas. Once
they report in, we'll have a better idea of where to
focus our energies."
"But what about the Spencer place?" Chris asked. "It's practically in the middle of the crime scenes. If
we start there, we can conduct a more complete
search."
"And if Bravo's information points to that area,
rest assured, we'll search there. For now, I don't see
any reason to consider it a priority."
Chris looked incredulous. "But we only have Um- brella's word that the estate is secure..."
Wesker leaned against his desk, his strong features
expressionless. "Chris, we all want to get to the bottom of this. But we have to work as a team, and the
best approach here is to do a thorough search for
those missing hikers before we start jumping to con- clusions. Bravo will take a look-see and we'll conduct
this by the book."
Chris frowned, but said nothing more. Jill resisted
the urge to roll her eyes at Wesker's little speech. He
was doing the right thing, technically, but had left out
the part about it being politic to do as Chief Irons
wanted. Irons had made it clear time and again
throughout the killing spree that he was in charge of
the investigation and was calling the shots. It
wouldn't have bothered her so much except that
Wesker presented himself as an independent thinker,
a man who didn't play politics. She had joined the
S.T.A.R.S. because she couldn't stand the bullshit
red-tape that dominated so much of law enforcement,
and Wesker's obvious deferral to the chief was irri-
tating.
Well, and don't forget that you stood a good chance
of ending up in prison if you hadn't changed your
occupation. . .
"Jill. I see that you managed to find the time to
come in. Illuminate us with your brilliant insight.
What have you got for us?"
Jill met Wesker's sharp gaze evenly, trying to seem
as cool and composed as he was. "Nothing new, I'm afraid. The only obvious pattern is location. . ."
She looked down at the notes she had on the stack
of files in front of her, scanning them for reference.
"Uh, the tissue samples from underneath both Becky
McGee's and Chris Smith's fingernails were an exact
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