Right. Jill scooped up the bags and turned to leave.
"Miss Valentine, isn't it?" A shadow separated itself from the back of the room and stepped forward,
a tall man with a low, musical voice. Early forties, a
thin frame, dark hair and deep set eyes. He was
actually wearing a trench coat, and an expensive one
at that.
Jill readied herself to move quickly if the need
arose. She didn't recognize him.
"That's right," she said warily.
The man stepped toward her, a smile flickering
across his face. "I have something for you," he said softly.
Jill narrowed her eyes and shifted automatically
into a defensive position, balancing her weight on the
balls of her feet. "Hold it, asshole - I don't know who the hell you think you are or what you think I want,
but you're in a police station . . ."
She trailed off as he shook his head, grinning
broadly, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "You mistake my intentions, Miss Valentine. Excuse my
manners, please. My name is Trent, and I'm ... a
friend to the S.T.A.R.S."
Jill studied his posture and position and eased her
own stance slightly, watching his eyes for even a
flicker of movement. She didn't feel threatened by
him, exactly. . . .
. . . but how did he know my name?
"What do you want?"
Trent grinned wider. "Ah, straight to the point. But of course, you're on a rather tight schedule..."
He slowly reached into a pocket of his coat and
pulled out what looked like a cell phone. "Though it's not what I want that's important. It's what I think you
should have."
Jill glanced quickly at the item he held, frowning.
"That?"
"Yes. I've assembled a few documents that you
should find interesting; compelling, in fact." As he spoke, he held out the device.
She reached for it carefully, realizing as she did that
it was a mini-disk reader, a very complicated and
costly micro computer. Trent was well-financed, who-
ever he was.
Jill tucked the reader into her hip pack, suddenly
more than a little curious. "Who do you work for?" He shook his head. "That's not important, not at this juncture. Although I will say that there are a lot of
very important people watching Raccoon City right
now."
"Oh? And are these people 'friends' of the
S.T.A.R.S., too, Mr. Trent?"
Trent laughed, a soft, deep chuckle. "So many
questions, so little time. Read the files. And if I were
you, I wouldn't mention this conversation to anyone;
it could have rather serious consequences."
He walked toward the door in the back of the room,
turning back to her as he reached for the knob. Trent's
lined, weathered features suddenly lost all trace of
humor, his gaze serious and intense.
"One more thing, Miss Valentine, and this is criti-
cal, make no mistake: not everyone can be trusted,
and not everyone is who they appear to be - even the
people you think you know. If you want to stay alive,
you'll do well to remember it."
Trent opened the door and just like that, he was
gone.
Jill stared after him, her mind going a million
directions at once. She felt like she was in some
melodramatic old spy movie and had just met the
mysterious stranger. It was laughable, and yet-
- and yet he just handed you several thousands of
dollars worth of equipment with a straight face and
told you to watch your back; you think he's kidding?
She didn't know what to think, and she didn't have
time to think it; the Alpha team was probably assem-
bled, waiting, and wondering where the hell she was.
Jill shouldered the heavy bags and hurried out the
door.
They'd gotten the weapons loaded and secured and
Wesker was getting impatient. Although his eyes were
hidden by dark aviator sunglasses, Chris could see it
in the captain's stance and in the way he kept his head cocked toward the building. The helicopter was
prepped and ready, the blades whipping warm, humid
air through the tight compartment. With the door
open, the sound of the engine drowned out any
attempt at conversation. There was nothing to do but
wait.
Come on, Jill, don't slow us up here. . . .
Even as Chris thought it, Jill emerged from the
building and jogged toward them with the Alpha gear,
an apologetic look on her face. Wesker jumped down
to help her, taking one of the stuffed bags as she
climbed aboard.
Wesker followed, closing the double hatches behind
them. Instantly, the roar of the turbine engine was
muted to a dull thrum.
"Problems, Jill?" Wesker didn't sound angry, but there was an edge to his voice that suggested he wasn't
all that happy, either.
Jill shook her head. "One of the lockers was stuck. I had a hell of a time getting the key to work."
The captain stared at her for a moment, as if
deciding whether or not to give her a hard time, then
shrugged. "I'll call maintenance when we get back. Go ahead and distribute the gear."
He picked up a headset and put it on, moving up to
sit next to Brad as Jill started passing out the vests.
The helicopter lifted slowly, the RPD building falling
away as Brad positioned them to head northwest.
Chris crouched down next to Jill after donning his
vest, helping her sort through the gloves and belts as
they sped over the city toward the Arklay Mountains.
The busy urban streets below quickly gave way to the
suburbs, wide streets and quiet houses set amidst
squares of browning grass and picket fences. An
evening haze had settled over the sprawling but iso-
lated community, fussing the edges of the picturesque
view and giving it an unreal, dream-like quality.
Minutes passed in silence as the Alphas prepared
themselves and belted in, each team member preoccu-
pied with his or her own thoughts.
With any luck, the Bravo team's helicopter had
suffered only a minor mechanical failure. Forest
would've set it down in one of the scraggly open fields
that dotted the forest and was probably up to his
elbows in grease by now, cursing at the engine as they
waited for Alpha to show. Without the bird in work-
ing order, Marini wouldn't start the proposed search.
The alternative . . .
Chris grimaced, not wanting to consider any alter-
natives. He'd once seen the aftermath of a serious
'copter crash, back in the Air Force. Pilot error had led to the fall of a Huey carrying eleven men and
women to a training mission. By the time the rescuers
had arrived, there'd been nothing but charred, smok-
ing bones amidst the fiery debris, the sweet, sticky
smell of gasoline-roasted flesh heavy in the blackened
air. Even the ground had been burning, and that was
the image that had haunted his dreams for months
afterwards; the earth on fire, the chemical flames
devouring the very soil beneath his feet. . . .
There was a slight dip in their altitude as Brad
adjusted the rotor pitch, jolting him out of the un-
pleasant memory. The ragged outskirts of Raccoon
Forest slipped by below, the orange markers of the
police blockade standing out against the thick muted
green of the trees. Twilight was finally setting in, the
forest growing heavy with shadow.
"ETA . . . three minutes." Brad called back, and Chris looked around the cabin, noting the silent, grim
expressions of his teammates. Joseph had tied a
bandana over his head and was intently relacing his
boots. Barry was gently rubbing a soft cloth over his
beloved Colt Python, staring out the hatch window.
He turned his head to look at Jill and was surprised to
find her staring back at him thoughtfully. She was
sitting on the same bench as him and she smiled
briefly, almost nervously as he caught her gaze.
Abruptly she unhooked her belt and moved to sit next
to him. He caught a faint scent of her skin, a clean,
soapy smell.
"Chris . . . what you've been saying, about external
factors in these cases ..."
Her voice was pitched so low that he had to lean in
to hear her over the throbbing of the engine. She
glanced quickly around at the others, as if to make
sure that no one was listening, then looked into his
eyes, her own carefully guarded.
"I think you might be on the right track," she said softly, "and I'm starting to think that it might not be such a good idea to talk about it."
Chris's throat suddenly felt dry. "Did something happen?"
Jill shook her head, her finely chiseled features
giving away nothing. "No. I've just been thinking that maybe you should watch what you say. Maybe not
