work," he said softly. "I wasn't able to make them, but I'm assuming that they're some of Umbrella's
people and that my call to New York was respon-
sible."
"Have you tried to get hold of Palmieri?" Jill asked. David nodded. The S.T.A.R.S. national command-
er was the one man he knew was above taking bribes;
Marco Palmieri had been with the S.T.A.R.S. since
the very beginning. "I was informed by his secretary that he's leading a classified operation in the Middle
East and won't be available for months—and word
has it that arrangements are being made for his
retirement while he's away."
"You think Umbrella's behind it?" Chris asked. David shrugged. "Umbrella has made substantial donations to the S.T.A.R.S. over the years, which
means they have the contacts. If they're trying to turn
the S.T.A.R.S. away from investigating them, getting
rid of Dr. Palmieri would be to their advantage."
David glanced around the room, trying to assess
their readiness for the rest of it. Barry's fists were
clenched, and he stared at them as if he'd never seen
them before. Jill and Rebecca both seemed lost in
thought, though he could see that they had accepted
his story as truth. It would save them time, at
least. . .
Chris stood up and started to pace, his youthful
features flushed with anger. "So basically, we've got no credibility with the locals, no backup coming, and
we've been branded as liars by our own people. The
Umbrella investigation is dead and we're screwed,
does that pretty much sum it up?"
David could see that the anger wasn't directed at
him, just as the anger that he felt wasn't for the young
Alpha. The thought of what Umbrella had done, what
the S.T.A.R.S. were involved in—it made him sick
with rage, with feelings of helplessness that he hadn't
felt since his childhood.
Stop thinking of yourself. Tell them the rest.
David stood up and looked at Chris, though he
addressed all of them. He hadn't even had time to tell Barry yet.
"Actually, there's more. It seems that there's anoth-
er Umbrella facility on the Maine coast, conducting
experiments with this virus of theirs—and just like
what happened here, they've lost control."
David turned to Rebecca, taking in her wide, horri-
fied gaze as he finished. "I'm taking a team in, without S.T.A.R.S. authorization—and I want you to
come with us."
TWO
THEY ALL STARED AT DAVID, CHRIS FEELING
like he'd just been punched in the gut. He was still
reeling from the information about the S.T.A.R.S.,
from the realization that they were on their own
and now another lab?
And he wants to take Rebecca...
David went on, his dark gaze still fixed on the
young Bravo. "I've talked to the people on my team I believe to be trustworthy, and three of them have
agreed to go. I'm not going to lie to you—it will be
dangerous, and without the S.T.A.R.S. to back us up,
there's no guarantee we'll be able to close the lab
down. We just want to go in, collect some solid
evidence on this T-Virus, and get back out before
anyone even knows we're..."
Before he could stop himself, Chris interrupted.
"I'm going, too."
"We all go," Barry said firmly. Jill nodded, putting her arm around Rebecca. The teen seemed flustered,
her cheeks red, and looking at her, Chris was once
again reminded of Claire. It was more than just a
physical resemblance; Rebecca had the same wit, the
same spirited blend of courage and thoughtfulness
that Chris's younger sister had. And since the Spencer
estate disaster, Chris had come to feel just as protec-
tive of Rebecca. Too many of his friends had died
already. Joseph, Richard, Kenneth, Forest, and
Enrico—not to mention Billy Rabbitson; his body
had never been found, but Chris had no doubts that
Umbrella had killed him to keep him from talking. It
wasn't that Rebecca couldn't handle herself. . .
... but damn it, she's part of our team. No way she
goes without us.
David shook his head. "Look, this isn't a full-scale op; five people is already stretching it. Rebecca's got
the background we need to find the data on the virus,
and she already knows what symptoms to look for."
"You've got your team right here," Chris said. "You can take us instead, let your guys look into the cover up."
David sat back down and looked at Chris, his face
expressionless, "Tell me who's involved in Umbrella's conspiracy to hide their research," he said.
Chris glanced at the others, then back at David,
determined not to let his confusion show. "We sus- pect several people locally. Umbrella's office workers,
of course. The police commissioner, Chief Irons, a
couple of his men . . ."
David nodded. "And now that it looks like the
S.T.A.R.S. are in on this, what do you propose to
do?"
Where the hell is he going with this?
Chris sighed. "I don't know. I... we should con- tact the Feds, maybe an internal affairs division to
look into the S.T.A.R.S. and the RPD."
Barry cut in "...and we'll get in touch with some of the other S.T.A.R.S. branches. There are still good
people working out there who ain't gonna be too
happy that Umbrella's taking over."
David nodded again. "So you agree that Umbrella has to be stopped, even though it will be dangerous?"
"Well, no shit," Chris said, scowling angrily. "We can't just sit around and do nothing, there's no telling
what could happen if the T-Virus gets out again!"
"And what can you tell me about the classification
of the virus?" David asked quietly.
Chris opened his mouth to answer—and then
closed it, staring at David thoughtfully.
He was about to say, "You should ask Rebecca." And he knows it.
David stood up and looked at all of them in turn as
he spoke, his voice intense and determined. "I agree, Umbrella has to be stopped—but let's not kid our-
selves. We're talking about breaking from the
S.T.A.R.S. and going up against a multi-billion dollar
establishment on our own. Nowhere is going to be
safe, and our only chance for success is if we each do
what we can, what we're good at, to take Umbrella
down."
He fixed his cool gaze on Chris, as if he realized that
Chris was the one who had to be convinced. "You and Jill and Barry already know what to look for here, and
you've been with the S.T.A.R.S. longer than Rebecca.
You should stay here, out of sight, see if you can ferret
out the connection between the local police and
Umbrella—and reach out to the S.T.A.R.S. members
that you think would help us."
David turned to Rebecca again. "And if you agree, I think we should leave for Maine tonight. With the
information I have, it looks as though things have
already gotten out of hand. My team is standing by; we could go in tomorrow at dusk."
The room was silent for a moment, the only sound
that of the ceiling fan whirring overhead. Chris still
felt angry, but couldn't find a hole in the man's logic;
he was right about their options, and whether Chris
liked it or not, the choice to go to Maine was
Rebecca's to make.
"What information do you have?" Jill asked
thoughtfully. "How did you find out about the lab?" David reached down to a battered briefcase
propped next to his chair and dug through it, pulling
out a file folder. "An interesting story in itself, if a strange one. I was hoping that one of you might be
able to decipher some of this..."
He laid out three sheets of paper on the coffee table
as he spoke, what looked like photocopies of newspa-
per clippings, and a simple diagram. "Shortly after I talked to the home office, I received a visit from a
stranger, a man who claimed to be a friend of the
S.T.A.R.S.... he told me his name was Trent, and
gave me these."
"Trent!" Jill broke in excitedly. She turned to
Chris, her eyes wide, and Chris felt his heart skip a
beat. He'd almost forgotten about their mysterious
benefactor.
The guy who told Jill to watch out for traitors, who
told Brad where to pick us up. . . .
David stared at Jill, his expression puzzled. "You know him?"
"Just before we went in to rescue the Bravos, a man
named Trent gave me some information about the
Spencer estate, and warned me about Wesker," Jill said. "He was quite a piece of work, real shady—he didn't give anything away, you know? But he knew
what was going on with Umbrella, and what he did
tell me all panned out."
Barry nodded. "And Brad Vickers said that Trent called in the estate's coordinates right after Wesker
activated the triggering system. If he hadn't radioed,
we woulda blown up with the rest of the mansion."
Chris suddenly realized that he had a serious head-
ache brewing as they all gathered around Barry's
coffee table, staring down at the papers. The
S.T.A.R.S. were working for Umbrella, there was
another T-Virus facility operating in Maine—and
now Trent again, popping up like some cryptic fairy
godmother, his motives impossible to guess at. It was
like some kind of a game, the stakes all or nothing as
they struggled to get to the bottom of Umbrella's
conspiracy.
And we have no choice but to play—but whose game are we playing? And what do we risk losing if we fail?
Chris shot an unhappy glance at Rebecca, thinking
again of his kid sister and wishing, not for the first
time, that they'd never heard of Umbrella.
David watched them study the information that
Trent had given him, somehow not surprised that the
enigmatic stranger had contacted the S.T.A.R.S. be-
fore. The man had been a professional, though at
what, precisely, David couldn't imagine.
Why would he want to help us fight Umbrella?
What's in it for him?
David thought back to the brief encounter he'd had
only five days ago, searching his memory for some
additional clues, something he'd missed. He'd arrived
home late from work, and it had been raining ...
... pouring, a thundering summer storm that beat
at the windows and masked the sound of his gentle
knocking...
The Exeter S.T.A.R.S. had enjoyed an easy sum-
mer, more paperwork than action. The Bravos had
taken off for a criminal profiling seminar in New
Hampshire, and David had been entertaining
thoughts of packing a bag and attending the final
days—until he'd received Barry's call, followed by his
first hint from the home office that something was
wrong.
He'd spent the next day calling a few of his branch
contacts with discreet questions and digging through
files on Umbrella, not making it home until almost
midnight. The driving rain had ushered him into his
cold, dark house, the atmosphere matching his mood
perfectly. He'd poured a scotch and collapsed on the
couch, his head spinning from the implications of
what he'd learned—that either his old friend Barry
was lying or that the AD for the S.T.A.R.S. was.
The rapping at his door was so soft that he missed it
at first, the steady rain hammering on the roof cover-
ing the sound. Then it grew louder.
Frowning, David looked at his watch and walked
slowly to the door, wondering who the hell came
calling in the middle of the night. He lived alone and
had no family; it had to be work, or maybe someone
with car trouble...
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