THREE
JILL FELT HER HEART QUICKEN AT REBEC-
ca's words, a feeling that things were happening too
fast and that they weren't prepared. Her decision
seemed sudden, even though Jill really hadn't
doubted that she'd volunteer; Rebecca was a lot
stronger than she looked.
She glanced around Barry's wide, open living room,
discreetly noting the reactions of her teammates.
Chris's face was strained, his mouth drawn as he
stared absently at the map of Caliban Cove, while
Barry walked across to one of the living room win-
dows, staring out past the curtain and scowling at
nothing in particular.
They're worried about her, and maybe they should
be; Griffith sounds like a serious psycho . . . but would
any of us have hesitated if we'd been asked to go?
It just proved that Rebecca was as committed as
they were, also no great surprise. Getting to know the
young Bravo had been one of the only bright spots in
the frustrating days since the mansion had burned.
The girl had been unfailingly optimistic about their
chances against Umbrella even after their suspension,
and had worked tirelessly to keep all of their spirits
up. She was brilliant, too and yet she never flaunted
it, or came across as condescending when she was
attempting to discuss aspects of the T-Virus with
them.
Rebecca looked a bit distraught herself, glancing around at the three men in the room. Even David
Trapp seemed vaguely uncomfortable with her deci-
sion, probably because of Rebecca's youth.
Men. She's young, she's cute, and she's undoubtedly
smarter than all of us put together, but the young and
cute part tends to make them overlook the rest.
Jill caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. At
Rebecca's age, Jill had been a professional thief, and a
good one. She was worried about Rebecca, too, but
only because she'd grown to care about her. The fact
that she was a young woman wasn't a reason to
underestimate her talents.
Rebecca smiled back, and walked over to sit by her
as David nodded hesitantly at his newest teammate.
"All right, then. Good. There's a plane leaving for
Bangor at twenty-three hundred hours, with a con-
necting flight to a field just outside of Exeter. I
thought we could all go over a bit of strategy here, and
then drop by your place on the way to the airfield so
you can pack a few things."
Rebecca nodded, and after cracking a window
open, Barry moved back to join them, leaning against
one arm of the couch. He folded his arms across his
massive chest and jerked his chin toward David.
"You're the strategist," he said, not unkindly.
"Why don't you start us off?"
The respect between the two men was obvious,
making Jill like David all the more. In spite of Barry's
screw ups in the Spencer fiasco, Jill had grown to trust
him, something she didn't do easily and he seemed
confident in David Trapp's skills.
"I don't mean to take over," David said, "but I have a few thoughts on how we might approach this
situation. I've known about the S.T.A.R.S.'s betrayal
for several days now ... though I thought we all
might spend a few moments considering our course of
action. I realize that this must come as quite a shock."
Jill picked up on the same thread of bitterness she'd
noticed earlier, on the word "betrayal." The fact that
the S.T.A.R.S. were in bed with Umbrella obviously
wasn't sitting too well with Mr. Trapp ...
. . . probably not with Chris or Barry, either. Both of them have more time invested with the S. T.A.R.S. than
me or Becca . . .
Jill was disappointed and angry that the S.T.A.R.S.
had sold out, but it wasn't going to be a factor in her
decision to work at bringing Umbrella down. Her
path had been determined on the day that the McGee
sisters had been brutally murdered. The two little
girls were the first innocent victims of the T-Virus
spill at the Spencer estate and they had been her friends. She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the
matter at hand. Without the S.T.A.R.S., their job was
going to be a lot tougher. Not impossible, but she had
to admit to herself that their chance of success had
just dropped to somewhere near zero. It was a good
thing she didn't mind being the underdog.
It doesn't matter anyway. Umbrella's going to pay
for what they've done, one way or another. . .
Barry's gruff voice broke the quiet in the room, his
gaze thoughtful. "Maybe we should go to the press. Not local, but someone big, national."
David sighed, shaking his head. "I thought of that. It's a good idea, but right now we don't have the proof
to make anything stick."
"Yeah, but at least Umbrella wouldn't move on us
with everyone watching."
"We couldn't count on that," Jill said. "If they got to the S.T.A.R.S., they could get to anyone. And
without evidence . . . well, you gotta admit, the
story's the kind of thing even the tabloids wouldn't
buy."
There was a moment of sullen silence, as if her
words reminded them all of how insane it sounded,
how insane it would sound to anyone who hadn't
experienced what they'd been through.
A virus that accidentally turns people into zombies,
being used to create unspeakable monsters as living
weapons... invented and then covered up by a major
corporation that hires mad scientists to experiment on
human beings. All it needs is a Nazi war criminal with
n atomic weapon, we'd have a best-seller on our
hands...
"Well, what we were talking about before orga-
nizing some of the other S.T.A.R.S.," Chris said. "I've got a few people in mind, some of the guys I
trained with. And I know Barry's got a lot of con-
tacts."
David nodded agreement. "Yes, I think that should be a priority. My concern is how to get in touch with
them. The branch offices may already be tapped, and
we want to keep Umbrella from learning about our
plans for as long as possible. Unfortunately, we won't
have use of the S.T.A.R.S.'s resources for much
longer."
"Maybe we should look for a go-between," Jill said slowly. "Someone who doesn't have ties to the S.T.A.R.S"
Chris grinned suddenly. "I know a guy from back in the Air Force who works for Jack Hamilton now, one
of the section heads for the FBI—I don't know much
about Hamilton, but Pete's about as honest as they come. And he owes me a favor."
"Brilliant," David said. "Perhaps you could ask him to help you look into the local police as well.
Once we have solid evidence from the Maine facility,
we can go to your friend, instigate a federal investiga-
tion."
It sounded good, but Jill found herself feeling
frustrated by the talk. She wanted to act. Waiting for
the S.T.A.R.S. to contact them had been bad enough;
knowing that Rebecca was going to be risking her life
while they waited idly by would be excruciating.
"You said you had some thoughts about what else
we could do," she said.
David nodded. "Yes, though once we involve the government, it may not come to anything quite so
daring. I had been formulating a plan to infiltrate
Umbrella headquarters, a risky proposition at best. It
seems wisest to work on a smaller scale for now, but
I do believe the three of you should drop out of sight,
as soon as possible. I also think it would be prudent
for you to see what you can uncover on Mr. Trent,
though I have the distinct feeling that you won't come
up with much, if anything."
He smiled a little, and having met Trent, Jill
understood his doubts perfectly. Their strange bene-
factor had struck her as a very careful man.
"I get the impression that we'll only find what he
wants us to find," David continued, "but it is worth a look. And we'll need to arrange for a rendezvous site
after we've..."
His soft, musical voice broke off suddenly as he
tilted his head to one side, listening intently. Jill heard
it in the same instant and felt her heart freeze in her
chest.
A rustling in the bushes outside the window that
Barry had opened.
Umbrella!!!
"Get down!" Jill shouted, and rolled off the couch, pulling Rebecca with her as the window shattered, the
curtains blown aside in an explosive burst from an
automatic rifle.
David dove for the floor as bullets riddled the chair
he'd been in, already grabbing for his weapon. Tufts of
padding floated past his wide eyes as a smoking trail
of holes tore across the wall, plaster and wood flying.
Bloody hell...
There was a split-second break in the onslaught,
just long enough for them to hear the crash of glass
breaking from the back of the house.
"Barry, lights!" he shouted, but Barry was way ahead of him, the thunder of his Colt revolver drown- ing out the intermittent spray of the machine gun.
Boom! Boom!
The room went dark as Barry's rounds found their
mark, glass raining down from above. Light still
streamed into the darkness from the hall, and there
was another hail of bullets from outside.
Chris scrabbled on elbows and knees for the hall-
way and in one smooth movement rolled onto his side
and took out the additional lights. The living room
was now completely black, and the bursts of automat-
ic fire stopped.
Over the ringing in his ears, David heard boots
crunching on glass from back in the kitchen. The
heavy steps paused, the intruder probably waiting for
the window shooter to catch up and there will be more than two, covering the exits. Kitchen door, front porch, someone watching the windows. . .
Another set of steps entered the kitchen, these
hurried and shuffling, but they also stopped. The pair
was waiting, either for more of their team or for the
assembled S.T.A.R.S. to make a move. David's
thoughts raced independently of him, reflexively con-
sidering and rejecting theories and options at light-
ning speed.
We get upstairs, pick them off one at a time—
—unless they mean to torch the house—
—so we run straight through them, out the back—
—except they've got the firepower advantage, maybe
spook eyes and we'd be moving targets, no contest. . .
All he knew for certain was that they couldn't stay
where they were. There was no cover for when the
thugs got tired of waiting.
There was shuffling movement from the right as
Barry's hulking shadow crouched toward him. Da-
vid's eyes had adjusted enough to see Jill and Rebecca
on the other side of the coffee table, both of them
crouched and holding handguns. He couldn't make
Chris out, but he was probably still by the hall.
Barry's house was the last on the block, a wooded
park just past. If they could slip out, get into the
trees. . .
The thought stuck; even a bad plan was better than
none at all, and they didn't have time to work out
alternatives.
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