It seemed that they were going to Utah.
If anyone had expected Trent to be overjoyed at the
news, they would have been deeply disappointed.
When David called him back to the cabin and told
him that they would go to the new testing facility,
Trent only nodded, that same enigmatic smile on his
lined and weathered face.
"Here are the coordinates for the site," Trent said, pulling a slip of paper from his front pocket. "There are also several numerical codes listed, one of which
will provide entry - although the keypad may be hard
to find. I'm sorry I wasn't able to narrow it down any
further."
Leon watched as David took the paper from Trent,
as Trent walked back out to tell the pilot, wondering
why it was that he couldn't stop thinking about Ada.
Since Trent's little speech about White Umbrella,
memories of Ada Wong's skill and beauty, echoes of
her deep, sultry voice had been haunting Leon. It
wasn't a conscious thing, or at least not at first. It was
that something about the man reminded him of her;
maybe that supreme self-confidence, or that hint of
sly smile -
- and at the end, before that crazy woman shot her,
I accused her of being an Umbrella spy - and she'd
said that she wasn't, that who she worked for wasn't
my concern...
Although he and Claire had come into the fight
pretty late in the game, they'd been thoroughly
briefed on what the others knew about Umbrella, and
what part Trent had played in the past. The one
constant - besides being incredibly elusive with in-
formation - was that he seemed to know all sorts of
things that no one else knew.
It can't hurt to ask.
When Trent walked back into the cabin, Leon approached him.
"Mr. Trent," he said carefully, watching him close- ly, "in Raccoon City, I met a woman named Ada Wong..."
Trent gazed at him, his face giving nothing away.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about her,
about who she was working for. She was looking for a
sample of the G-Virus..."
Trent arched his eyebrows. "Was she? And did she find it?"
Leon studied his dark, quick eyes, wondering why
he felt like Trent already knew the answer. He
couldn't, of course, Ada had been murdered just
before the laboratory had exploded.
"Yes, she did," Leon said. "In the end, though, she ... she sacrificed herself in a way, rather than make
a choice. Between killing someone and losing the
sample."
"And was that someone you?" Trent asked softly. Leon was aware that the others were watching, and
was a little surprised that he wasn't at all uncomfort-
able. Even a month ago, such a personal conversation
would have been embarrassing for him.
"Yeah," he said, almost defiantly. "It was me."
Trent nodded slowly, smiling a little. "Then it
seems to me that you wouldn't need to know anything
else about her. About her character or motivations."
Leon wasn't sure if he was evading the question or
honestly telling him what he thought, but either
way, the simple logic of his answer made Leon feel
better. As though he'd known the answer himself all
along. Whatever psychology he was working, Trent
was quite a piece of work.
He's smooth, cultured, and scary as hell in his own
quiet way . . . Ada would have liked him.
". . . much as I'd enjoy talking with you, I have
some business with our captain that needs to be
attended to," Trent was saying. "We'll be at Salt Lake in five or six hours."
With that, he nodded toward them and disappeared
through the curtain again.
"Too good to sit with the grunts?" John asked, obviously not over his initial dislike. Leon looked
around at the others, saw thoughtful and uneasy
expressions, saw Claire looking as though she half
wanted to change her mind.
Leon walked to where she was leaning against a
seat, her arms folded tightly, and touched her
shoulder.
"Thinking about Chris?" He asked gently. To his surprise, she shook her head, smiling at him
nervously. "No. Actually, I was thinking about the Spencer estate, and the raid on Caliban Cove, and
what happened in Raccoon. I was thinking that no
matter what Trent says about how simple this will be,
nothing is ever simple with Umbrella. Things have a
way of getting complicated when they're involved.
You'd think we would know that by now. . ."
She trailed off, then shook her head as if trying to
clear it, giving him another, brighter smile. "Listen to me talk. I'm going to get a sandwich, you want
anything?"
"No, thanks," he said absently, still thinking about what she'd said as she walked away - and wondering
suddenly if their little trek to Utah was going to be the
last mistake that any of them ever made.
Steve Lopez, good ol' Steve, his face as blank and
white as a sheet of paper, standing in the middle of the
strange, vast laboratory, standing and aiming his semi
at them and telling them to drop their weapons - - and the rage, the pain and red fury that hit John
like a hurricane as he realized what had happened,
that Karen was dead, that Steve had been turned into
one of those crazy asshole's zombie soldiers -
- and John screamed, what did you do to him, not thinking, spinning instead, firing at the blank-faced
drone behind them, the round punching neatly through
its left temple and the cold air stinking like death as the
creature fell -
- and pain! Pain, tearing through him as Steve, Stevie, his friend and comrade, shot him in the back.
John felt blood dribble from his lips, felt himself
turning, felt more pain than he thought he could feel.
Steve had shot him, the mad doctor had used the virus
on him and Steve wasn't Steve anymore and the world
was spinning, screaming...
"John, John wake up you're having
a bad dream. Hey, big guy..."
John sat up, his eyes wide and his heart thumping,
feeling disoriented and afraid. The cool hand on his
arm was Rebecca's, the touch gentle and soothing,
and he realized that he was awake, that he'd been
dreaming and was now awake.
"Shit," he mumbled, and sagged back against his seat, closing his eyes. They were still on the plane, the
soft drone of the engine and the hiss of canned air
putting to rest the last of his confusion.
"You okay?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded, taking a few deep breaths before he opened his eyes
again.
"Did I - did I yell or anything?"
Rebecca smiled at him, watching him closely.
"Nope. Just so happens I was on my way back from
the bathroom and saw you twitching like a rabbit. It
didn't look like you were having much fun ... hope I
didn't interrupt anything good."
The last was almost a question. John forced a grin
and avoided the subject entirely, glancing out at the
passing darkness instead. "Three tuna sandwiches before bed was a bad idea, I guess. We almost there?"
Rebecca nodded. "We're just starting the descent. Fifteen, twenty minutes, David says."
She was still scrutinizing him, still wearing an
expression of warmth and concern, and John realized
he was being an idiot. Keeping that shit to oneself was
a sure ticket to losing one's mind.
"I was in the lab," he said, and Rebecca nodded, it was all he needed to say. She'd been there.
"I had one just a couple of days ago, right after we
decided to leave Exeter," she said softly. "A real nasty one. It was kind of a combination, stuff from the
Spencer lab and from the cove."
John nodded, thinking about what a remarkable
young woman she was. She'd faced down a houseful
of Umbrella monsters on her first S.T.A.R.S. mission,
and had still decided to come with them to check out
the cove when David had asked.
"You kick ass, 'becca. If I were a few years younger,
I think it might be love," he said, and was pleased at her blushing, grinning reaction. She was probably
smarter than him by half, but she was also a teenage
girl - and if he remembered correctly from back in
his day, teenage girls weren't adverse to hearing about
how cool they were.
"Shut up," she said, her tone of voice telling him that he had, in fact, thoroughly embarrassed her
and that she didn't mind.
A moment of comfortable silence rested between
them, the last dregs of the nightmare fading as the
cabin pressure fluctuated, the plane on its way down.
In a few minutes, they'd be in Utah, of all places.
David had already suggested that they get to a hotel
and start making plans, that they would go in tomor-
row night.
Go in, get the book, and then get the hell out.
Easy ... except hadn't that pretty much been the plan
for the cove?
John decided that once they landed, he wanted to
do a little more talking with Trent. He was up for the
mission, for getting the book and throwing a few
wrenches into Umbrella's works in the process -but
he still wasn't happy with Trent's rather selective information. Yeah, the man was helping them, but
why so weird about it? And why hadn't he told them
what their Europe team was doing, or who was
running White Umbrella, or how he'd known to put
his own pilot on their charter?
Because he's on some power trip, that's why. Control
freak.
That didn't seem quite right, but John couldn't
think of any other reason that their Mr. Trent was
being such a secret agent wannabe spy. Maybe if he
got his arm twisted a little, he'd be more forth-
coming. . .
"John, I know you don't like him, but do you
think he's right about this being a snap job? I mean,
what if this Reston won't give it up? Or what if ... what
if something else happens?"
She was trying to sound professional, her tone light
and easy, but the troubled look deep in her mild
brown eyes gave her away.
Something else. Something like a viral spill, some-
thing like a crazy scientist, something like biomonsters
getting loose. Like the something that always happens
around Umbrella. . .
"If I have anything to say about it, the only thing
that will go wrong is that Reston will shit himself and
the smell will be terrible," he said, and was again rewarded with a grin from the young woman.
"You're a dork," she said, and John shrugged,
thinking how easy it was to make the girl smile
and wondering if it was such a good idea to get her
hopes up.
A few moments later the small plane touched down
easily and for the first time, the pilot used the inter-
com system. He told them to remain seated until the
plane had stopped and then clicked off, not bothering
with the usual crap about how he hoped they'd
enjoyed their flight or what the current temperature
was; for that, at least, John was grateful. The small
craft rolled across the tarmac, finally coming to a
gentle stop, the team standing and stretching and
putting on their coats.
As soon as he heard the outer door pop, John
stepped past Rebecca and walked to the front of the
cabin, determined not to let Trent get off before
they'd had a chance to chat. He pushed through the
curtain, a cold wind blowing into the small passage
behind the cockpit, and saw that he was too late. The
0 Comments