The hospital turned out to be much closer than he thought, less than two blocks away.
Nicholai waited for Ken Franklin eagerly, knowing
that the Watchdog's death would mark the beginning of
the end game. Nicholai's growing frustration was about
to come to an end.
If the bastard ever shows up... But no, he was com-ing, and then Nicholai would be on track again. He
checked the corner window of the office he'd chosen,
overlooking the dark, empty street - also his escape
route, if the sergeant turned out to be troublesome - fra-
me tenth time in half as many minutes, willing the er-
rant Watchdog to hurry.
Nothing had gone as he'd planned, and although he'd
made the best of it, Nicholai was losing his patience.
The search for Davis Chan had been spectacularly un-
successful; Nicholai hadn't even caught a glimpse of
him during the two days he'd stayed in the city - and
twice more the elusive soldier had managed to avoid a
confrontation after filing his reports, sending Nicholai
running all over town.
Nicholai had also been planning to head to Um-
brella's "water treatment" facility to get rid of Terence
Foster earlier in the day, but he'd been further side-
tracked in a wild-goose chase - he'd seen an uninfected
woman near the RPD building, a tall, Asian-American
woman wearing a tight, sleeveless red dress and hold-
ing a gun like she knew what to do with it. She'd
slipped into the building and was gone. Nicholai had
searched for nearly four hours but hadn't seen the mys-
tery woman again.
So, all three of his targets, still alive. He'd been able
to collect some Watchdog information, at least, uncov-
ering a couple of private lab reports on the strength of
the average zombie, but he'd had enough, enough eat-
ing cold beans out of cans, enough sleeping with one
eye open, enough playing big game hunter. By his
count, he'd killed four Beta Hunters, three giant spi-
ders, and three brain suckers. And dozens of zombies,
of course, although he didn't really count those as wor-
thy of note, not anymore. They just kept getting slower
and stickier; Raccoon already smelled like a giant
cesspool, and it was only going to get worse as the
virus carriers continued to decay, turning into great
sludgy piles of malodorous stew.
I'll be gone by then. After all, Franklin will be here
any minute.
After two days of unmet objectives, Nicholai had
come to see Franklin's appointment at the hospital as
something solid, something he could hold on to - a
sure kill. And as he'd passed long, solitary hours im-
mersed in the growing chaos of uncertainty, the death of Ken Franklin had become extremely important.
Once he was dead, Nicholai could blow up the hospital;
once the hospital was destroyed, Nicholai could hunt
down Chan and Foster, and then he could leave. Every-
thing would fall into place as soon as he killed
Franklin.
Even as Nicholai embraced that thought, he heard
footsteps out in the hall. Heart swelling with pleasure,
Nicholai took his position by the window and waited
for Franklin to find him. The cluttered office/supply
room was on the fourth floor, not far from where he'd
killed and hidden Dr. Aquino.
Come along, Sergeant...
When the Watchdog opened the door, Nicholai was
leaning casually in the corner, arms folded. Franklin
was carrying top of the line, a 9mm VP70, and he had it
trained on Nicholai's face in the blink of an eye.
Nicholai didn't move.
"You're not supposed to be here," Franklin said coolly, his voice deep and deadly. He stepped further
into the room, not taking his gaze - or the semiauto-
matic - off of Nicholai.
Time for him to find out who's smarter. Anyone could stage an ambush, but it took a certain amount of
intelligence and skill to make one's opponent willingly
walk into one. Nicholai feigned a mildly surly nervous-
ness.
"You're right, I'm not. Aquino should be here, but
he stopped filing reports yesterday. They thought he was
too busy, working on the antiviral, but I've been looking
since last night and can't find him." Nicholai had actu-ally filed several status reports with Dr. Aquino's name
on them since killing him, to keep up appearances.
"Who are you?" Franklin asked. He was tall and well muscled, with very dark skin and rather delicate-look-
ing wire rimmed glasses. There was nothing delicate in
the way he looked at Nicholai, however.
Nicholai uncrossed his arms and lowered them very
slowly. "Nicholai Ginovaef, U.B.C.S. ... and Watch-dog. I was tapped to check things out when the doctor
went AWOL. You're Franklin, right? Have you had any
contact with Aquino since your arrival? Did he talk to
you about where he was going to secure the sample, or
give you a combination, or a key?"
Franklin didn't lower his weapon, but he was obvi-
ously confused. "Nobody told me about any change in plans. Who did you say sent you?"
This part was a risk. Nicholai knew the names of
four men important enough to have made changes to
Umbrella's agenda, and chances were good that one of
them was Franklin's contact and would already have informed Franklin.
"I didn't say," Nicholai said. "But I guess it's okay to tell you ... Trent called me in on this."
He'd chosen the man he knew least about, even after
all of his careful research, in the hope that Franklin
wouldn't know anything about him, either. Trent was
an enigma, skulking around the other top brass like
some cryptic shadow. Nicholai didn't even know his
first name.
It worked for the sergeant. Franklin lowered his
weapon, still wary but obviously willing to believe.
"So, you couldn't find Aquino? What about the vac-cine?"
Nicholai sighed, shaking his head and then deliber-
ately looking to his left, a space hidden from Franklin's
view by an overstuffed shelf. "No sign of the doc ... but this was his office, and there's a wall safe
back here. Do you know anything about getting one of
these things open?"
Nicholai knew that Franklin did - on his personnel
file, safecracking was listed among his skills.
Nicholai didn't give a shit whether or not Franklin
could open the safe; what mattered was that to get to
the safe, the sergeant would have to turn his back on
Nicholai.
I'm better, better at this than Aquino or Chan or this
fool, and this will prove it. I'd never turn my back on
anyone, ever. Yes, that would be unworthy of him... Franklin nodded, bolstering the VP70 and walking
toward the corner where Nicholai stood. "Yeah, I know a little. I can take a look at it, anyway."
Nicholai nodded briskly. "Good. I was starting to think that I was going to be stuck here for a while."
"Maybe that's for the best," Franklin said, stepping past Nicholai to a small safe inset behind the shelf.
"With the way things are going out there, I've been
thinking about holing up someplace for a while, wait-
ing until things die down a little."
Nicholai took a silent step closer to Franklin, eyeing
the VP70's unsnapped holster. "Not a bad idea." Franklin nodded, frowning at the keypad. "Chan is doing it, he says the info will still be there tomorrow so
why not, right?"
Davis Chan!
Nicholai held very still, deciding - and then he
darted forward and snatched up the 9mm, not willing to
dance for what he wanted. He shoved Franklin at the
same time, pushing him off balance, using the split sec-
ond of his recovery time to sight the heavy handgun.
"Chan - tell me where he is, and you live,"
Nicholai barked. With his free hand, he reached into
his pocket and touched the vaccine case, for luck. It
had become something of a talisman for him, a re-
minder of how good he was - and it was lucky, he
knew it.
Franklin and now Chan, the only two Watchdogs
with no assigned filing locale. Incredible.
Franklin backed up a step, hands up. "Hey, take it easy..."
"Where is he?"
Franklin was sweating. "At the radio setup, okay? At the cemetery. Look, I don't know you, and I don't care
what you're doing..."
"Terrific," Nicholai said, and shot Franklin in the ab-domen, twice.
"Uuh!" Franklin grunted heavily as blood splattered the wall behind him. The sergeant fell backwards and
landed on his butt, arms still outspread, an expression
of surprise on his dark features. Nicholai was a little
surprised himself; he'd expected better from one of the
soldier dogs.
Nicholai raised the weapon, aiming it at Franklin's
forehead...
... when he heard the door open, boot steps jogging
into the room. Handgun still pointed at the dying
Franklin, Nicholai ducked down and peered through an
opening in the shelf...
... and saw Carlos Oliveira standing there, staring
around wildly and hefting a .357 revolver, obviously
trying to figure out where the shots had come from.
It was a gift from the fates. Nicholai stepped into
view, Carlos's stupid face targeted before the soldier
even realized that there was somebody else in the
room.
"Gotcha," Nicholai whispered.
TWENTY-TWO
NICHOLAI HAD HIM, DEAD TO RIGHTS. CAR-
los dropped the revolver and raised his hands. He had
to buy some time.
Talk to him, get his attention. Jill needs you to come
back, with or without the vaccine.
"Hola, dickhead," Carlos said lightly. "I wondered if I was going to see you again, after our ride out of town
got blown to shit. A monster did it, believe it or not. So,
what's your story? Kill anything interesting lately?"
From behind the tall shelf unit jutting out from one
wall, somebody groaned in pain. Nicholai didn't look
away, and Carlos could see that he'd taken the right tact. Nicholai was smug, irritated ... and intrigued.
"I'm about to kill you - so no, nothing interesting.
Tell me, has Mikhail died yet? And how is your bitch
friend, Ms. Valentine?"
Carlos glared at him. "Both dead. Mikhail died on the trolley, and Jill contracted the virus. I... I had to
put her down just a few hours ago." He probably wasn't going to walk away from this, and he didn't want
Nicholai going after Jill; he quickly changed the sub-
ject. "You shot Mikhail, didn't you?"
"I did." Nicholai's eyes sparkled. He reached into his front pocket as he spoke, pulling out what looked like a
metal cigar holder. "And as luck would have it, this is the cure to what killed your other friend. If only you'd
come sooner ... in a way, I suppose you could say I'm
at least partly responsible in both deaths, couldn't
you?"
The sample. The only thing that could save Jill now,
and Carlos was being held at gunpoint by the madman
who had it.
Think! Think of something!
There was another gruff wail of pain from behind the
shelf. Carlos tilted his head and could see a man
slumped in the back corner of the room, just visible be-
tween two stacks of files. Carlos couldn't see his face,
but the man's lower half was drenched with blood.
"And that guy makes three," Carlos said, desperately trying to keep the conversation going, trying not to
stare at the silver case that Nicholai held up. "Aren't you a go-getter? Tell me, is this a means to an end, or
do you like killing people?"
"I enjoy killing people who are as useless as you,"
Nicholai said, slipping the vaccine into an open pocket.
"Can you think of one reason you deserve to live?
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