ResidentEvil-TheUmbrellaConspiracy [Chapter 08]

EIGHT

AFTER JILL AND BARRY WENT THEIR SEPArate

ways, Wesker stayed crouched on the balcony in

the main hall, thinking. He knew that time was of the

essence, but he wanted to outline a few possible

scenarios before he acted; he'd already made mistakes,

and didn't want to make any more of them. The

Raccoon Alphas were a bright group, making his

margin for error very slim indeed.

He'd received his orders a couple of days ago, but

hadn't expected to be in a position to carry them out

so soon; the Bravo team's 'copter going down had

been a fluke, as had Brad Vickers's sudden display of

cowardice. Still, he should have been more prepared.

Being caught with his pants down like this went

against his grain, it was so ... unprofessional.

He sighed, putting the thoughts aside. There'd be

time for self-recrimination later. He hadn't expected

to end up here, but here he was, and kicking himself

for lack of foresight wasn't going to change anything.

Besides, there was too much to do.

He knew the grounds of the estate fairly well and

the labs like the back of his hand, but he'd only been

inside the mansion a few times and not at all since

he'd been "officially" transferred to Raccoon City.

The place was a maze, designed by a genius architect

at the bidding of a madman. Spencer was bats, no two

ways about it, and he'd had the house built with all

kinds of tricky little mechanisms, a lot of that silly spy

crap that had been so popular in the late sixties. . .

Spy crap that's going to make this job twice as hard

as it needs to be. Hidden keys, secret tunnels - it's like

I'm trapped in an espionage thriller, complete with

mad scientists and a ticking clock.

His original plan had been to lead both the Alpha

and Bravo teams to the estate and clear the area

before he proceeded to the lower labs and wrapped

things up. He had the master keys and codes, of

course; they had been sent along with his orders, and

would open most of the doors on the estate. The

problem was, there was no key to the door that led to

the garden, it had a puzzle lock and was currently

the only way to get to the labs, outside of walking

through the woods.

Which ain't gonna happen. The dogs would be on

me before I could take two steps, and if the 121s got

out . . .

Wesker shuddered, remembering the incident with

the rookie guard who'd gotten too close to one of the

cages, a year or so back. The kid had been dead before

he could even open his mouth to call for help. Wesker

had no intention of going back outside without an

army to back him up.

The last contact with the estate had been over six

weeks ago, an hysterical call from Michael Dees to

one of the suits in the White office. The doctor had

sealed the mansion, hiding the four pieces of the

puzzle lock in a fruitless effort to keep any more of the

virus carriers from reaching the house. By then, they

were all infected and suffering from a kind of paranoid

mania, one of the more charming side effects of

the virus. God only knew what tricks and traps the

researchers down in the labs had screwed with as they

slowly lost their minds.

Dees had been no exception, although he had

managed to hold out longer than most of the others;

something to do with individual metabolism, or so

Wesker'd been told. The company had already decided

to call a complete wipe, though the babbling

scientist had been assured that help was on the way.

Wesker had enjoyed a good laugh over that one. There

was no way the White boys would risk further infection.

They'd sat on their hands for almost two months

while Raccoon suffered the consequences, letting the

incompetent RPD investigate while the virus gradually

lost its punch and then sent him in to clean up

the mess. Which by now was considerable.

The captain absently ran his fingers across the plush

carpet, trying to remember details of the briefing

about Dees's call. Whether he liked it or not, everything

had to be taken care of tonight. He had to collect

the required evidence and get to the labs, and that

meant finding the pieces of the puzzle lock. Dees had

been mostly incoherent, ranting about murderous

crows and giant spiders, but he had insisted that the

crest-keys to the puzzle lock were "hidden where only

Spencer could find them," and that made sense.

Everyone who worked in the house knew about

Spencer's penchant for cloak-and-dagger mechanisms.

Unfortunately for Wesker, he hadn't bothered

learning much about the mansion, since he never

thought he'd need the information. He remembered a

few of the more colorful hiding places - the statue of

the tiger with mismatched eyes came to mind, as did

the armor display room with the gas and the secret

room in the library. . .

But I don't have time to go through all of them, not

by myself.

Wesker grinned suddenly and stood up, amazed

that he hadn't thought of it already. Who said he had

to be by himself? He'd ditched the S.T.A.R.S. to map

out a new plan and search for the crests, but there was

no reason that he had to do everything. Chris wasn't

viable, he was too gung-ho, and Jill was still an

unknown quantity . . . Barry, though . . . Barry Burton

was a family man. And both Jill and Chris trusted

him.

And while they're all still fumbling around in the

house, I can get to the triggering system and then get

the hell out, mission complete.

Still grinning, Wesker walked to the door that led to

the dining room balcony, surprised to find that he was

looking forward to his little adventure. It was a

chance to test his skills against the rest of the team

and against the accidental test subjects that were

surely still lurching around not to mention, of

Spencer himself. And if he pulled it off, he was going

to be a very rich man.

This might actually turn out to be fun.