THREE
JOHN WAS ON HIS FEET BEFORE LEON HAD
finished his warning, hopping out into the aisle and
stepping in front of Leon in a single stride.
"Who the hell..." John snarled, his shoulders set,
ready to break the thin mam in two if he so much as
blinked wrong.
The stranger held up pale, long-fingered hands,
looking as though he could barely contain his delight
- which made John all the more wary. He could
easily pound the guy into hamburger, what the hell
was he so happy about?
"And you're John Andrews," the man said, his
voice low and calm and as pleased as his expression.
"Formerly a communications expert and field scout
for the Exeter S.T.A.R.S. It's so good to meet you -
- tell me, how are your ribs? Still tender?"
Shit. Who is this guy? John had broken two ribs and
cracked a third on the cove mission, and didn't know
this man - how the hell did this man know him?
"My name is Trent," the stranger said easily, nodding
at both Leon and John. "I believe your Mr.
Trapp can vouch for my identity... ?"
John flicked a glance back, saw that David and the
girls were right behind them. David gave a quick nod,
his expression strained.
Trent. Goddamn. The mysterious Mr. Trent.
The same Mr. Trent who had given maps and
clues to Jill Valentine, just before the Raccoon
S.T.A.R.S. had discovered Umbrella's initial T-Virus
spill at the Spencer estate. The Trent who had given a
similar package to David one rainy August night,
information about Umbrella's Caliban Cove facility,
where Steve and Karen had been murdered.
The Trent who'd been playing games with the
S.T.A.R.S. - with people's lives - all along.
Trent was still smiling, still holding his hands up.
John noticed a black ring made out of stone on one
slender finger, the only affectation that Mr. Trent
seemed to have; it looked heavy and expensive.
"So what the hell do you want?" John growled. He
didn't like secrets or surprises, and he didn't like the
fact that Trent seemed totally unimpressed by his
formidable size. Most people backed down when he
got in their face; Trent seemed amused.
"Mr. Andrews, if you please...?"
John didn't move, glaring into Trent's dark, intelligent
eyes. Trent gazed back impassively, and John
could see cool self-assurance in that bright gaze, a
look that was almost but not quite patronizing. As big
and buff as John was, he wasn't a violent man, but
that confident, mirthful look made John think that
Mr. Trent could use a good beating. Not by him,
necessarily, but by someone.
How many people have died, just because he decided
to stir things up a little?
"It's alright, John," David said quietly. "I'm sure
that if Mr. Trent meant us harm, he wouldn't be
standing here introducing himself."
David was right, whether John liked it or not. He
sighed inwardly and stepped aside, but decided that
he definitely didn't like it; from what little he knew
about the man, he didn't like it at all.
Gonna be watching you, "friend"...
Trent nodded as though there had never been any
question and walked past John, smiling at all of them.
He motioned for them to sit in the seats on one side of
the cabin; he took off his trench coat and put it aside,
moving slowly and carefully, obviously aware that
any sudden moves could be detrimental to his health.
Beneath the coat he wore a black suit, black tie, and
shoes; John didn't know clothes but the shoes were
Asante. Trent had taste, anyway, and a shitload of
money if he could afford to blow a couple thou on
footwear.
"This may take a few moments," he said. "Please,
get comfortable." He pushed himself up to sit atop
one of the chairs opposite their group, moving with a
smooth grace that made John feel even less comfortable.
He moved like someone with training, martial
arts maybe...
The others sat or leaned against the chairs, each of
them studying the uninvited guest, each looking as
unhappy about his appearance as John felt. Trent
studied them in turn.
"Mr. Andrews, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Trapp, and I
have already met..." Trent looked back and forth
between Rebecca and Claire, his sparkling gaze finally
settling on Claire.
"Claire Redfield, yes?" He seemed a little more
hesitant, which wasn't a surprise. Rebecca and Claire
could have been sisters, both brunettes, same height,
only a few months difference in age.
"Yes," Claire said. "Does the pilot know you're on
board?"
John frowned, irritated with himself for not having
asked first. It was a fairly important question, and it
hadn't occurred to him. If the pilot had let Mr. Trent
aboard. . .
Trent nodded, running one pale hand through his
tousled black hair. "Yes, he does. In fact, Captain
Evans is an acquaintance of mine, so when I realized
that you were going . . . traveling, I arranged for him
to be in the right place at the right time. Much easier
than it sounds, really."
"Why?" David asked, an edge coming into his
voice that John had only ever heard in combat
situations. The captain was right on the verge of being
seriously upset. "Why would you do that, Mr. Trent?"
Trent seemed to ignore him. "I realize that you're
concerned about your friends on the continent, but let
me assure you that they're in the best of health.
Really, there's no reason for you to worry yourselves..."
"Why?" David's voice was steel.
Trent stared at him, then sighed. "Because I don't
want you to go to Europe, and making it so that
Captain Evans is your pilot means that you won't.
You can't. In fact, we should be turning back any
moment now."
Claire stared at him, feeling her stomach knot,
feeling that knot transforming into a burning, leaden
anger.
Chris, I won't see Chris...
John pushed away from the seat he'd been leaning
on and grabbed Trent's arm before Claire could even
open her mouth, before anyone had time to respond
to his statement.
"Tell your 'acquaintance' to keep right on goin' the
way we're goin'," John spat, glowering at Trent. From
the way John's hands were shaking, Claire thought
there was a good chance that he would break Trent's
arm - and found that she didn't think that was such a
bad idea.
Trent wore an expression of mild discomfort, nothing
more. "I'm sorry to interrupt your plans," he said,
"but if you'll hear me out, I think you'll agree that it's
for the best - if you really want to stop Umbrella, that
is."
For the best? Chris, we have to help Chris and the
others, what is this shit?
She waited for the others to explode into action, to
storm the cockpit, to tie Mr. Trent to a chair and force
him to explain himself - but they were all silent,
looking at one another and at Trent with shock,
anger - and interest, guarded but interest nonetheless.
John loosened his grip, glancing at David for
direction.
"This had better be a good story, Mr. Trent," David
said coolly. "I'm aware that you've - helped us in the
past, but this kind of interference isn't the kind of
help we want or need."
He tipped his head at John, who reluctantly let go
of Trent and stepped back. Not very far back, Claire
noticed.
If Trent had been worried at all, there was no sign
of it. He nodded at David, and in his low, musical
voice, started to speak.
"As I'm sure you're all aware, Umbrella, Inc., has
facilities in locations all around the world, factories
and plants that employ thousands of people and
generate hundreds of millions of dollars each year.
Most of them are legitimate pharmaceutical or chemical
companies, and have no relevance to this discussion,
except that they're quite profitable; the money
generated by Umbrella's legal enterprises allows them
to finance their lesser-known operations - operations
that you and yours have recently had the misfortune
to come across."
"These operations fall into a division known as
White Umbrella, and mostly have to do with bioweapons
research. There are very few who know all of the
ins and outs of White Umbrella's business, but the
ones who do are extremely powerful. Powerful, and
committed to creating all sorts of unpleasantness.
Chemical weapons, fatal diseases .. . the T and G
series viruses that have been so troublesome as of
late."
That's an understatement, Claire thought nastily,
but was intrigued in spite of herself. To finally know
something about what they were up against...
"Why?" Leon asked. "Chemical warfare isn't all
that profitable, anyone with a centrifuge and some
gardening supplies can come up with a bioweapon."
Rebecca was nodding. "And the kind of work
they're doing, applying rapid fuse virions to genetic
redistribution - it's incredibly expensive, and as hazardous
to work with as nuclear waste. Worse."
Trent shook his head. "They're doing it because
they can. Because they want to." He smiled faintly.
"Because when you're richer and more powerful than
anyone else on the planet, you get bored."
"Who gets bored?" David asked.
Trent gazed at him for a moment, then started
talking again, blatantly ignoring David's question.
"White Umbrella's current focus is on bio-organic
soldiers, if you will - individual specimens, most
genetically altered, all injected with some variation of
virus intended to make them violent and strong and
oblivious to pain. The manner in which these viruses
amplify in humans, the 'zombie' reaction, is nothing
more than an unexpected side effect; the viruses
Umbrella creates are designed for nonhuman use, at
least at this point."
Claire was interested, but she was also getting
impatient. "So when do we get to the part about why
you're here, why you don't want us going to Europe?"
she asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of her
voice.
Trent looked at her, his dark eyes suddenly sympathetic,
and she realized that he knew why she was
angry, that he knew all about her reasons for wanting
to go to Europe. She could see it in the way he gazed at
her, his eyes telling her that he understood - and she
suddenly felt deeply uneasy.
He knows everything, doesn't he? All about us. . .
"Not all of the White Umbrella facilities are the
same," he continued. "There are some that deal
strictly with data, some only with the chemistry, some
where specimens are grown or surgically pieced together
- and a very few where these specimens are
tested. And that brings us to why I'm here, and why
I'd rather you postponed your plans."
"There's an Umbrella testing facility about to go on
line in Utah, just north of the salt flats. Right now, it's
staffed by a very small crew of technicians and . . .
specimen handlers, and is scheduled to become fully
operational in about three weeks. The man overseeing
the final preparations is one of White Umbrella's key
players, a man named Reston. The job was supposed
to have been handled by another fellow, a despicable
little man by the name of Lewis, but Mr. Lewis had an
unfortunate and not entirely unplanned accident. . .
. . . and now Reston is in charge. And because he is one of
the very important men behind White Umbrella, he
has, in his possession, a little black book. There are
only three of these books, and the other two would be
nearly impossible to get hold of. . ."
"So what's in it?" John snapped. "Get to the
point."
Trent smiled at John as if he had asked politely.
"Each book is a kind of master key; each has a
complete directory of codes used to program every
mainframe in every White Umbrella facility. With
that book, one could conceivably break into any lab or
test site and access everything from personnel files to
financial statements. They'll change the codes once
the book is stolen, of course - but unless they want to
lose everything they've stored, it will take them
months."
No one spoke for a moment, the only sound that of
the plane's insistent hum. Claire looked at each of
them, saw the thoughtful expressions, saw that they
were seriously considering Trent's implied proposal.
- and realized that it had just become highly unlikely
that they would be going to Europe after all.
"But what about Chris, and Jill and Barry? You
said they were okay - how do you know that?" Claire
asked, and David could just hear the barely hidden
desperation.
"It would take a very long time to explain how I
come by my information," Trent said smoothly. "And
while I'm certain you don't want to hear this, I'm
afraid you'll just have to trust me. Your brother and
his companions are in no immediate danger, they
don't need you at the moment - but the opportunity
to get Reston's book, to get into that lab, will be gone
in less than a week. There's no security detail right
now, half the systems aren't even running - and as
long as you stay away from the test program, there are
no creatures to contend with."
David wasn't sure what to think. It sounded good, it
sounded like exactly the opportunity they'd been
hoping for ... but then, so had Caliban Cove. So had
a lot of things.
And as for trusting Mr. Trent. . .
"What's your stake in this?" David asked. "Why do
you want to hurt Umbrella?"
Trent shrugged. "Call it a hobby."
"I'm serious," David said.
"So am I." Trent smiled, his eyes still dancing with
that twinkling humor. David had only seen him once
before, hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words,
but Trent seemed just as strangely happy now as he
had then; whatever it was that made him tick, it was
certainly bringing him a lot of pleasure.
"Why have you been so cryptic?" Rebecca asked,
and David nodded, saw that the others were doing the
same. "The stuff you gave to Jill, and to David,
before - all riddles and clues. Why not just tell us
what we need to know?"
"Because you needed to figure it out," Trent said.
"Or, rather, it was necessary that you appeared to
figure it out, all by yourselves. As I said before, there
are very few people who know what White Umbrella
is doing; if you seemed to know too much, it might
come back to me."
"Then why take the risk now?" David asked. "For
that matter, why do you need us at all? You obviously
have some connection to White Umbrella; why not go
public, or sabotage them from the inside?"
Trent smiled again. "I'm taking the risk because it's
time to take a risk. And as to the rest ... all I can say
is that I have my reasons."
He talks and talks, and yet we still don't know what
the hell he's doing, or why ... how exactly does he
manage that?
"Why don't you tell us a few of those reasons,
Trent?" None of it was sitting well with John, David
saw; he was scowling at their stowaway, looking as
though he might have to be talked out of punching the
man.
Trent didn't answer. Instead, he pushed himself off
of the seat and picked up his coat, turning to look at
David.
"I realize you'll want to discuss this before you
make your decision," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll
take this opportunity to visit our captain. If you
decide against collecting Reston's book, I'll step aside.
I said before that you had no choice, but that was my
dramatic side showing, I suppose; there's always a
choice."
On that, Trent turned and walked to the front of the
cabin and slipped behind the curtain without a backward
glance.
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