Chapter II
After disembarking from the helicopter, Annette was surprised to find Alfred Ashford waiting for them in person. A slender young man of around eighteen, he was clad in what she could only describe as frankly ridiculous attire. It seemed as though it would be more at home in a museum than in the wardrobe of a facility head. He looked like a toy soldier in his blood red military jacket, obnoxiously decorated with gold piping and epaulets. He was strikingly identical to his late sister, with the same flaxen hair and sharp, aristocratic bone structure. There was a bored sneer fixed upon his unsettlingly feminine features.
"Welcome to Rockford Island," he greeted them, not bothering to hide his disfavour for their visit. He came to shake first Annette's and then Wesker's hand.
Wesker returned the welcoming with a simple nod. "If you don't mind, Mr Ashford," he said. "We can skip the formalities and get down to business. Both Mrs Birkin and I have a busy schedule."
Annette flashed the boy her most charming smile, but it seemed to her that Alfred Ashford was slowly turning the same colour as his uniform. She caught him looking away and clenching his fists petulantly, and she arched an eyebrow caustically at Wesker when he wasn't looking.
She waited for him to respond in kind, display some semblance of professionalism, but he simply stared at them both with the air of a spoiled child. At first it seemed that Alfred didn't know what to say, but when he did, his voice lost all trace of hospitality.
"Fine. Follow me."
She couldn't help the instant dislike she'd taken to the boy, a dislike which, in all honesty, had been preconceived. But he'd really done nothing so far to dissuade her from the poor opinion she held of the Ashford name.
They followed him into a large drawing room, and Alfred gestured to the men beside him. "Leave us," he ordered disdainfully in his apparently customary whine. "You may wait outside."
Annette took note of the holstered guns the men were carrying. They were here under a white flag, so the fact that the men were conspicuously armed was utterly rude on Ashford's part. She could understand security measures in the laboratories, but right now this was not applicable. She felt some disdain for such a pathetic attempt to intimidate them.
She cleared her throat pointedly. "Shall we begin with a look at the records of expenditure for Rockfort island, Mr Ashford?"
"What are you talking about?!" Alfred demanded shrilly. "Such expenditures are necessary. How else could we guarantee the safety of this facility?"
"Mr Ashford," Annette pointed out in a slow and even voice. "This is a secluded island in the middle of nowhere. You have approximately one tenth of the test subjects that we have at Arkley, and yet you still felt the need to purchase your own private fighter jet out of company expenses. May I be frank?"
The look on Alfred's face indicated that she should be anything but frank, but she ignored it and pressed on bluntly. "I'm sorry to say this, but it has become something of a concern within Umbrella that perhaps you are using company resources for your own private amusement. And Mr Spencer feels that this is not acceptable."
The Ashford boy spluttered, his eyes starting to bulge in their sockets.
"How DARE you...?"
Annette remained unfazed. "Spencer, along with the board of directors, feel that for a facility of such low productivity, your expenditure is unwarranted. And with the imminent opening of my husband's new facility in Raccoon City, the company cannot afford to siphon off such large amounts of money without seeing any results." She couldn't resist the last remark, couldn't resist that little mention of her own family's superiority, but she immediately regretted it as she saw the look on their host's face.
Alfred opened his mouth to retort, but Wesker cut him off before he could utter a word. "What Mrs Birkin wanted to say," he began, glancing reproachfully at Annette. "Is that Umbrella fails to understand the reason for some of your... acquisitions. In turn, Spencer would like to know why exactly you deem it necessary to spend so many resources on these matters."
He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. "If you would lead us around the estate and explain in detail your reasoning for a number of items, we might come to a conclusion that satisfies both sides. Mr Spencer has given me a list of arguable subjects. You might want to take a look." He opened his briefcase, retrieving a document and holding it out to Alfred.
"Well, Dr Wesker," the Ashford heir began slowly as he took the paper. "For a start, this is more of a military facility than a research one, and Spencer damn well knows that! So he can stop all this nonsense about 'productivity' and be grateful for the training we give to UBCS! As for my residences, well what does he expect? I am an Ashford, I cannot be expected to live in squalor!
And my submarine and private subterranean airport are not lavish expenditures, they are of the utmost necessity! You know fine well that I'm still responsible in part for overseeing the Antarctic facility, how am I supposed to travel there otherwise?" His voice became shrill. "And what does he mean that I'm executing too many prisoners? If he's so money conscious, then why on earth does he want to waste resources on keeping them alive?!"
Annette was trying not to laugh, sneer, or both, and was desperately hoping that it didn't show. "Mr Ashford," she pointed out levelly, as though talking to a child. "If Umbrella didn't want its prisoners kept alive, UBCS would simply shoot them on sight, rather than ship them off here. That's why we have a prison in the first place, to keep them alive."
Alfred sent Annette a glare that might have silenced many a person, but refrained from countering the verbal attack. He gave the paper a last depreciative look before slapping it back into Wesker's hand.
"Spencer won't get away with this! You can't simply barge in and tell me that the way Rockfort was managed for years needs to be changed! This is an insult to the Ashford family name!"
Wesker put the document back into the briefcase, closed it and stood up from his chair, seemingly unimpressed by the Ashford's outburst. In a relatively calm tone he said, "Perhaps you would like to lead us around the facility, so we can appraise the current situation ourselves."
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest.
"You have no right to be hereā¦" he muttered to himself, but still stood up. Annette gave Wesker an appraising look. He had an impressive ability to impose his authority on people, without so much as raising his voice. Alfred Ashford would have done well to take a few notes, instead of throwing tantrums.
"Follow me," Alfred said sulkily. "But don't you dare touch anything!"
As they followed him out of the room to where the guards were waiting, Annette rubbed her temples tiredly. Alfred's voice was starting to give her a headache. In fact, the whole situation was proving to be even more tedious than she'd anticipated. As they walked in stony silence down the corridor, she shot Wesker a sideways glance and winced.
The tour was drawn out and asinine and Alfred's justifications for his spending were utterly inane. By the time they got to the labs, Wesker's lips had turned into a thin line, and it was obvious that the last reserves of his patience were empty. He was walking beside Annette, refraining from any kind of comment.
Alfred, however, was either oblivious to their displeasure, or simply did not care. "Come on," he announced. "Now you can witness what new levels our research has reached."
Annette's headache had exploded into a full blown migraine. Someone handed them lab coats, and she took hers with a barely restrained growl. Alfred's 'research' seemed to consist mainly of him infecting people he didn't like with the t-virus, until he got bored and had them shot or dismembered. Picking up a folder and glancing through some extremely poorly kept notes, she hung back and leaned in closer to Wesker.
"Albert," she hissed under her breath. "Nazi Germany produced more useful research data than this, and did it with half the amount of torture. Clearly, we're wasting our time here. What's say we just smile, nod, get the Hell out of here tomorrow and take this up with Spencer?"
Wesker turned his attention away from the experiment he was watching through heavy glass windows. Regarding the infection process of a human carrier for another moment, Wesker turned to Alfred, who was standing some distance away from them.
"We've seen enough," he told him bluntly.
Alfred gave him a nasty little smirk. "Oh, I don't think that you have, but far be it from me to argue with one of Lord Spencer's ambassadors..."
Dropping the file in her hands on the desk as though it was something disgusting, Annette pursed her lips. "I would be grateful if you would have someone show us to our rooms."
Alfred's giggle stopped abruptly. With the flick of his hand he ordered someone to his side, muttering something that she didn't quite catch. The servant nodded, then turned to them.
"Please, follow me."
At the exit they were asked to hand over the lab coats again and Annette watched Wesker push his into a young assistant's hands with far more force than needed.
Once they were out of Alfred's range, he sighed. "This entire facility should be closed down."
Annette ran a hand through her hair and glanced at the servant, who hadn't seemed to hear. Keeping her voice low, she nodded in assent.
"It's swallowing money, producing nothing and has a complete madman at the helm. I know Umbrella facilities are notorious for being...whimsical..." she mused aloud, thinking of some of the more interesting furnishings in the Spencer mansion. "...but this is just ridiculous. At least Arklay has a more than high enough output to justify its expenditure."
Wesker shrugged, apparently not in the mood to question Umbrella's taste for interior design. "Mr Spencer will initiate the necessary measures. Ashford or not, even Alfred has to bow to the rules."
The servant stopped in front of them, waiting patiently until they finished their hushed conversation.
"Your rooms are just up ahead, the two adjacent ones here on the left. I will make sure that dinner is brought to you immediately. Should you have any wishes, please feel free to call on me or any of the others." He bowed slightly, then hurried off.
Wesker waited until his echoing steps disappeared completely, then turned back to Annette. "We can leave tomorrow at first hour. I will organize our transport."
She nodded gratefully, glad that something as important as their return journey was not to be left in the hands of a delusional teenager.
"That sounds like the first sensible thing I've heard all day," she said with a smile.
In the back of her head, it occurred to her that she should have asked if there was a telephone in her room. She was itching to check on William and Sherry, and being in these grotesquely palatial surroundings, a stones throw away from the myriad of prison cells and torture chambers, made her feel distinctly uneasy.
"Well, then," Wesker said curtly. "Have a good night."
Annette entered her room, closing the door behind her and locking it firmly. She felt certain that she wouldn't have a comfortable night in this place. As with everything owned by Umbrella, the room was utterly pompous and a portrait of one of the Ashford patriarchs hung from the wall. At least it wasn't Alfred staring down at her from the canvas. There was no telephone in her room, much to her annoyance, and so she simply collapsed onto the bed.
After dinner, she drifted off into a fitful sleep, feeling distinctly glad that they would be leaving first thing in the morning. It had been a complete waste of her time from start to finish.
She was almost relieved when she was jolted awake by what she assumed at first to be her alarm clock, sitting up and fumbling for the clock she usually kept beside her bed. It took her a few seconds to realise that there was no clock; the ear splitting sound continued at full volume, and she soon readjusted her mind to realise there was a siren blaring. Bleary eyed, she blinked at her watch, which told her it had just gone three in the morning.
What the Hell...?
Leaping out of bed and hastily pulling on a pair of jeans and a vest top, she slipped into her shoes and went to the door, going through the motions of the Arkley fire drill. But in the time it took for her to do this, she suddenly stopped and realised where she was.
"Fuck!" she exclaimed, a rise of panic forming in her chest. Hoping it was a false alarm, she slipped out of her room into the deserted corridor and began to bang loudly on Wesker's door.
