Wesker had only visited the Antarctica facility once, when he had been sent by Spencer to negotiate a deal with Martin Bingham, Alexia's medical director. Martin had been a major driving force behind one of Umbrella's classified bio-experimentation programs, but Wesker had never been made privy to the specifics. He had never actually gotten to talk to Bingham about it either. Alexia had stonewalled him.

Wesker supposed it did not matter anymore. Spencer was old and feeble, and growing increasingly less relevant to Umbrella's operation, and Alexia had been irrelevant since 1983. If his employer hadn't been insistent on this retrieval job, Wesker wouldn't have wasted his time. Alexia was a has-been, and he doubted her T-Veronica research was even worth a quarter of the effort he had put into the mission.

His earpiece fuzzed. Wesker opened the communication line. Callahan spoke on the other end, though there was some slight interference. "Sir, we've encountered infected in the facility," he said. "Looks like the survivors from Rockfort."

"You're bothering me about this for a good reason, I hope," said Wesker, turning a corner, his footsteps ghosting along the corridor. "They're simple infected. Kill them."

"Actually, sir, we found some living," said Callahan, and Wesker could detect some uncertainty in his voice, as if Callahan was unsure of how to proceed. Conscience had been a lost concept on Wesker, and he always found it strange whenever he encountered people who still hadn't evolved beyond the inconvenient prison of moral indecisiveness. "They were holed up in the cafeteria. Three males, and two females. One of the females is injured."

Wesker said, "Kill them."

There was a pause on the line. Then Callahan said, "Affirmative," and cut the connection.

Wesker shook his head and opened the connection to what remained of Alpha Team. "Have you located Alexia yet, Captain?" he asked.

The Captain replied, through the fuzzy link, "No, though we've found something interesting, sir. Pinging our location. You'll want to see this." Then the Captain was gone. Wesker took out his PDA and glanced it over. They were a few floors below him.

Once Wesker had reached their location, he was ushered in by the Captain. It was some sort of laboratory. The machinery was outmoded; he had used similar technology in the 1980s, when he had worked in Arklay. At the center of the room, connected to the computer terminals by fat rubber cables and wires, was a large cryogenic tube, and though it wasn't big enough to accommodate a tyrant, it was certainly large enough to fit a human female.

Alpha had retrieved something from the tube too, and Wesker recognized Alfred, though Alfred was very, very dead. His skin had turned a blueish gray, and there was a bullet wound where his heart was. "So this is where Alexia was. And it seems she's woken up," he said, to Alfred. Wesker leaned down and patted his dead cold cheek, which felt like rigid porcelain under his fingertips. "Naughty boy, Alfred. If you had just told me..."

"Alexia was going to be moved to Rockfort," said the Captain, gesturing at the terminal, where one of his men had wired their PDA to data-sift. "We found a corresponding log in the databank. An automatic ping, of course. When HUNK came, he would have accepted the ping as confirmation, so Alfred would know he had been here. Standard protocol for most B.O.W retrievals. Employer pings you, you ping back and tell them you've got the goods."

"B.O.W retrieval?" said Wesker, expectantly.

"Alexia's not technically human anymore, sir," said the Captain. "She's classified as a tyrant. The databank contained cursory records of her research, and what we found is some scary shit, sir. But it wasn't enough to satisfy the mission parameters. Alexia probably kept detailed physical records instead for posterity."

"Yes, Alexia never did like computers," said Wesker. He shook his head. Then, "Peel what you can from the databanks. Did you find any T-Veronica samples?"

The Captain shook his head, the lights flowing across the plastic lenses of his filtration mask. "No, sir. From what we gleaned from the computers, Alexia only made one viable sample: herself."

"Then," said Wesker, smiling, "I suppose I will have to pay a visit to Alexia."

"We also found this, sir," said the Captain, handing him a photograph.

Wesker looked at the Polaroid, which was creased in some places, as if it had spent the years in someone's wallet. It showed the twins, who couldn't have been older than thirteen, and Grayson Harman, who was a young teenager. It had been taken outside the Antarctic mansion. He recognized the place from when he had visited the facility, fifteen years ago. Wesker flipped the photograph over, and it was dated Christmas 1983 in black marker. Alexia hadn't been a very sentimental person, as Wesker remembered her, and neither was her brother. Which meant that the photograph belonged to Grayson, who was a very sentimental person. It also meant that he was here.

Wesker grinned. He had been counting on that. "Thank you, Captain," he said. "It seems I still have my leverage."