Chapter 21: The King's Speech
People rose from their chairs, blending Chris in with the crowd of clapping hands as he stared at the stage with saucer plate-wide eyes. As soon as Jake stepped foot on stage, Chris knew him. Not by his face or the familiar, scowling demeanor of his posture, but by the sheer, overwhelming sense of kinship that floored him on sight. It was the same, excited twisting feeling he had gotten back on the rooftop in DC, but more than that, Chris had felt it before – without Wesker – in Edonia, and again in China. A light sheen of goose-bumps rose on his flesh when he realized that the reason Jake had seemed so familiar when they first met was because he had been familiar. By comparison, the feeling had been watered down in contrast to how seeing Jake now felt, but it had been there all the same, even when he was human.
"Have we met?"
"You Jarheads all look the same to me, pal, sorry."
It was as if Jake were not a man he had only met once or twice, but rather one of his very own men; one of his boys on the team. The feeling was so fierce, so strong, that it took a moment for him to realize that there was no basis for the feeling other than the fact that he and Jake shared something no one else in that room did.
Antibodies. Wesker's antibodies.
There had been no time to connect with him in China, not like this. There was no reason for Chris to feel as though he knew the kid as closely as he did one of his soldiers, like Piers or Finn. It wasn't memories or any human emotion driving this feeling. It was the virus, singing out to like-blood. Singing out to the little bits of Wesker that had been passed onto his son, and realizing that only reminded him of the larger problem at hand – his overpowering connection with Wesker.
Jake walked across the stage side by side with a man that would have been taller than him if he didn't slouch. Both were wearing suits, crisp and sleek against their figures as they approached the podium. The medical mask that Westbarl had been wearing in his report was still present, but he wore no porcelain mask to match the crowd. His eyes crinkled merrily from above the paper-thin mask as he took in his audience. Jake did not look quite as comfortable by contrast, and he wasn't wearing a mask at all.
His hair had grown out a bit, as if he had lost the presence of mind to keep up with his old, closely buzzed look. Otherwise, he looked the same as he had in China. Same scar, same harsh eyes. The suit was new, an odd garment that looked nice, but didn't exactly look right on the ex-mercenary. He didn't fit and he knew it. From the moment he came into view, Chris had immediately trained his eyes on him.
As Westbarl stepped forward to the mic, hands waving to his applauding audience, something flashed in Jake's eyes. He turned his attention from Westbarl to the crowd, searching for something. His uneasy posture quickly changed from "I don't want to be here" to alert. With the way his eyes were squinting, the BSAA agent knew the other man couldn't see anything beyond the harsh glare of the spotlights, but regardless, Chris knew what he was looking for. His skin sang with it. Jake had felt the bond too, and he was looking for the source of the out of place feeling. He was looking for Chris.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Westbarl said, his southern accent thick and charming as it boomed out from the speakers with too much enthusiasm. The mic squealed unpleasantly, and the CEO of Westbarl Industries held his hands up in apology as people winced at the noise. Chris felt the shrill note pierce his ears like a gunshot, making his eyes roll sickly for a moment until the noise ended and he could right himself again. The silence of the expecting crowd was a blessing, after that. "My apologies. I hope I haven't deafened anyone. Although that might be for the best, I'm really not the best speaker anyway.
"It is really my very great honor to have you all here with me tonight, both my distinguished guests," he said, and then gestured to the cameras setup all around the room, "And to those of you at home, the people with whom the inspiration for this endeavor derives from. Tonight we toast to many things. To the minds that overcame social boundaries to create this vaccination, to the young man who offered himself and his time for months to humor our very many tests, and to the brave men and women – soldiers and civilians alike – that we have lost to bioterrorism. Above all else, I toast tonight to them."
The crowd erupted into a flurry of claps, and Westbarl waited patiently for them to end. The skin around his eyes wasn't so smiley anymore; instead drawn tight with slight pain, like a wince after being reminded of an old, forgotten wound. When the applause died down, he let the silence hang for a moment before continuing.
"I toast to them this evening in no small part due to my own misfortunes. I am not so humble a man as to deny that. Since we unveiled the actual concept of my company, many people have asked me where I drew my motivation from. A private company that rose from no scientific background to back the financial stability for a cure of such magnitude – I admit, it's unusual. After all, I used to sell sports equipment. Hardly the stuff that constitutes becoming the backbone of a scientific corporation."
And then, on the screen behind the man, a picture appeared. A young woman beamed back from the screen, cherry blond hair twisted into a thick braid that spilled over her shoulder. Her eyes twinkled charmingly from the photo, vibrant despite the flatness of the screen. Westbarl took a moment to turn around and look up at the screen before letting out a very short hitch of breath and turning back to his audience.
"Mary, my wife. She was in Raccoon City visiting her family on the night of the incident. I was away on business. She and her family managed to barricade themselves into their home, but it wasn't enough. She called me in those final hours. I was on the phone with her until the very end," he said, then stopped to swallow, the noise amplified by the mic. With a small grunt, he shifted his weight and continued, "Tonight is for them. For the people who should be here with us, but aren't. Victims of viral corruption and human limitations…
"You've no doubt wondered why I had each of you put on a mask on your way in. I apologize for my little eccentricities, but I found it suitable, given the situation. Many of you probably think it is because of the mask that I myself cannot take off," he said, gesturing to his face, "but my own degenerating medical conditions are neither the reason behind my motivation for this endeavor, nor your masks. Tonight, at midnight, as we celebrate the first shipment leaving from the docks of this very estate, we will remove our masks to symbolize humanity overcoming death and bioterrorism. We will face the dawn of a new age together, my friends. An age of peace and human prosperity."
Applause exploded again, in earnest. When it dimmed, Westbarl finished by saying, "Until then, please feel free to mingle among yourselves. Enjoy the night, enjoy the good company, and by all means, please enjoy the bar. It's on the house." As the guests rose from their chairs, a little murmuring of conversation already beginning to grow into a smeared buzz of noise, Chris watched as Westbarl leaned up into Jake and shook the man's hand. He was saying something very animatedly to the mercenary, but with all the conversations washing over him from every side, Chris couldn't manage to pick out his words from the tide. Whatever he said, it made Jake look flustered. He stiffly said something back, and then walked off the stage with the man. At the bottom of the stairs, they took their separate ways – Westbarl headed to a group of stuffy looking people and Jake off in the opposite direction.
Chris' gaze followed Jake's intended path all the way to what he knew was the man's goal – Sherry Birkin. He had been right, the NSA agent was here. She was wearing a nice black dress that gave her just enough room to move fast if she needed to. Coupled with her black flats, Chris knew that Sherry wasn't simply here to support Jake. She was here on business, if the almost indistinguishable lump at her thigh was anything to go by.
When Jake reached her, he immediately looked relieved. Tension oozed free from his body as she placed one hand at his elbow and leaned towards him, her smile kind. No doubt telling him he did a great job standing there doing nothing on stage. Not that Chris blamed him, even if all you had to do was stand there, being noticed for being you – being on stage in front of a bunch of people who didn't even understand who you were or what you did was never fun. Jill usually had to drag him kicking and screaming.
Which reminded him…
He turned his gaze discreetly to the side to see Jill conversing with a small group of people just one congregations shy of where Westbarl was talking. She met his eyes over the shoulder of the person she was talking to and gave him a pointed look. The look could only mean one thing. She knew he had located Jake, and she was making it obvious that if he didn't handle the mercenary, she would.
Weaseling his way into the underbelly of the mansion had been child's play; far easier than it had any right to be, considering the importance of the gala. And yet, Leon had managed to slip through various throngs of dignitaries, swipe a keycard, sneak past security, and find the central computer all without spilling his drink. He sipped it gently as he clicked away, fingers stumbling over the keys as he slipped past one internal security system, and then another, and then another, until finally all the information lay bare before him.
As document after document poured onto the screen, he slipped a small case from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal a set of contacts. At first glance, they didn't seem to be very special, but on closer inspection Leon could see all of the whisper thin chips and technology embedded in the lenses, causing them to glow a gentle blue as they activated upon his touch. Gingerly, he placed both contacts on his eyes and blinked away his agitated tears until finally he could see again.
"God, I don't know how people ever get used to putting in contacts every day," he muttered, then asked a little louder. "Hunnigan, you getting this?"
"Yes, the signal is strong. We've got a stable picture," she said into his ear piece. "Are you sure this is it?"
"Yup, this is it. If Westbarl's hiding anything, it's in here."
He could hear her shift on the other end of the line, no doubt leaning closer to her monitor as she read the screen through the camera feed in his contact lenses.
"This can't be right… According to this –"
"– Everything's normal, yeah. I know." He didn't voice it, but his thoughts were apparent in his tone. The night was looking more and more like a wild goose chase. If it weren't for all the odd things, like the lacking security, Leon would've called it a day already. But he had learned long ago that Hunnigan was a "by the books" agent. If something was bothering her enough for her to listen to her gut – it was important.
"So it's not here," Leon said, "Doesn't mean it's not here. Tell me what to do, Hunnigan. Is there some hidden firewall or –"
"Talking to yourself," a voice said from behind. "You're a bit young for that, don't you think?"
Leon froze without actually looking tense. He poised himself, fully aware of the owner of that particular voice, and treated the situation as delicately as it deserved. Slowly, he peeked over his shoulder and smiled.
"Ada. It's been a long time." It was as much a greeting for the sleek looking woman behind him as it was a warning to Hunnigan to keep quiet.
She was beautiful; her long red dress slinky and immaculate as it hugged her body from just below the knee all the way to her breastbone. The slit in her dress gave her the freedom of movement he knew she would need given her career, and also provided her ample access to the gun he knew she had tucked away. He made a show of sizing her up from head to foot, taking his time when he took in her long, silky legs. He smiled wolfishly at her, as was their game, and she smiled slyly right back.
"You won't find what you're looking for, Leon," she said.
"I don't know about that. I think I will."
She rolled her eyes and made her way across the room, hips swaying delicately as she held out one hand to him. He raised his eyebrows at her.
"You asking me to dance? I'm flattered."
"The earpiece, Leon," she said, her voice tinged with as much amusement as annoyance.
"Leon, don't!" Hunnigan began, but he pulled the little bud from his ear before she could say anything else. He could hear the tinny sound of her speaking, garbled and small as he muttered a quick "sorry" into the mic and dropped the device into Ada's waiting hand. She dropped it disdainfully and crushed it beneath her heel mere seconds later.
He sighed, thinking about how Hunnigan would chew him out for losing the expensive bit of equipment just as Ada smiled in satisfaction.
"There, just you and me," she said as she slipped past him to look at the monitor. Leon huffed.
"You're not very good at sharing, you know," he said.
"You like it," she said simply with a wave of one hand before gesturing to the screen. "You're looking in the wrong place."
"Oh am I?"
With a slight bump of one hip, she moved him over so she could have room to type. In comparison to the way his fingers had stumbled over the keys, hers elegantly flitted from key to key like a pianist. Firewalls he hadn't even seen were cleaved in two like the Red Sea, each and every one falling beneath the wrath of her keystrokes until finally only one folder lay in front of them. It was titled "A/W-J: Serum 201 / Ready".
"This is what you're really looking for," she said, her lips curved with egotistically pleasure. "Or at least, this is what you should have been looking for from the start."
"How did you find it?" Leon asked with a small tinge of awe. She had accomplished in seconds what he had failed to do in twenty minutes.
"It helps when you know the man who made it."
He looked over at her, unwilling to prematurely voice what he already knew to be true.
"What is this?"
"The reason why I'm here."