A/N:

Avogadro602: Hey folks! Sorry about the delay. It won't be much longer, though! Two chapters are left after this. A couple review responses:

Native Guns: Glad you liked it! You asked how Piers is alive. Well, we made a slight change to the cannon. (spoilers ahead for anyone who doesn't know RE6 storyline) In our universe, Chris pulled Piers into the pod with him at the very end. They got out okay, hauled Piers's mutated butt (and arm) over to the nearest medical facility, and pumped him full of Jake's antibodies. After quite a lot of physical (and emotional) therapy, he and everyone else are alive and well and ready for us to play with. Except for Claire. But that's a different story.

Cosy: Thank you :-D I'm flattered you consider ours one of the good ones. We feel your pain in that RE fiction search!

Character develop: You asked about Ada, and her development/possibly opening up as a character. She's a tricky one, but don't worry. We haven't seen the last of her. (notice my intentional cryptic-ness).

Everyone else: Thank you and you're awesome. We love to hear about how people are responding to the story. Let us know what you think, and if you have any questions, we'll try to answer them. :-)

NeuroticBanana: Well hello everyone! We do apologize for the delay, but like Avogadro says, we're nearly done, so just hold out a little longer and you're done. Thank you all for the reviews you've posted. They really do make us happy and let us know what we can do to improve the story. All feedback is appreciated. Anyway, enjoy this little read and keep in mind that the end is in sight!

Disclaimer: Talk to your doctor to see if you're healthy enough for fanfiction. And remember, just because we write it doesn't mean we own what it came from.

Cover artwork is by LoneWolf117 from Deviantart.

Chapter 21:

The Best Laid Plans

Finally, he had a plan. He'd split it into two parts: the first (and most obvious) was to expose the Agency and find out just how deep the corruption went. As one man against a multimillion dollar government agency, he lacked the means and the resources to tackle such a daunting task, which meant he had to get help. This was where he believed Redfern had gone wrong. After discovering the tampering in his lab Redfern had attempted to contact the FDA. But the FDA monitored pharmaceutical research and the spreading of foodborne disease; they didn't deal with conspiracies within domestic governments, which was where this problem really stemmed from. However unlike Redfern, Leon knew who did deal with problems like this: the FBI.

He had contacted a longtime friend at the bureau under the guise of a casual lunch date to catch up on old times. During the meeting, Leon planned to spill his guts. He'd tell his friend the entire story from start to finish—every damning little detail—and then he'd show him the evidence from Freddie's hacking job. He'd taken to carrying it on his person, not trusting his apartment to keep it safe. A tip like that from a senior agent, with hard evidence to boot, would be impossible to ignore.

The second part of his plan was to cover his ass. Leon knew he was being watched; the moment someone realized what he was doing, it'd be too late to act. They'd drag him off in a black bag and lock him up—or possibly just kill him. So he'd planned for the worst, just in case, and contacted a trusted member of the press. He'd tell them everything, and instruct them to let the story loose should anything happen to him.

After several days of careful mental planning, he'd finally taken action. Neither of the calls looked suspicious on the surface; he was just contacting an old friend who happened to work for the FBI. And the member of the press had actually contacted him first to get an inside story on the events last year in China. He was simply returning a call and arranging a meeting. That was all.

In the span of an afternoon he had managed to set up both meetings. They were scheduled back to back two days from now. He'd covered his tracks in every way he could think of. Even if someone had heard him, no one should have suspected anything. The plan should have gone without a hitch. But there was one small problem.

Someone was following him.

Leon pretended to check his watch for the third time and instead scrutinized the reflection of the lone figure behind him. The dark, hooded figure had been tailing him since he'd finished dinner at The Happy Panda—his favorite place for Chinese food. He'd been attempting to follow his normal routine, but apparently someone seemed to have caught on.

How could they know? He thought anxiously. Where did I go wrong? But there were more important questions, he knew. Will they kill me now, in public? Or drag me off to question me? He stopped walking as he reached an intersection and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. It would help if he knew who was following him. Was it a man? A woman? From the brief and blurry images he'd glimpsed in shop windows and on the face of his watch it was difficult to tell. He estimated they were under six foot, but the rest of their form was lost in the dark, hooded jacket they wore. Could it be Ada? He wondered with a brief jolt of excitement, but quickly shot the idea down. He'd caught Ada following him before by sheer luck; there was no way she would be so careless twice. No, whoever was following him showed no trace of Ada's delicate and tactful tread—they pursued him with a chilling single-mindedness that lacked any subtlety. He was their target, and they were closing in.

They wouldn't kill me out in the open like this, he decided and steered his course towards a more crowded street. He spotted a large crowd outside a bar ahead of him and picked up his pace. Maybe he could lose them in the crowd…

A loud bass beat thumped from the open doors as he slipped into the mob. He glanced inside and saw a girl dancing on a table in heels and not much else. Maybe this wasn't a bar after all. He chanced a glance behind him and caught sight of the hooded figure, closer than before. With little choice, he pushed his way into the club.

The music inside was loud enough to hurt his ears. Overhead the lights were low, but a select few bulbs flashed pink and cut through the thick haze at random intervals. Keeping his head low, he blended with the crowd and slowly made his way in. A large group of men were cheering at the center as a topless woman wrapped her legs around an elevated pole and twirled herself around. Leon averted his eyes.

Another glance behind him and his shadow was nowhere in sight. A blue strobe light lit up the faces of random strangers. Uneasy, he went further into the mass of bodies and headed for the side wall. He needed to be able to see the entire room, and having his back unprotected like this was driving him crazy.

Halfway there he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me," a low female voice ordered. It was familiar, but in the din of the club he failed to recognize it. When he turned his head slightly it gave him a clear view of his assailant for the first time—he caught sight of full red lips and a well-defined jaw. The rest of her face was hidden beneath the hood.

Her hand slid to his arm and tugged but he planted his feet, refusing to move. "You don't want to make a scene in front of all these people," he gambled, narrowing his eyes at the half obscured face behind him.

"Neither do you," she whispered in that same, oddly familiar voice. "I'm not the only one following you."

The lights flashing around him were disorienting. He stood frozen, weighing his options. "What reason do I have to trust you?"

"This one," she replied curtly and pressed something hard against his spine. He stiffened in recognition. A gun. "Come with me," she ordered again, "Now."

Would she shoot him in front of these people, and hope to escape in the confusion? Probably not, he thought. But she had a point—he didn't want any extra attention. And fighting here could cause innocent people to get hurt.

He gave a short nod and allowed her to guide him to the back of the club. There were three open doors on the far wall, assumedly leading to private rooms for the dancers to give extra attention to specific, high paying customers. She took him to the room on the far right and pushed him through the threshold.

The moment he heard the door close behind them, he jerked his elbow backward and knocked the gun from her hands. It fell somewhere in the corner and the woman stumbled backward, dazed. Leon darted forward and pushed her back against the door, holding her in place with one arm.

"Leon—" the woman protested but he was already reaching up with his other arm. The hood came off with a single tug to reveal the face beneath.

Leon sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. "Jill?" he said, dumbfounded. Her face was tight with stress and there were dark circles underneath her blue eyes.

A large hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. "I'd appreciate it if you let her go now," a threatening male voice spoke up.

Leon stepped back and looked at the only other occupant of the room. "Chris?" he asked, taking another step back and glancing between the pair nervously. "What the hell is going on?"

"We needed to talk to you," Chris explained. Leon noticed for the first time that he was dressed in dark colors as well—a black sweatshirt and dark blue jeans—and he had the same bags under his eyes.

"And for that you needed to hold me at gunpoint?" Leon shot back, sending Jill an accusatory glare. "What fantastic people skills you have."

Jill shook her head impatiently. "We were running out of time. We still are."

Chris's hand was back on his shoulder. "Leon, I need to talk to you. Sit down."

Leon's eyes flickered down to the only seating available in the tiny room—a filthy yellow loveseat with several suspicious looking white stains. "I'll stand, thanks."

"Quit joking around," Chris snapped, "This is serious."

So is hepatitis, Leon thought to himself but sat down anyway. "Just tell me what the hell is going on already."

Chris seated himself next to him while Jill perched on the armrest. She let one hand lie on his shoulder while he spoke. Chris took a breath. "You need to disappear."

Something clicked in Leon's brain. "That's where you two have been, isn't it? You've been in hiding?"

"We didn't have a choice," Chris explained, "You did something, stirred something up. I don't know what it was but all the underground channels are whispering about you. They're going to use people against you—they've already started doing it. Someone would have come for us eventually. I'm surprised no one has come for you yet. They've been watching you more than enough."

Jill spoke up next. "I wasn't lying when I said that I wasn't the only one following you. It was near impossible to catch you when he wasn't looking."

Leon snapped to attention and his pulse picked up. "You know who is following me? You know Felix—the guy in the suit?"

"Yeah," Jill said begrudgingly and ran her free hand through her messy brown ponytail in a weary gesture. "Though I wish I didn't. Dealing with him was just…just..."

"A pain in the ass," Chris finished for her and reached up to squeeze her hand in sympathy. "We had to stalk him for three days straight before we could take him out."

"Wait," Leon stopped them with a raised hand, "You took him out?"

Jill nodded. "Yes, but we only have…" she pushed up her sleeve to check her watch, "…an hour and thirty minutes, tops, before the sedative wears off."

"You sedated Felix?" Leon asked in disbelief, "All just to get to me?"

"And we're still running out of time," Jill pointed out again with another worried glance at her watch.

"The point is," Chris began seriously, "You need to go underground. Fast."

"I can't just leave," Leon argued with a frown. He had to try and fix this, or no one would. Couldn't Chris see that?

A dark anger haunted Chris's eyes. "You can and you will if you value your life, and the ones you love. Leon…they killed Claire. They murdered her."

There was suddenly no breath left in Leon's lungs. His face contorted against his will. No, he pleaded futilely to himself, I didn't want it to be true. He gritted his teeth and forced his reaction back under his control. Swallowing, he asked, "How do you know?" His voice came out hoarser than he would've liked.

Chris stared, unseeing, as he explained. "I knew the medical examiner. It never felt right. You have to know that. I never believed that she could have just fallen…" His jaw clenched and he shook his head before continuing on. "So I had them examine her body. And I was right."

He started to breathe faster as he spoke, and Jill placed her hand on his shoulder again to calm him.

"It was all wrong, all of it. She didn't die from the fall. She had her neck snapped and she was moved into the shower. There was bruising on her body from before she died—and a damn thumb print on her neck." The broken look on Chris's face morphed into rage as he met Leon's eyes. "Claire didn't fall in the shower—they killed her. They killed my baby sister."

An awful ache started deep in Leon's chest. In some way, he'd known all along; he just hadn't been willing to admit it. But that only strengthened his resolve to not run away. "What do you expect me to do?" Leon asked quietly. "I can't leave. I have to at least try to fix this. Claire would have wanted me to try. I have a plan, and I just need a couple days for it to—"

"In a couple days you could be dead," Chris interrupted. "Would she have wanted that?"

"No," Leon admitted, "But this is bigger than just me. Everyone in the agency could be at risk—what about Piers and Helena?"

"I've already contacted Piers. He and Helena have already gone underground. They're safe."

"And Sherry?"

"I tried, but she's too far in. I think she's safe for now. And I know someone who might be able to get her out. That just leaves you."

Leon shook his head. "So what, you're just going to run away? Chris, if I don't stop them, who will? If the Agency ever succeeded in what it was trying to do—" he thought of what he'd read in Freddie's report and shivered, "—it could change the globe."

Chris shook his head and sent Leon a reproachful look. "If you try to fight this thing on your own, you won't live long enough to make a difference. Step down and let someone else handle it until you're in a better position to fight."

Leon shook his head again, firmly. "No. I'll go off the grid after, but I have to do this first."

"Idiot!" Chris snarled, his cheeks flushing red, "You're throwing your life away!"

"It's not that simple and you know it," Leon shot back.

Jill spoke up again for the first time in several minutes. "Leon, we risked our lives just to get to you. The least you could do is try to keep yourself safe."

Leon felt the sting of shame and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes darted to the dirty carpet. "I'm sorry. I…I'll try to be careful. I can lay low for the next couple of days." He sighed and looked back up at the couple. "But…if someone is going to get to the bottom of this later, whether it's me or not, I have to give them a fighting chance. I already have the meetings set up. I have to do this." He tried to not let the looks of frustration and disappointment on their faces affect him.

"Fine," Chris finally said after a tense silence, "But it's your funeral."

Jill squeezed Chris's shoulder and the two shared a look. "We did what we could. No one can say otherwise."

"If I die doing this it'll be my own fault," Leon pointed out, "Not your's. I know the risks."

"Damn right," Chris agreed but still ran a hand over his weary eyes.

Jill glanced to her watch. "Fifty minutes."

Chris nodded and stood. "Alright, we need to get going. When that guy wakes up we need to be far away from here."

"You've got that right," Jill muttered under her breath and stood as well, "I don't think I could live through doing that twice." She pulled her hood back up and approached the door.

Chris turned to Leon and gripped his shoulders tight. "Watch yourself," he ordered, "If they get the feeling you're going against them, they'll kill you."

Leon nodded. "I know."

Jill briefly pushed back her hood and sent Leon a serious look. "When we go, wait ten minutes or so before you leave. It'd be better if we weren't all seen directly together."

"Where will you be going?" Leon asked.

"It's better if you don't know," Chris answered with a small, pinched smile.

Leon understood, but it still was still a little jarring to not be trusted. Putting himself on such a dangerous path meant that all he knew was at risk, should they decide to capture and interrogate him.

Jill grabbed Chris's forearm. "Are you ready? It's going to be a long trip."

He nodded. "I know." Then, to Leon's surprise, she leaned up to place a quick kiss on the BSAA agent's lips. Chris was blushing when she pulled back. He cleared his throat. "We, ah, we should go now."

Jill flashed him the briefest of smiles before pulling her hood down. She turned her head in Leon's direction and nodded. "Take care, Leon," she said, then slipped out the door. Chris patted Leon's arm and pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt before following her.

As promised, Leon waited. His mind wandered andnervousness tugged at his chest as he realized, once again, the gravity of the situation. Am I signing my own death warrant by staying?

Staying public would be dangerous—thanks to Chris and Jill's little stunt with Felix, everyone watching him would know that he'd been tipped off. If he didn't run and pretended to act normal, they would know that it was an act. They would know he was planning something. But there was a chance that they still didn't know what that plan was. Going to the meetings while pretending to follow his normal schedule could be seen as going through the motions. There was a chance, however slim, that his message could get through. But if he went underground, they'd be looking for him. If he tried to reach any of his contacts, they'd be on him in a second.

He had to stay public; it was the only way. But he'd be dammed if he wasn't prepared.

His mind had fully entered mission mode when he left the room ten minutes later. He moved quickly and efficiently through the crowd and left the bar. He hailed a cab, all the while keeping a mental timer of how long Chris and Jill said he'd have before Felix would wake up: 25 minutes left.

The cab arrived at his apartmentand he stepped out. 20 minutes. He walked through the building but jogged up the stairs two at a time—no one would see him there. At the top he started walking again. 16 minutes.

He reached his apartment and stepped inside, leaving the lights off. If there were cameras in here, they would have to struggle through the darkness. Pausing in the doorway, he cocked his head to the side and listened. He hated the time this was wasting, but it was a necessary step. If anyone was here, they were quiet. Nonetheless, he ducked down to a crouch before moving along. His shoes slipped quietly over the carpet and found their way to the hardwood of his bedroom.

Ten minutes. His bedroom was empty, but he'd expected it to be. They wouldn't have had time to act if they were going to at all. Given their reluctance to kill him yet, he suspected they might hesitate now. He mattered to them somehow, though he had no idea why.

There. His exploring fingers had finally found the loose board underneath his bed. It came loose with a sharp tug and he set it aside. The hole was impossible to see in the dark, but he could work from memory, feeling his way along. Seven minutes.

He reached in, knowing that the hole was deceptively deep, and felt to the right. His shoulder nearly touched the floor when the loop of fabric finally brushed against his knuckles. It would've taken anyone else a good fifteen minutes to find the hidden bag, with direction. Grabbing hold, he lifted the satchel and pulled it free. It was heavy, so he set it aside as he replaced the floorboard. Four minutes.

The bag was opened immediately after he was done. He didn't need to see to know what the items held inside were—he knew them intimately, and had done this drill in his mind a thousand times. Two large, semi-flexible pieces of fabric came out first. Body armor, mostly bullet proof and custom shaped to fit him. He stripped off his outer shirt and strapped it on.

Shirt back on, he reached into the bag again. A bundle of leather straps came next, followed by a gun: a 0.5 caliber magnum companion to the pistol that was currently at his side. He wrapped the mess of leather straps—a holster—around his shoulders and tightened the fastenings with practiced fingers. Two minutes.

The knife was already in place inside a pocket on his left shoulder. The only items left in the bag—several ammo pouches and a vital sack containing several thousand dollars in cash and his passport—slipped easily onto his belt and into a pocket on his pants, respectively.

One minute. He stashed the empty bag between his mattress and the bedframe. There was a shotgun in his closet, and he moved to grab it now. It would be bulky and he'd be unable to conceal it if he went out in public, but if they were going to storm his apartment in several seconds he'd need it.

He took cover behind his couch and waited, shotgun cocked and ready, for his front door to open. He waited five minutes, then ten. Twenty. Forty. After an hour had passed and no hit squad had come in to abduct or assassinate him, he allowed himself to relax. It would appear that they had chosen to wait and see what he would do rather than take him out immediately.

Leon imagined Felix in his mind, staring at him over a chess board that controlled his life. "Your move," he said and smiled.

Leon shoved the image from his mind and moved to the bathroom, grabbing a pillow from his bed and a dining chair on the way there. He shut the door and propped the chair against the knob. It'd hinder anyone trying to get in, and make enough noise in the process to rouse him should they succeed.

Two days, he thought, eyeing the door suspiciously. I need two days. It was Friday, and he didn't have to go in to work tomorrow. At least he wouldn't have to keep up an act there. As long as he was able to stay in his house, he could be on guard without arousing suspicion.

He threw his pillow down and stepped into the porcelain basin at the back of the bathroom. He was sleeping in the tub tonight.