5:45 a.m.
Irons had just barely settled in behind his desk with a tumbler of scotch - a double, from his special occasions bottle of 1965 Laphroaig - when the timid knock rang out at his door.
Something about the knock was off - his officers knew just enough to give him space after an all-nighter like this, and Umbrella…they were keeping their faces away from his precinct. He'd done his job, disbanded STARS, and doused the rumour mill as best he could, but he couldn't erase this past summer from their minds.
Dispatch had mentioned that Warren's daughter had been picked up from her home and brought in though. Oh, what the hell. He took a long draught and called out, "It's open."
The handle turned, and a young woman - not Katherine, but about her age - peered through the cracked door. "Hello?" She said in a soft voice. "Katherine told me that I should talk to you about a missing person?" The woman pushed the door open and slipped inside. She was tall, and moved in an awkward, coltish manner that seemed oddly endearing. The young woman closed the door behind her. "My brother works for Umbrella. He told me that I should get in touch with Chief Irons if he didn't call back within the hour."
Irons chuckled. He couldn't help himself. This town…it had a way of delivering him gifts when he kept to the party line. If the girl's family worked for Umbrella, they were either on their way out of town, or…well on their way out, in a permanent fashion. "You've caught me at a good time, young lady. Come on in." He watched with a genial smile that did reach his eyes as the woman pulled the door shut behind her and stepped towards the desk with a frail, hopeful smile. Irons notes that she clasped her hands tightly together, probably to hide the tremors.
If the station hadn't been on high alert, he might be tempted to start the festivities early. He stood up and circled the desk to stand in front of this girl, frowning. He'd had the roster of Umbrella's research staff for years. Was Umbrella really risking bringing in replacement staff with things as messy as they'd been?
He'd have to talk to the Birkins about this. William in particular had been getting sloppy lately. Neither of them was picking up in the NEST as of yet since the lockdown had started yesterday….
He frowned, looking down at the young woman. Something about her face seemed familiar. There were the old legacy families, of course, but…not so much in Raccoon City. Those types kept to remote locations, old country varieties. Hell, the last one to show any real interest had been an early 'missing person' case back in '81, and, well, Umbrella likely knew exactly where the shallow grave for that one had been dug.
This girl…was way too young for any of that, but she had the same look. "How old, are you, kiddo?" He said in a voice he thought might sound gentle.
The girl winced, then said. "Twenty-one. My brother was letting me use the spare room while I looked for work in town."
So, a new transplant. The brother might have been on the roster, though. "Sounds like you're having a rough night, then. Here." Irons pushed his glass towards the girl's clasped hands so that she accepted it out of reflex. "You probably need this more than me."
The girl eyed him dubiously, then raised the glass and took a drink. She immediately started coughing, holding it out for him take back. "Ah, it's an acquired taste," Irons said with a chuckle. He took the glass and downed half its contents. No use wasting good scotch - certainly not a Laphroaig, anyhow.
"Alright, let's get to the bottom of this, young lady." As much as a distraction would hit the spot better than any fine scotch, he'd been up all night, and the station was hardly empty. Some Umbrella whelp was unlikely to be the softest of targets anyhow. He reached out to tip her chin up, getting a better look at her. She really did have one of those faces. The young woman's face twitched, then smoothed back into a soft, worried expression.
The scotch was already mellowing the sharper edges of his perception to something he could almost stand. Either it was very, very good, or his tolerance had fallen to shit when he wasn't looking. Most likely, it was a bit of both. Umbrella had been generous with him, but time hadn't. "It's been a long night, but I happen to have swung by their offices in the last few hours. Who's your missing brother?" His vision began to blur, exhaustion creeping in. At least the other officers weren't seeing him like this. He couldn't appear weak now, not while there was so much he needed to do still.
So much to break.
"Alexander Ashford," The woman said, and suddenly the little girl act was gone, replaced by a cold British woman's voice, and yes, he had met this person before. There had been a weeklong impromptu executive party the year Warren's daughter was born. Everyone who was anyone coming up in the executive pool or helping them build their presence in the city, had been there. She had been there. The cute, anxious cherubic face had morphed into something vicious and glacial without changing almost at all.
"Have a seat, Brian," the impossible woman said in a cool, pleasant voice. The yell he had been trying to bring up abruptly died in his throat. Irons stumbled back to his desk. She kept speaking as if nothing of note was happening. "As it happens, you are going to help me. And then you're going to get some sleep. You do seem to need it after watching this town start to dissolve for the last, oh, twelve hours." She huffed in feigned amusement.
"You're in luck. I don't have the time to ponder whether you ought to suffer, although, based on where you're sitting, you very much will. Soon. But then again, so will many, many people. So I'm going to ask very little of you, and hope you can manage the load."
She strode around the desk, eyes taking on a feline glow in the low light. Irons moaned in fear, unable to move. A moment ago, he might have been able to do something, but it was like his tired mind hadn't wanted to make the connection. Now…he wished he never had known.
The woman's eyes roved over the desk. "It's been brought to my attention that senior management has a dedicated line to your office. I'd like you to make one little call, and then you're going to drop any security alarms that come through for the rest of the morning. The ones that require Umbrella's Security Service." She leaned down to bring her face level to Irons'. "I'm sure we can both agree that they've caused you quite enough trouble for one day."
Iron's eyes went wide…then a slackness began to creep into his face. He'd had a hell of a night, and today wouldn't be any better. If he didn't get some damned shuteye soon, he'd be of no use to anyone. Let Umbrella deal with its own mess for a few hours. He reached out with a shaking hand - your gun is right there, you fucking idiot, SHOOT her - and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a red rotary telephone and setting it heavily upon the desk. He pulled out a small black book under it, thumbed a few pages, and looked up at the woman again. "Who…who are you looking for?"
"You're going to contact Annette Birkin for me. And as soon as you get her on the line, you're going to go to sleep."
Ada watched the hallway from the shadows after "Callie" - a.k.a. Marigold Ashford - had slipped into Chief Iron's office. For several moments, things seemed quiet. If Ada strained her hearing, she could pick up voices, so she hadn't knocked the man out on sight. That was good.
Probably.
That little performance of hers had been interesting. Miss Warren would have been just a few years old when 'Callie' had gone missing, but to look at them, they might have been sorority sisters. Or classmates. Good spy work relied on the persona, but also on telling as few lies as possible, in order to keep the important lies straight. And the aggravation in her voice when questioned about the 'boyfriend' had felt real.
Several minutes passed. Then a few more. Ada slowly realized that she could no longer hear the tone of Iron's gruff voice, but Callie had continued to speak - had slipped back into her old accent even. Checking the hallway - still empty, R.P.D. clearly wanted nothing to do with the ghosts of this floor - Ada decided to move the short distance to the Chief's door and risk a peek.
There she stood next to Iron's desk, speaking into the receiver of an old red telephone like she owned the place. Irons himself was slumped over his desk.
He was beginning to snore.
Callie was watching the door with a sharp eye. "I appreciate your time," She said softly into the mouthpiece. "I think I'm out of time for this call. I should be able to start in ten minutes, fifteen at the outside. Once it starts, you'll need to move quickly. I haven't actively tried to do this before." She sighed. "Goodbye. And, good luck."
Callie hung up the phone, then looked down at something behind the desk. "It's fine, you'd best come in."
Ada let herself in, pushing her unease down. She instead focused her attention on Irons. "What did you do, drug him?"
"Not precisely, but close enough for now." Callie had reached down into a drawer and pulled out a stack of about a dozen folders, all marked with the Umbrella logo. "He mentioned a roster of researchers in town. I'm assuming you don't need this?" She began to flip through the pages, scanning quickly.
Ada shook her head. "Probably not. I'm here for architectural plans. Those will be in the library." She smirked. "We're ahead of schedule, I believe. What's this about being able to start in ten minutes?"
Callie glanced at her, then pulled out several folders from the pile and shoved them into her bag. She replaced the rest in the drawer and set the phone on top with a small black book. Pushing the drawer shut with an audible thud, she straightened and closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts.
Ada waited her out. Finally, Callie opened her eyes again with a visible shiver. "We're headed in the same direction," she said, voice subdued. "We need to wait for the shift change to empty out a bit. I can set up in the STARS office."
There's a private office at the back of the main STARS office, Wesker had told her. I may have left something behind that needs to be retrieved. The signal was faint, but still clear enough to work with. Marigold had told him that they were looking for a quiet place to wait out the shift change. It was a frail excuse, but apparently enough for now.
They crossed the wide landing at a fast walk. A throng of RPD officers was milling around in the main hall below but failed to notice them. Lucky. Ada kept to the wall, using Marigold to shield her from their eyes. It seemed that Miss Wong was a familiar face around these parts.
"What are you trying to do?" Ada whispered to her as they cleared the landing, pushing into the library wing. Marigold glanced around in the darkness, making a beeline for the door emblazoned with the STARS emblem.
"I got some information in exchange for giving them a window, down below. It won't last long." Marigold looked back at Ada. "I'm sure someone will give you a file on me eventually, and I really don't have time to give you the whole story."
The STARS office was lit only by streetlights outside, and the lightening sky preceding the rising sun. The smell of dust and the hastily boxed-up cubicles told her that this space had been left empty for weeks. Months, even. No wonder - it held the air of a graveyard.
It would do.
"Private office," she breathed. Wesker had mentioned a key tucked away over the doorframe. She strode up and ran her hand along the dusty wood frame - and yes, there it was. Ada stood back, watching. She held the key up for inspection.
Ada walked forward, less out of camaraderie and more to avoid having to raise her voice in the quiet office space. "You do seem to know all the right people."
Marigold blinked, then looked back at the door. The words Captain A. Wesker was clearly visible on the nameplate, right at eye level. "Oh, hell," she muttered. Of course, he'd send her here.
Ada took that as an opening. "I heard some stories after I tucked you away for pickup. Our mutual friend nearly had a heart attack when I showed him a photo of you." Her stillness in the darkness was oddly unnerving. There was a time when Marigold would have felt the effect. Now, she found it endearing. Ada pressed on. "What happened with your pickup? Not that I didn't appreciate getting some of my things back."
Marigold tried the key, let herself into the office. The smell of dust was stronger here. "You really don't know. Who they sent." Her nerves were frayed. Dealing with Irons had given her a horrid sense of nostalgia. Dealing with Katherine had been like meeting herself thirty years ago. So much energy, and only peripherally aware of the fetid swamp of corruption she lived within.
Marigold had to be as a ghost in the few hours she had here. Had that not been the case…Irons might have been a smear on the wall right now.
Goddamit, she thought. She needed every advantage to see today through, but it was going to cost her. The first light cramps were already beginning to twinge around her belly.
Ada watched her closely, trailing behind at what Marigold noted seemed a safe distance. Smart. "Someone you know?"
Marigold didn't answer. Instead, she got behind the desk and shoved, pushing it forward a few feet. She knelt, drawing a knife to lever up a loose floorboard. It popped loose. Marigold moved it back and reached down into the space beneath it to come up with a small padded envelope. It was heavy- papers, and what felt like a very small, heavy sample case. She looked back up to meet Ada's eyes, which were beginning to dawn with understanding. "How?" Ada asked.
"There is not enough time in the world," Marigold answered. "Or alcohol. There really isn't." She replaced the board and reached for the chair, taking a seat. This next part was going to be rough. As far as the mission went it wasn't necessary. But Annette had been truthful with her. She had told her, frankly, what she'd wanted to know, and a few things she might have been happier not knowing.
A deal was a deal.
Ada looked back at the desk, decorated with its own nameplate and very little else. "Even if…how in the world did they convince you to work with him?"
"We came to terms," Marigold replied shortly. The room still held his scent - very faint, but he'd inhabited this office for at least a year. Not the sharp, viral mixture of man and predator, but the one she'd picked up on back at the mansion, right before everything had gone to hell for her.
If Annette had been right, she was entering into some very dark waters.
A long pause. "Terms?" Ada asked. Wary. But also intrigued.
"For now." Marigold closed her eyes. "Twenty minutes. I can explain all of this later. If we get a later. I'm going to sit here and see if I can reach the NEST. If I haven't snapped out of it in twenty minutes…toss a book at me. I really would rather avoid any accidents over this. The NEST does not feel like a den of serenity." She shut her eyes, shutting out Ada's incredulous expression.
Trying, and failing, to shut out just what 'terms' seemed to mean to Albert Wesker.
Six hours earlier.
Wesker towered over her, hand moving from her jaw to gently wrap around her throat. His thumb moved up and down along her windpipe, never pressing, but making its presence unavoidably known.
Marigold kept her expression cool, though he must have heard her heart speed up. Must have felt it, with his hand wrapped so securely at her pulse. She looked up with only her eyes. "What terms?"
Wesker looked contemplative, holding her in place down in the chair with one hand. "You're offering to work for HCF. For me. What assurances do I have that you won't cause mischief the instant you're away?" There was no real force behind the gesture. This - the posturing - was pure dominance on his part. More games, the way the trap set at Arklay all those years ago had been. Except, this time…
This time the veneer of harmlessness was gone. There was no hiding what she was anymore - something volatile, something powerful.
When she had been poisoned in that little village back in '72 - a lethal dose of hemlock - she had reacted on instinct, but quickly pulled back out of deference to the stronger party whose territory she had been sent into unawares. Back in '81, she had been the polished executive until the very last minute, acting out more to create chaos for those trying to subdue her. She knew it had made an impression on Wesker.
Simply submitting here, meek little girl, was the obvious choice, but it was also the wrong one. For one, he wouldn't believe her, not after spending weeks together. It would be too obvious that she was up to something.
Agitating and throwing her weight around would fail just as spectacularly, in a way that would land her in a secure cell. Wesker had gone out of his way to make it clear just how easily he could do such a thing. For another, he'd been beginning to probe around the edges her family's work. He'd get there with or without her. The time for throwing tantrums to create a little space hadn't only passed, but had shown itself to backfire horribly.
She did have another path available, more suited to her strengths. She'd have to start playing his little game in earnest now. Marigold shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, getting them under her so that she crouched more than sat in the chair. Wesker's arm tensed, hand exerting just the smallest amount of pressure. This close up, she could see his eyes dilate.
Good.
Marigold locked her own frame, but kept her movement slow, sinuous. She reached up to take hold of the arm at her throat for leverage, eyes locked on his. "I'd thought I'd made it clear," she said in a low voice. Her other hand shifted up to grasp at his bicep, just above his elbow, both bringing herself closer, and preventing him from closing the distance.
She straightened her legs, uncurling her body to bring herself - well, face to collarbone. This would have been more effective in her stilettos. Too late to worry about that now, she thought, and continued. " I don't intend to run. I happen to have an aligned interest in seeing Spencer declawed. We can work out details when we're not under a deadline."
Now on her feet, she slipped her hand down under his arm and drove up in a short, sharp movement - just enough to get him to break his hold. In the reflection of his glasses, she could see that her eyes took on an animalistic sheen in the low light of the office, brightened with adrenaline.
The moment stretched out, unbearably elastic. Wesker inclined his head, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Look whose claws came out," he said, voice pitched low and teasing. "You might actually be able to do as you say. But," he continued, stepping around to stand behind her, with one heavy hand taking hold of her shoulder to prevent her from turning. "I'll still have assurances."
Wesker ghosted the knuckles of his other hand down the back of her neck, chuckling in her ear as she suppressed a shiver. She could feel the vibration of it through her body, the way she had when he had ambushed her the day she had tried to flee Raccoon City. Marigold felt him ball the back of her collar in one hand, slowly pulling it away and down while the seams began to give way, and the front drew tight around her throat. "After all, the place will be crawling with Umbrella operatives. And the government agencies, of course. Does your friend control them all?"
Marigold didn't answer. Wesker's leather-clad thumb began to rub light circles at the nape of her neck, changing pressure every few seconds. Seconds later, he replaced it with his mouth, sucking at the soft flesh before biting down, hard.
She could smell blood.
Marigold yelped in surprise - or would have, if his other hand hadn't clapped tight over her mouth. Teeth hit leather, and Wesker groaned quietly behind her. A deep cramping pain bloomed in her lower abdomen, accompanied by a searing sense of heat. Her knees threatened to buckle. The world fell out of focus. His grip only tightened. Marigold sagged back against him, disoriented.
"There's one sure way into the city for you, and one way out," Wesker murmured in her ear. "And I think you can only go so long before you'll attract Umbrella's attention. So here's what's going to happen here…"
The timer on her watch would beep once and vibrate at fifteen minutes. With luck, she'd be able to hear it and keep going to the next phase of this little sit-in.
Taking a deep breath, Marigold sent her mind down into the burning pit that she perceived as the NEST. Normally she relaxed into this. Dealing with Irons had left a bad taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with scotch. They'd left a wolf to guard the henhouse.
The predatory gleam in the eye of Katherine's 'uncle' left a bad taste in her mouth. Her own 'uncle' had never looked at her quite like that, but the parallels were still jarring.
Perhaps it was for the best that she couldn't relax. She needed to brace herself for that pit of seething rage, even as she attempted to lull it into a temporary calm. Annette had better be ready, she thought.
Because once she held on for long enough, she was going to try something new.