Chapter 21

"Good Byes And Flight"

August 4th 1995

Brian was on the helicopter pad on the roof of the mansion which stood over the underground laboratories at eight o'clock the next evening, his rucksack was a noticeable weight on his back, his two duffel bags laying next to him. He held the two rifle bags in his left hand, who's combined weight of thirteen pounds were causing the bags' handles to dig painfully into his palm.

He didn't dare put them down, because the two soldiers by the door might wonder what was in those bags that was so heavy. Best not to call attention to himself. Brian recognized the soldiers stationed by the doorway. They were members of Jay's Fire Team.

Brian turned his head slightly when a figure appeared in the corner of his eye. It was Jay.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"As sure as I can be," Brian told him.

"Can I ask why?"

Brian let out an exhausted sigh and lowered his head, "I'm tired, Jay. All I see here is death. As Popeye said, 'That's all's I can stands, and I can't stands no more.'"

Jay chuckled, "Okay. Fair enough."

They waited in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Jay thinking about the last three decades he had spent there, Brian thinking about what he was going to do next. Finally, they heard the high-pitched whine of a helicopter's turbine engine and the whump-whump-whump of it's rotors. They looked to the transport as it appeared over the treetops.

"Packed everything?" Jay asked, "Shirts, socks, underwear, toothbrush, antiperspirant, gas mask, whoopee cushion?"

Brian let out a laugh, "Yeah, I got everything. Including a Survival Manual."

Jay's face turned serious, "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'm gonna miss you too," Brian told him.

The Army surplus helicopter landed on the pad in front of them, dust and dead leaves kicked into the air by the chopper's rotors.

As soon as the landing skids settled on the landing pad, two male nurses wheeled a gurney out of the doorway. The two soldiers marched next to the gurney as though they were escorting a convict from a maximum security prison. On the gurney was a black plastic body bag.

Both Brian and Jay knew that the remains of the female subject had been placed inside the body bag and was being taken away for proper disposal somewhere.

"Three days of checking to make sure she's dead," Brian muttered through clenched teeth, "And they still have her under guard. Can't they let her rest yet?"

"It's not fair, I know. They won't even give her a proper burial," Jay told him.

The two nurses slid the body bag into the transport and headed back into the mansion, followed by the two soldiers.

Brian picked up the two duffel bags next to him, and headed towards the helicopter, followed by his friend. He loaded his things in next to the body bag, trying his best not to look at the container of his sister's remains, and closed the sliding door.

As Jay watched his friend, he noticed for the first time how old Brian really was. Though he still had a rather childish face, his hair was starting to gray at the temples, and the setting sun brought out the wrinkles and worry lines that the florescent lights of the lab had hidden so well.

Jay thought back on how his friend almost always had a lopsided smile stuck on his face as though he was perpetually amused with the lab, and indeed, the world around him. Now that he had found out about Brian's sister, Jay had to wonder how much of his friend's humor had been forced, and how much had escaped him over the course of their time in the subterranean labs.

One thing was for sure, if one was to meet Brian for the first time just now, they would think that he had never laughed a day in his life.

Brian turned to Jay and pulled him into a hug.

"I'll invite you over for Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner, give me a reason to cook something other than a Swanson's TV Dinner."

"Good, it'll give me a reason to eat something other than the crap they serve in here," Jay told him, before pulling away.

"Later," Brian said.

"Later," Jay replied, then turned and headed back into the mansion.

Brian crossed in front of the helicopter, to the pilot's side and tapped on the glass until the pilot opened the door.

"I got orders to take this helicopter to it's destination!" Brian shouted over the roar of the turbine engine and held out an official document to the pilot.

He had no real orders, the papers were forged. He hoped the pilot would fall for it.

The pilot read the document carefully, then turned to Brian, "These are from Spencer?"

"Yeah, they came right from the top!"

"This some covert shit?"

"Need to know!"

The pilot muttered a curse that was drowned out by the whine of the engine and the steady whump-whump-whump of the rotors and produced and set of papers.

"Still gotta sign for the chopper, or it's my ass!"

Brian took the papers and the pen and, using the side of the helicopter as a writing surface, signed for the transport under the new lab director's name.

He handed the papers back to the pilot as he got out of the helicopter, "Remember, keep this quiet!"

The pilot waived Brian's reminder aside and headed into the mansion.

Brian got into the helicopter and put on the set of headphones that would allow him to hear over the sound of the engine. He pulled a screw driver from his pocket, and proceeded to remove the panel to the transport's tracking system. He then took a small black box from the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. The box had three wires protruding from the top, a small number pad like those found on pay phones, and a switch under the keypad.

He attached the wires on the box to wires on the helicopter's tracking system before turning to the transport's controls. He grasped the lever to his right, the one that controlled the helicopter's climb and decent, and the joystick in his left hand. He then placed his feet on the control pedals, took a deep breath, and raised the control lever slowly.

The helicopter's landing skids ground on the landing pad before the chopper rose into the air. Brian gently manipulated the collective controls until the chopper was on course, speeding over the treetops towards Raccoon City.

After a time of listening to Air Traffic Controllers and other aircraft over the radio's headset, he scanned the rows of controls for a time. Thankfully, a helicopter was not like a car in the respect that, if it was high enough, you could take your eyes off of the view front of you. Brian took his eyes from the windshield long enough to turn off the helicopter's transponder, causing the transport to appear as just another unremarkable blip on the Air Traffic Controller's radar screen.

The helicopter entered Raccoon City about an hour later, and Brian flew over a rather deserted street, just above the buildings when his radio crackled to life and someone started asking for him by name.

"Brian, you there? Over," the voice asked.

"I'm here Edward, what's your status? Over,"

"Two miles from your present location, heading north. Over,"

"Switch to the alternate frequency. Over,"

"Roger."

Brian turned several dials on the radio until he heard Edward's voice, "Testing...Brian you there?"

"Roger."

"You ready to do this? Over,"

"Roger, drop below radar coverage and activate on my signal, over,"

"Acknowledged"

Brian lowered the control lever and felt the helicopter respond almost at once. He waited until he was well below the rooftops and just barely high enough to clear the stoplights.

"Three," Brian said into the microphone and let his finger rest on the switch on the box, "Two, one, activate."

He flipped the switch on the black box, keeping his eyes on the intersection in front of him. It's a good thing he did keep his eyes on the intersection, because a second later a helicopter identical to the one he was flying appeared from between the buildings and banked sharply until it was heading in the same direction Brian was.

Brian pulled the joystick of his own aircraft and pressed down on the appropriate pedal until the transport banked to the right and headed along the other helicopter's previous course.

Edward's voice crackled over Brian's headphones, "You think this is going to work? Over."

"Only if you got everything, over."

"Run me through the list one more time, over."

"My identification? Over."

"Check."

"Papers showing you as the assigned personnel for transportation of female subject 002 for orderly disposal? Over?"

"What? Brian I just barely got my G.E.D. Could you run that by me again? Over,"

Brian groaned and simplified the question, "You the FedEx man?"

"Oh, check."

"Got the body? Over."

Now Edward's voice sounded considerably more uncomfortable, "Check."

"Did you give the injection?"

"Just before we left, check."

"Then that's everything. Just remember, land, show the ID, show the papers, unload the body, and get out of there. Over."

"Roger. Good luck, Brian. Over and under…err…out."

It wasn't until then that it hit Brian. The words "Good luck" that was most likely an offhanded comment on Edward's part, made Brian realize the full scope of what he was doing. It wasn't fear of the law, it was fear of Umbrella. They hated lose ends, but what he was doing was more than a lose end, it was downright mockery. If the public had found out about this, Umbrella would not only be ruined, but they would be humiliated by a relatively unknown medical doctor who minored in genetic science and nano-technology, and who had befriended a career enlisted soldier.

"Good luck, Edward. Over and out."