--Interlude
The payphone was as ancient as the cobblestone street, situated in the middle of nowhere, and completely unremarkable save its convenience at that moment. He slid into the cool shade of it, pulling the booth door shut behind him. The walls were lined with long outdated flyers, most peeling to a faded yellow from time in the sun, and the narrow booth smelled of dust and misuse.
He dropped a coin into the slot, dialing a long number from memory. His ears still rang as he wiped the drying blood from his forehead. Most of his clothes were torn to shreds, and the exposed skin was covered with burns and caked blood. Fighting his blurring vision, he waited a moment for it to return to focus before dialing the last two numbers. The whirr of the phone buzzed in his ear, the repetitive drone of the line sounding like distant music to his shell-shocked ears. Finally, it clicked as someone picked up the other line. It was a man's voice, a slight Southern twang hidden by practiced study and linguistics training.
"Yes?"
"The operation was a failure, sir. They knew we were coming and were waiting for us."
Silence.
"They wiped out my whole unit and any evidence they were even there, sir."
"So you're telling me all you have are dead bodies and nothing of value to show for it?"
"…Yes, sir."
"My, you certainly live up to your nickname, Mr. Death. However, when you were referred to me, I heard nothing about this so-called 'death' involving my other paid employees…"
"Sir, they're not all dead…with a few in critical condition."
"Nevertheless, this is not what I paid good money for, boy. Is this type of…routine commonplace for you?"
He sighed. "No sir, it is not."
"So you'll understand if your payment is not as we initially agreed upon as well."
"Of course."
"Well, now that we have that out of the way…do you at least have any leads?"
"Our wire hasn't picked up anything. They had an escape shaft that led to the sewers, and from there they could access any Tube in London. We've made the calls to the proper channels in the travel outlets, but with my men all incapacitated, our surveillance is quite limited."
"Were you able to dispatch any of the targets?"
"…No sir, we were unable to…but I have it on the word of one of my men that he winged one of the women."
"And…Kennedy?"
"He was with them, sir, so we followed him and the Redfield girl to the other three, possibly more."
A long silence. "Very well. Do not use this number again. The deposit is all you shall ever receive from me in the form of payment. I would advise staying out of my realm of knowledge if you wish to continue breathing as well."
"…Very well…sir." He heard the line drop, and knew he was alone. That bastard Graham was going to get his someday, he thought, and Hunk was just the type of man to deliver.
--
A bright image appeared on the overhead screen, crystal clear cascading colors. Vibrant, untamed, and wildly lush jungle foliage stood out starkly from the pristine mountains in the horizon's postcard perfect backdrop.
"Whoa, fancy new equipment…someone's been a good supervillain lately," said Ada, nibbling her pencil.
"Business has been good," admitted Wesker, standing behind the podium at the front of the room and looking over the new hardware. A high domed ceiling overshadowed the room, and the view screen would have dwarfed any Cineplex. Six rows of eight chairs lined the lower level, and a wide stage ran the length of the entire room, with a pulpit and gold railing running along its front. For all its fancy trim, the two were alone in the massive briefing room.
"So is that my next vacation destination," she asked, already knowing the answer. It didn't really matter; she had been cooped up inside this new facility for nearly seven months, and desperately wanted any excuse to get out. But Wesker didn't need to know that.
"Hardly; it is the site of an old Umbrella facility, abandoned nearly twenty five years ago."
"Please tell me this isn't another antique scavenging expedition…"
"I suspect there is something of value at this facility," he answered curtly, pushing a hidden button. Another image came on, a series of charts and graphs. "The power output was literally nonexistent for over twenty four years. Only after researching the accounts past due for the corporation was I able to locate this…anomaly."
"You've been keeping up on Umbrella's overdue bills? That's just sick, Wesker."
"The money is in the details, Ada. What stands out is that no one connected to the corporation should even know about this facility's existence, and yet for nearly half a year, someone has been utilizing it."
"For what purpose?"
"That is what you are going to find out."
She groaned. "Least I'll be able to work on my tan…" she said, looking over her pale arms.
"Not quite," he said, smiling frostily. "The facility is underground."
--
Bursting her bubble had given him a renewed sense of satisfaction. He strode through the halls in deathly silence, his cat-like eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Not the largest of men, his presence was more than that of a man twice his size. Others cowered in his presence, and all leapt unquestioningly from his straight lined path. He was unstoppable, a primal force of nature that manifested itself in the soul of every man ever to live. What drove Wesker was what caused others to hate themselves; the human condition was frail, imprecise…temporary. But to survive, to strive in this world, one needed to be exact, to calculate, to wear the masks society required. It was only when he cast aside the mask that had been his life for so many years did he finally realize and accept what he was.
It was an immortal thing, really, that hazy inkling that lurked in the hearts of men since the dawn of time. First arriving as suspicious doubts, they formed veiled doubt, an acceptance of fate, then finally, deadly action. Self-preservation, some labeled it, or the survival instinct. That was what his first shrink had called it. But young Albert knew it was more than that. It wasn't fear that drove him to do the awful things he did. It wasn't wealth, or ambition. It was timeless. It was elemental, like the raging storms that ravaged homes built along the coasts, not unlike the betrayal of one's comrades in exchange for material gain. The same glorious joy one found in watching another sow his or her own seed for destruction. It was inevitable chaos, but in a way, the same joy a florist gained from watching a flower gently bloom in the light.
The communications room was further than he would have liked. He didn't mind the exercise, as the walk gave him a few moments time to collect his thoughts and compose himself properly before an important call. Still, it wasn't nearly as convenient as his former facility, which housed a simple communications system within his own office. Shedding old habitats was much like shedding acquaintances; a thin layer of skin one outgrew. The snake-like metaphor satisfied him immensely. Like that which tempted those in the Garden of Eden, Wesker considered himself a catalyst, a balance by which the universe needed him to equalize. Those who trusted deserved to be betrayed. Those that loved needed to know what it meant to lose that love. Joy must turn to grief and life unto death. It was inevitable, immutable.
Opportunity had presented itself with the first string of experiments. The very idea of changing death to life lusted after his very being, and the possibilities began to snowball as this unearthly science opened itself to reveal a world beyond everything he had ever been told to believe. He had seen Pandora's box crack open ever so slightly, a sliver of dark knowledge seeping out and into his waiting grasp, and he desperately longed to see more. But that was for later; dreams would be put on hold for the time being. He had business to take care of.
The image of a haggard man's face appeared suddenly on the com-link screen. He wasn't old, just seemingly worn out, as if his thirty-something eyes had seen more than their fill. Wesker didn't doubt it. But for what he was paying this man, he figured he could at least afford a vacation or two.
"Status report," Wesker said briskly, deliberately looking down at his watch.
"You're the one late, Wesker," growled the other man. Catching his defiant tone, and realizing who he was talking to, he quickly changed his attitude. "But that's not important compared to what I have for you," he said, his voice steadying.
Wesker rested his chin on a gloved hand, waiting expectantly. His source, for once, seemed to have something of value. Despite an early success, the man had yet to live up to that triumph
"The Birkin girl…I can confirm her…ah, "awakening" to be exactly as you predicted. Quite a brilliant stroke of William," he said admiringly. "To have it take effect—"
"Is that all," Wesker asked tiredly, dismissing the man's words with a wave of his hand. "Do I need to remind you how much I am paying you?"
"That's just the tip, Mr. Wesker…the government is putting out a…hit on the girl."
"A hit…?"
"Yeah, straight from the top, too. Real cloak-and-dagger stuff."
"Are you telling me the US President is putting out a contract on a missing teenage runaway?"
"Not exactly. They're pulling in some top notch core soldiers for the job."
"Military involvement?"
"The advisors have pushed for a minimal degree of knowledge, particularly our golden boy. Strictly need-to-know basis; guess he wants his hands kept clean of this."
"Interesting," said Wesker, stroking his chin thoughtfully. As much as this could ruin his immediate plans, the potential possibilities were endless. The operation was an inevitably; best to make the most of it. The President directly overseeing black ops in a domestic capacity? In a worst-case scenario, the girl was worth as much to him dead or alive. Plus, she would make a great poster child in a smear campaign against the President…maybe opening a ticket for his own potential candidate. His imagination began to run away with itself.
"So did I do good, Mr. Wesker?"
"Indeed you have. Find me proof of knowledge on the President's part, and your next payment will make you…elated."
The man grinned, a gruff smile coming over his square-cut features. "Big like the one last year?"
"Bring me something on par with that Alexia/Veronica sample and I'll even take into consideration your latest request…"
"…Letting me permanently join your organization?"
"One can never have too many capable men, Mr. Krauser."
--
The red file folder, she noticed, was always in his hands. Judging by his appearance and style, black was no doubt his favorite color. However, if one were to witness his greed, one might think green was another color he loved, as much as someone like Wesker could love, that is. But red…no, red was never his color. And yet that folder was never out of his hands, never left about unattended.
That was, until today. After the short briefing, Ada furtively followed Wesker to his office, where he received a reminder about a forthcoming call he was late for. Hurrying from his office, there was no way he could have had the time to store it in his master safe like he usually did. Of this, Ada was certain. She had watched and timed him over the last four months, being careful to never write down her observations, memorizing them carefully. It took him at least 75 seconds to open and secure the master safe, which was automatically locked after being closed. Today he was in and out of his office under sixty. This was her one chance, and she knew it.
Wesker, despite his haste, still had an impervious set of locks on his office door to keep out the curious. It used an optical scanner for Wesker's uniquely colored eyes, but Ada knew he had a backup installed in case of an unplanned mutation. Luckily for her, it was a keycard system, and she had conveniently forgotten to login the card device upon her return from Rockfort Island many months ago.
After the fifth beep, she had surpassed the system's mechanism, and the door swung open with a swish. Not surprisingly, the air was a bit colder in the office, and the décor was minimalist to the point of efficient. What stood out most of all, though, was the red file folder sitting squarely on the center of his desk, begging to be opened. Ada was only too ready to comply, snatching the folder up and eagerly opening it. A startled gasp raced out of her throat despite her best efforts to keep it contained.
Wesker knew. He had known everything from the very beginning. The file contained dates, histories, relationships, anything and everything related to what he wanted: the Birkin girl. She was the key to all of Wesker's plans. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Ada decided she couldn't in good conscience let that happen.
--
She caught up to him at the eastern terminal. He had taken the time to find a bathroom and wash up some, but he still smelled rank enough for her to keep on his ever-moving trail. Claire had no doubt she was of a similar odor, but that mattered little now. He had pretended not to see her at first, but when she got within a few feet of him, he locked eyes with her immediately. They stood in silence, emotions pouring from their young faces, unable to form the words they needed to say.
"Don't go," she said quietly. Even in the noisy bustle of the station, he knew what she had said. He looked away.
"I can't work with them, Claire," he said, shaking his head. "They don't trust me and I'm beginning to wonder why I should trust them."
"You can trust me."
"It's more than just that; there's too much mistrust in them," he said, turning to her. "I'd be careful around them if I were you."
"It was their mistrusting suspicion that got us out of that apartment alive."
"And then they almost shot me afterwards!"
"They were never going to shoot you…they were just unsure of you," she said, herself unsure.
"And did they test you the same way?"
"Well…no."
"That's what I thought. Look, I'll give your group the info you need like I promised, but I'm not going to stick my neck out for them…or anyone else."
"That doesn't sound like you at all."
"Maybe they're right," he said, uncertainty scrawled across his handsome face as he turned away. "Maybe I shouldn't trust people."
"And what about me?"
"I…I'll see you back at the States. I'll be looking for Sherry." As he spoke, she noticed he never looked directly at her when answering her question.
"Leon," she began, struggling to find the words. "I hope you're…alright when I see you again," she added, the worry in her voice obvious.
"Before I go," he began, as a metro pulled into the station. "What was it you started to tell me at the apartment?"
Seeing the steep mistrust in his disillusioned eyes, Claire couldn't bring herself to tell him about Ada, and what she suspected: that the woman who had saved his life was now working with Wesker, the man responsible for the death of countless good people. A man who wanted all of them dead, even Leon, a man he had never even met.
"Nothing important," she said, turning away and hating herself for it. With another doubtful shake of his head, he boarded the train without so much as a goodbye and made it home without incident.
--
Note: I can really feel this story starting to build where I wanted it to from the beginning. This interlude was a bit longer than my other ones, but since it jumped around so much without focusing on any one timeframe, I decided to consider it an interlude. Plus it ties up a lot of segments for the next stage of the story while opening a lot of doors for potential agendas and double crosses. Just hope some of the revelations didn't come off as forced or out of place. They felt very "Metal Gear Solid-ish", but I still like them.
A problem with writing everything out of order is that you want to put one part of a chapter before another one, but then you realize you're missing a part you need from the other to make sense…ugh. I played with the order of the segments until my head hurt, and decided using the European sections as bookends worked rather well. I like the semi-closure of a departure ending, but with unfinished business.
