Lockup

She had the door unlocked and open before he could count ten Mississippis, just as she had promised.

"Holy…" he began, in awe. "You really have gotten better…"

"Have I ever lied to you," she asked slyly. "It was a shitty lock, anyways. I probably could have gotten it open with a pen cap and tampon," Claire added as she pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, but the wind had picked up, buffeting the trees and windows. No one was around for miles, and if they were, they wouldn't hear the two over the noise of the night.

"Did you make sure you didn't damage the lock?"

She sighed. "You go from dumbstruck amazement to gratingly doubtful really quickly, don't you?"

"…I wouldn't say it was 'dumbstruck' amazement," he grumbled, following her through the shrouded doorway.

"I'm guessing you don't want me to turn on the lights," said Claire, tucking her flashlight's end under her shirt to dim the bright light before he could reply.

"It's only good thinking," he said, copying her action with his gloved fingers. She pointed wordlessly to the 'Records' sign, and led the way through a cluttered hallway strewn with folders and cabinets. "I guess neatness isn't a requirement to work here," he mumbled. Leon hated unnecessary messes. Sharing living quarters with the sloppy Carlos was slowly but surely driving him insane.

"Any ideas where we can start," she asked hopefully.

"Well, going from the information we had in the folder, checking the lot's address is probably the best bet."

"Good thinking," said Claire, as she turned to smile brightly at him.

"I have my moments," he replied. Leon wondered if she was really that impressed with his suggestion. He'd had a mind for detective work, but not her quick thinking wits and resourcefulness. They really did complement one another well, he thought.

She stopped at a cabinet just ahead of him, and turned to open a drawer. The rusty hinges creaked loudly, sending a shiver of fear along his back as Claire cringed at the sharp sound.

"Sorry," she whispered meekly. Looking around, she seemed to decide something, yanking it all the way out, the screech of metal like a death cry in the silence. She flashed Leon an unapologetic look.

"Subtle," said Leon, drawing out his flashlight to point down at the files. With no windows in the hallway, they were safe to use their lights. Still, he paid heed to keep the light's edge down low, never pointing down the path they had come from. "See anything?"

"God," she groaned. "Thirty seconds of thumbing through these and I'm already bored."

"Well, get used to it," replied Leon, going methodically through his own stack. "Sherry needs us. She needs you."

"You're right," said Claire, feeling guilty for wasting time. She began to work faster, flipping through the stack at a blinding speed. "Here we go," she said, pulling one from the row.

"That's a match," Leon said, looking at the address and lot number on the folder's edge. "Let's have a look," he added as she opened the folder. "With the name of the owner, we can get a trace on their finances and track them down."

"Leon," she whispered weakly. "I don't think that's going to work…"

"Why not?"

She held the folder up for him to see, and he understood her dismay. The entire file was page after page of blank paper.

--

"I think someone beat us here," she said quietly.

"That's entirely possible," he coolly replied. "But I am curious as to how they could find a facility not even in the company's listed assets, and before us."

"Who knows," wondered Ada. "But there is definitely a group moving through this facility, in a search-and-seizure formation."

"I see…so probably professionals…how many?"

"I would guess a half dozen or so by these tracks. But there might be another squad somewhere else in the facility…"

"If that is the case, I want you to trim down the numbers. A few casualties, and they will no doubt abscond from the area."

"That's quite an assumption, Wesker…besides, I'm equipped for a biohazard, not an anti-personnel situation." No response. "Wesker?"

"I have performed a satellite reconnaissance of the area, and found their helicopter. There is only one, with enough room for nine armed men and a pilot. You should have no problem handling them."

"And an outbreak…have you been able to confirm or deny that possibility?"

"No, I haven't. But considering the limited population in the area, you are most likely safe from harm. Besides, you have the pheromone device I had made for you on your side."

"You do know how to spoil a girl, Albert."

"Does that mean you have accepted the value of my device despite its…unique aroma?"

"Guess we'll have to wait and see," she said, climbing down a long elevator shaft. If there was one thing she hated about infiltration, it was the 'no elevator' policy. Especially with Big Brother Wesker watching, she couldn't screw around like she had in the past. The humidity was dropping as she descended further and further underground, but Ada still felt an oppressive heat about her. Whoever had appropriated this facility, they liked it warm. Which made her wonder why they made no use of the upper levels.

She was about to ask Wesker his input on the oddity when she heard footsteps in the tunnel below her. They were clumsy footfalls, and it sounded like a person fumbling around in confusion. Leaning back on the ladder, Ada could see nothing, only darkness spilling out of the doorway. Maybe someone lost their flashlight, she thought. Anxious for a chance to use Wesker's other new device, she drew a grapple hook from a compartment on her belt, wrapping it around the rungs of the ladder. Testing the slackness of the steel cable, she let herself fall, the device slowing her silent descent. She dropped to the lower level without making a noise, leaving the cable attached in case she needed to make a hasty retreat.

The tunnel was dimly lit at the far end with what appeared to be string lights, like the ones used in Christmas decorations. But that was impossible. Her clear eyes fixed on the lights in the distance, she began to creep forward. A gust of movement behind her, and Ada realized it was too late. Whoever it was, they had made the noise to draw the curious in, and she had foolishly rushed to check on it. Now she felt the cool barrel of a gun on the back of her head, and heard the cock of the hammer.

--

"It's the O.R.E.," she said with conviction.

"What is?"

"They knew we were coming here today…no one else but them. And now we have a file here with blank pages instead of an actual lead."

"Claire, the building burned down a week ago. Whoever did this had ample time to take the documents."

"This is a rush job, Leon," she said, raising her voice. "A week's time, anyone who knows what they're doing will fill this out with bogus bullshit. Not just stick a bunch of blank paper in it to make it look like something's there at first glance!"

"If they were that concerned about us, they would've just tried to keep us from getting in here. Instead, we got in easily—"

As he spoke, a shaft of bright light flooded the room from the outside. The searchlight panned side to side, and the two shielded their eyes with their hands before they knew what was going on. Too late, Leon realized what it was, diving to the floor and pulling Claire down with him.

"It's a police searchlight," he whispered loudly.

"The fuzz? So they were watching for us," she said, shooting him a look.

"Shit…that means they already knew we were here," Leon muttered, and Claire stared at him hopefully.

"So you're starting to see what I'm seeing?"

He shrugged, his inner thoughts in turmoil. "I guess you can only deny so much."

Her only response was a nod. "So what now?"

"Hold on a sec," said Leon. Waiting for the swiveling light to pass overhead, Leon crept up to the window. "I only count three cruisers, which means six, seven cops at most. They're probably setting up a perimeter," he whispered over his shoulder, turning back to Claire, startled to find her face inches from his, her eyes a swimming sea of wild, muted grays.

"Jesus!" he gasped loudly, his face reddening. She could move quietly, that much was clear.

"Sorry," she said, a slight smile on her lips. He got the feeling she wasn't sorry at all. "So we're surrounded, outnumbered, and unarmed, huh," she asked, keeping her head down.

"Looks that way," he replied, looking at her warily. "You can stop grinning, you know."

"What? This just…brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"Why do I always get this feeling that I'm going to die when I'm around you?"

"Deal with your mortality issues later…what do we do now?"

Leon wondered that himself, running a hand through his hair. With Claire's hopeful young face looking up to him for guidance, he realized what had to be done.

"You stay here," he ordered, his voice gaining decisiveness. "I'll set up a distraction in the front, one big enough to get all the surrounding guys running my way. Slip through the back once its clear and loop around the woods. They probably haven't found your bike yet, but wait a while before taking off. Use that side road we saw on the way here, not the main road. I'll probably be out of commission for the weekend, so follow up on the missing persons report from the fire, compare it to the federal database your brother hacked into."

"Wait," she said, nodded at his words. A newfound appreciation for this leadership showed clearly on her face, but still she found the need to resist. "I'm not just leaving you behind."

"Claire," he insisted. "I'll be fine; there's no sense in both of us getting locked away for the entire weekend…and you're the only one who can freely follow up on that lead. And ride that bike of yours," he added, muttering the last part under his breath.

"Leon…" she whispered, her eyes welling up with emotion.

"Besides," he shrugged as he turned to the front entrance. "I was lying before. Jail food isn't actually that bad."

As he turned to make sure she was doing as he had said, he was unexpectedly met with fiery, silken lips rising to meet his own in a surprising and passionate embrace. She flung soft, supple arms around his neck as she pressed against his strong body, her fragrant scent and warm mouth mixing to taste of summer sweet honeyed flowers. Stumbling back in surprise at her sudden fervor, Leon composed himself just in time to give her one tender kiss before heading to the door. Claire took his hand into her own, interlocking his fingers in her own, holding him for just a moment. Understanding the nervous fire in one another's heart, they exchanged one last, knowing smile before he stepped out to meet the advancing men.

--

The first man was heavy set, large bellied and slow. Somehow he had moved his way up to the front line, probably itching for action. Well, he would certainly get some of that tonight, vowed Leon. His hands held high, Leon repeated that he was not armed. When the heavy man stepped within his reach, Leon flattened his hand and thrust his fingertips into the man's jowled throat, forcing the air out in a gasp. Grabbing the man's flailing arm, Leon twisted his body, hurling the man onto the next nearest deputy.

Another fresh-faced deputy swung a police baton at Leon, which he caught easily in his right hand, pulling the younger man off balance and towards his left swinging elbow. The deputy's jaw cracked at the impact, and Leon could feel teeth dislodge. The young deputy fell to the ground, blood spewing from his mouth as he reached for his sidearm.

"No, he's not armed," croaked the fat man, rising to his feet. "Pepper the sonuvabitch," he ordered hoarsely, nursing his raw throat.

Having expected this, Leon was already circling to his left, towards another pair of oncoming deputies that had come running from the back entrance. Pretending not to see them, Leon waited until they were just upon him when he suddenly mule kicked back with his right leg, fracturing three ribs on the closer deputy. Planting his foot in the man's sinking belly, Leon pushed off and spun in the air, flattening the other with a roundhouse kick. He turned back to meet the last men, small black canisters in their eager hands.

"Eat this, you bastard," squealed the one with blood gushing from his broken nose.

"No, wait," yelled the other man, but it was too late. Claire had been right in her underestimation of small town cops. Leon suspected this was the only action they had seen beyond speeding tickets, and the bleeding man's actions confirmed those thoughts. The man had failed to notice Leon position himself upwind, despite that movement allowing a pair of men to nearly flank him. Instinctively bringing his arm up to protect his eyes and nose, Leon heard the howls of the men as the spray was returned to them via the wind.

His eyes watered slightly as he stepped forward into the fading mist, but he had luckily avoided the worst of it. A sweeping side kick took out the two reeling men, who fell in a neat pile. But then the heavy man was brandishing a pistol with his one good arm, a malicious look in his eyes.

"One more step and I shoot your balls off, boy," he said through gritted teeth. "I can always plant a piece on you afterwards." From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow that could only have been Claire stealing away from the building. Relenting, Leon raised his hands and got on his knees.

"Whatever you say, officer," Leon said, his face solemn. "A promising career working for the President…all gone, before it could even start," he muttered under his breath.

"Only the dumbest of the dumb shits resist arrest in my county," said the large man, looming over Leon. Without warning, he brought the butt his pistol down, hard, and Leon sunk into darkness.

--

"What are you doing here," he whispered angrily at her as she sat in the stiff chair across from his cell.

She didn't seem to hear him, trying to get comfortable. "That all they got you with," she asked, pointing at his swollen eye. "That's not so bad," she added, but her carefree words were betrayed by the concern on her face.

"I'm fine," said Leon. "Luckily for me they weren't in any shape to do more."

"Luckily for them they could even walk away after that whooping," she said, clearly impressed by the memory. "You really kicked ass, Leon."

"Claire…it's risky for you to be here," he reminded her sternly, deflecting her compliment.

"Why," she argued. "I was never seen with you at the scene of the crime."

He cringed. "Do you have to call it that?"

"What's the matter, don't like being the bad boy," she asked coyly.

"Not exactly…"

"Just think of it like this: the only women who visit the good boys in prison are their mommies."

"This isn't prison, just a holding cell," he said, annoyed. He had called Graham's lawyers hours ago, and still no action. "Besides, mommi—mothers, at least bring cake," he muttered, plopping down on the cot.

"Well, this isn't cake, but I hope it'll do," she said, pulling out a bag of greasy fast food. Leaping up to snatch it eagerly, he tore the paper bag open and immediately began stuffing handfuls of burger and fries into his mouth. He stopped when he saw Claire's bemused expression at his voraciousness, and slowed his binge. "You weren't lying about this jail food," she said, scrunching her nose at the tray of grayish mush by his cell. Examining the food closely, she laughed. "My god, are those grits?"

"These bumpkins love that crap," he said, the mere thought of it bringing disdain. "Thanks for the food," he added, holding up a juicy burger in acknowledgement.

She waved her hand. "No need for thanks. Besides, I should be thanking you," she said.

"Thanks from you," he asked, faking an incredulous expression. "That's a first," he grinned.

"Today's full of firsts; I don't think I've ever seen someone enjoy fast food with such…gusto," she shot back.

"This is four star compared to the crap they feed us in the O.R.E."

"Speak of the devil," replied Claire, sitting back down. "What are you going to do about your job?"

He shrugged, putting down a burger. "I've been asking myself that same thing."

"And?"

"I'm going to do exactly what they're doing to me: use them for as long as I can. Use their resources, their equipment, their personnel. If anyone is going to know where Sherry is, it'll be Graham."

"My sentiments exactly…but maybe you should wait until their lawyers spring you before you confront your boss," she suggested.

"That's if they ever get here," he replied, reflexively looking down at his watch. But there was no timepiece there, as the deputies had taken it along with all his other possessions.

"You worried they might not bother with you now that you're a…dangerous felon," she asked with an exaggerated gasp.

"Could you please pick your words a bit more carefully," he asked with a sigh, knowing she wouldn't.

"I'm doing the best I can, babe," she laughed. "Besides," she whispered, leaning towards him. "I got a plan fer springin' ya."

"Ugh, don't tell me you planted a shiv in the food," he said, rubbing his stomach.

"No, but it does involve me attaching chains to your outside bars and my bike…" she said with a wink.

"Look, Claire…I appreciate you coming down here and bringing me food and all, but you should really be on the move now, following up the leads on the missing persons…"

She sighed. "No offense, Leon, but visiting to bring you food isn't the reason I'm here," she confessed. "I can't get a hold of the missing persons reports, especially not those half dozen people. I tried your connection, but he has no access to them. I need someone with real pull to get me in."

"Have you tried cross-referencing the names of the residence list with the obits?"

"First thing I tried. But there were fewer names on the residence than the obituaries…"

"Meaning they weren't accurate in the first place."

"Exactly."

He stroked his chin. "This must extend to all the offices in this region then. Be careful whom you trust," he suggested, his eyes deep with worry.

"Worrying about me, Leon," she asked playfully. "I am a Redfield, after all."

"Just be careful," he asked, his voice gently pleading.

She nodded, her bright eyes locked with his. "I'll be back for you," she promised.

--

"We really should stop meeting like this," she said, seemingly oblivious of the handgun pressed dangerously to the back of her head.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were stalking me," retorted the other woman, reaching around to take away Ada's pistol.

"And here I thought we were good friends," cooed Ada. "You point a gun at all your friends' heads?"

"Just keep the hands up, lady," said Claire, agitated at Ada's familiar tone. "You may have helped me on Rockfort Island, but I sure as hell don't trust anyone working with Wesker."

"Wesker…? Who's that," asked Ada, turning around slowly.

"The guy probably on the other end of that headset," replied Claire. "Kill it," she ordered with a wave of her gun.

Ada removed the earpiece, her eyes straining to find the gun's barrel. The younger woman had been waiting in the darkness for a long time, her eyes used to the gloom.

"Who are those other men with you," demanded Claire, her eyes showing no trace of nervousness or agitation. She had learned much over the past months, thought Ada, smiling.

"Look at my equipment," Ada answered. "Do I look like I'm part of a team operation?"

"No…but you don't look like someone who'd work for Wesker either."

"Oh, and what should a Wesker goon look like?"

"You should know."

"I'm sorry to say I don't."

"How did you know who I was before?"

"A little bird told me…"

"Who?"

"There are more players involved in this little game than you could ever guess…"

"And whose side do you work on?"

Ada thought about it for a moment, her eyes softening as her voice dropped to something just above a whisper. "Honestly…I don't know anymore…but if I had to choose one right now, and my life depended on it…"

"Yeah?"

Ada crossed her arms as if in thought, tilting her head back slightly. The younger Redfield kept her eyes intently on the other woman, but made the mistake of watching Ada's eyes to tell if she was being sincere or not. Under her folded arm, Ada reached for the button on the side of her belt.

"Do I have to remind you who has the gun," Claire asked, waving the gun to illustrate her point.

The moment the gun was pointed slightly away from her, Ada leapt forward and simultaneously pushed the retract button on her harness, zipping her towards Claire in a blur of blinding motion. Tucking her body into a ball, Ada flipped forward and came down in a kick, hammering the gun in Claire's hand to the floor as she threw an elbow into the younger woman's temple.

More by instinct than anything else, Claire rolled with the blow, twisting her whole body sideways. Spinning in the air, she braced herself to gather her balance as she smoothly drew her knife. Ada, meanwhile, had taken the slack of the thin steel cord into her hands, forming a small loop with it. As Claire lunged forward to counter with her knife, Ada sidestepped, locking her forearm within the loop. Leaping back, Ada tightened the slack, pinning Claire in the middle of the hallway as she flailed helplessly.

"Drop it or I retract the cable," ordered Ada. "And then you'll lose your pretty little hand."

Claire looked glumly at Ada, her muscles slowly losing their tenseness. As she released the knife reluctantly, Ada began to remove the device from her belt to loosen the slack. But before the knife could hit the ground, Claire quickly kicked the handle of the spinning knife with the toe of her boot and into her free hand. She began to hack desperately at the cable, making Ada laugh.

"You are a piece of work, Claire Redfield," chuckled Ada. "That cable is made of enforced steel fibers; no knife in the world will cut through it—"

Without a second's hesitation, Claire unexpectedly turned and hurled the knife savagely at the laughing spy. Ducking under it, the blade clattered harmlessly off the wall behind Ada.

"Now, that wasn't very nice," she said, tightening the cord's grip enough to make Claire grimace.

"…You're just lucky I had to throw that with my left hand, or you'd have two mouths that talk too much."

"Silly girl, I know you were aiming for my shoulder," replied Ada. "Still too soft for your own good, I see."

Just as Claire was about to reply, a flood of lights appeared at the far end of the hallway, a rush of armed shadows running towards them. Turning back to the shaft, Ada saw another group of men rappelling down it, also armed. Trapped from both sides, she had no choice but to surrender.

--

The simple room was smoky, a handful of important men gathered around a long table. Outside a tall gothic window, rain cascaded down the panels in gentle rivulets. The pattering of falling rain was the only sound, the men holding their collective breath after the bombshell dropped by the man seated at the head of the table.

"Is that a wise course of action, sir? The public opinion since the O.R.E. scandal has been nothing but unfavorable…"

"I am aware of the opinion polls, Wesley," replied the man seated at the head of the table. "I am also aware that the public has a tendency to…forget things when given something new to feed on."

"But what about the other party, sir? They're going to bring it back up every chance they can get, in ads, debates—"

"And they were also the party in power when the prior administration nuked a major US city."

"On your recommendation…sir," added another aide, a sullen black man with tired eyes. "With all due respect, of course."

"Of course, Gerald. I am aware of my own role in that…tragedy, but there is no evidence connecting my recommendation to the President at the time."

"How is that possible, sir? My secretary typed the memo you drafted, and I saw you sign it…" inquired another aide.

"My boy, you think the O.R.E. scandal broke because I messed up," he asked with a gusty laugh. "No, it happened because I allowed it to happen, at that time. True, it was inevitable, but the timing of it occurring towards the end of the current President's administration was no coincidence. As it stands, I've been able to besmirch two administrations while coming out clean, and at crucial times. The public will associate this latest scandal with current President Sears, not hopeful Presidential candidate Graham."

"But I don't understand sir…what about the memos," asked the aide again.

"Gerald, the O.R.E. supposedly operated independently from my orders. So legally, on the record, I have no idea. As far as I know, that document could or could not exist. But now, say a few rogue agents took it upon themselves to vindicate the President's good name by destroying some vital documents…of course, I wouldn't know anything about that. But it could happen."

"Quite a brilliant stroke, Mr. Secretary," admired Gerald. "But what about the agents in question? The legal chain of evidence will connect you as long as they can testify against you."

"Believe me, those men have nothing on me compared to what I have on them…"

"But they could be promised immunity in exchange for their testimony…"

"We'll worry about it if that day comes. As it stands, two criminal liars against the word of the next President of the United States isn't much. Long as there isn't a stained dress," he laughed.

"And what about this latest development…with that scientist's daughter?"

"Ah yes, another valuable piece of ammunition," Graham said thoughtfully. "Imagine if word got out that the President had a private task force brought in to eliminate a teenage girl, a US citizen at that? How poorly would that reflect on his integrity, much less his leadership…?"

"Do we have a picture of the girl?"

"I'm sure Wesley here can dig through the archives and find one. But I've seen her file photos. White, pretty, wholesome…the public will be up in arms when we leak this tidbit to the press."

"And your own involvement, sir," asked Gerald, his lazy eyes deceptively intent on the Secretary's every action.

"My advice to the President has been purely out of our friendship and for the sake of this country. I understand the threat she represents, but of course I am not giving advice from a position of power."

"Meaning, your paper trail results in no legal obligation," finished Gerald, a flash of disapproval in his eyes.

"Jerry, it's too late for her," Graham replied sincerely. "She's killed honest, hard working Americans. She's a threat to national security. Imagine if that virus in her spread…we're talking worldwide panic."

"If it's that serious, maybe it shouldn't be used for political footing," Gerald mumbled a bit too loudly.

Graham glared at his old friend with cold, steely eyes, ending the meeting with an abrupt wave of his hand. After the smoky room cleared, a rail-thin man with sunken light eyes entered, holding a teakettle atop a sterling silver tray.

"Gerald made a good point, sir," said the man. "Those agents can connect you to everything."

"I know," replied Graham, folding his hands together. "But pawns are sacrificed everyday and no one's the wiser…"

"Very well, sir," nodded the man knowingly. "Will there be anything else?"

"Gerald is…no longer on board with us," said Graham, pausing to stare out the window at the rain. "We cannot stand for that, especially in light of the next stage of our plan…"

"I agree, sir," replied the man, setting down a cup and pouring hot, steaming liquid into it. "Shall I…take care of him?" Graham pressed his hands together in response, bringing them to his chin in an almost prayer-like pose.

"Don't go overboard," he said coolly, sipping at his tea before setting it down. "He was a friend, once." As the man quietly bowed out of the room, Graham sat solemnly for a long, long time before he buried his face in his hands. Outside, the rain continued to fall.


Note: There are a few developments I rushed a bit here, but I felt it was about time I added them. Most notably Leon kicking some ass at the expense of small town cops (whom I have no respect for), Graham revealing more of his plan (as well as a slight amount of guilt for it), his desire for the Presidency, and Ada crossing paths with Claire again. Not to mention the romance angle with Leon and Claire. I had meant to do a 'full circle' approach here, similar to an earlier chapter with its pairings, situations, etc, though it didn't quite come out as I expected. I hope I left a bit of mystery here and there too, like the ORE scandal, the squad at the facility, and a few more things. Hope it makes you want to read more! My favorite image was that ending one of Graham unable to cry for his friend, and the rain crying for him. Kind of cheesy, but I liked it.

P.S. I have nothing against grits. They just look really unappealing to anyone unfamiliar with them. They're not bad with butter or gravy. In small quantities, of course. One can only handle so much blandness.