Hello again. I'm updating like mad today; I know. I'm spoiling you guys, but don't expect this pace to continue unabated. I simply have a streak of free time, so I've been editing and posting what I already have done. Oh, and by the way, reviews encourage me to update faster. lol. Oh, I'm trying to make sure the plot is good and that the characters are true to their personalities as I edit!

Note: I realized that a small part of a previous chapter got lost somewhere. It was about the phone number thing, so, if it seems a bit random, it's because I quickly tried to explain it here instead of reediting something I already posted.

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Chapter 8: Risky Business

Claire could not see with the sack covering her head. She was only aware that she was in a van, moving fairly fast. She shifted her weight against the back of the van to get more comfortable and waited. This was not Wesker. This was not Wesker's style. The men in the backseat were even talking in hushed tones, as if she couldn't hear them.

"Nash wants to question her."

"For what?"

"She works for that Wesker guy, you know, the freak with the red eyes that he told us about?"

"Oh. Is she a scientist then?"

"Don't know. Looks like they were making a drop of some sort. She must be in an influential position. Our sources say she was at the lab we attacked. Her and Wesker left together." There were several mumbles she couldn't make out. If her mouth weren't stuffed with an irritating gag, she would have laughed at the mere suggestion that she worked for Wesker.

"Maybe she's influential for other reasons," one suggestively snickered. Claire felt a hand run up her thigh, and she squirmed away. More laughter followed.

"Then she likely knows even more. Men tell their whores the most remarkable things." The van stopped after several hours, and Claire was hauled outside. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was moved onto what she was sure was a plane. She hated not being able to see, but she learned a lot through eavesdropping. Nash was a former Umbrella employee who felt that the company had cheated him out of his rightful dues. Now he worked against Umbrella, but Claire could not figure out who his current employer was. There were also references to Wesker and the "Agency", and again Claire was left in the dark. Who exactly did Wesker work for? She had a hard time picturing Wesker being someone's lackey. Then again, once a traitor, always a traitor. Maybe he was playing this new agency like he had Umbrella.

Claire was freed from her mask and restraints, dragged to a dark cell, and thrown inside. There wasn't even a bed, and it was damp. She curled into a ball in the corner and shook from the cold. She heard voices outside, talking about the new prisoner with the nice legs. She frowned into her arms, and, as sick as it was, she compared her treatment here to treatment by Wesker. He would never have put her in a room like this. Because he didn't need to in order to keep you in check, a voice whispered. True, she decided. She was frightened now, but these men scared her in a way entirely different from Wesker. Unlike her former captor, they would die if she got her hands on a gun. They couldn't cow her into inaction.

Three days passed, and, once a day, someone came to empty the bucket that was her toilet. Several granola bars and a jug of water usually followed that. On the second day, she had tried to sneak the gun from a guard in the process of grabbing her bucket, but he had seen it coming. So now she had a large bruise on her abdomen and a broken finger. Was it possible for life to get any worse? She swore that she'd trade Wesker for this any day.

She was eventually taken from her cell and forced into a chair. She was in what looked like an average interrogation room. The man who entered was older, with dark brown hair that was graying at the temples and a thick moustache. A curious star-shaped scar graced his left cheek, and Claire could tell from the way he held himself that he was going to be tough on her. She instinctively disliked him by the predatory gaze he gave her. It wasn't sexual, but definitely disconcerting.

"I was hoping to grab Wesker, but you will do," he stated, making her sound like a second-rate product.

"You think I work for a man named Wesker?" she asked. She had no idea what the rules for this game were. If they hated Wesker, which it seemed they did, then would working for him be her doom or prolong her life for information? More importantly, would not working for him instantly get her killed because she'd be disposable? This was a former Umbrella agent, after all. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, she thought. But these guys sure has hell didn't feel like friends.

"Don't play games," the man ordered sharply. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nash?" she guessed, keeping herself steady.

"Correct. You will answer my questions, and, maybe, if you can make yourself useful, we won't kill you too slowly." Claire only blinked. "Your name?"

"Jennifer Fielding."

"You are a scientist or something else?" Claire's mind moved quickly.

"I specialize in acquiring information, for a price." Nash was examining her expression carefully, but Claire only leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and folded her arms over her lap.

"Another superfluous spy," Nash snorted, but he looked interested. "What were you doing at the airport?"

"I was on my way to France to deal with anti-Umbrella forces."

"I don't believe you." Claire swallowed hard. "You see, I have a knack for ferreting out lies, and you reek of them. Perhaps a message is important." He went for the door, but Claire stopped him.

"Fine. I work for the Agency. They don't trust Wesker, so they keep tabs on him." It was partly true, and she managed to say it with a conviction that sprouted from her desire to save her own skin. "I was going to Paris to report under the pretense of spying on anti-Umbrella units for Wesker. After the last lab got blown up, he's a little worried about the smaller groups nipping at his heels. And, he's expecting a call from me within the next day or so, or he'll know something's wrong. If you hope to be able to use me, you'll get me that phone." She stared Nash hard in the face, and, when he smiled, she felt both a sense of relief and pride.

"You're willing to help us out a little?"

"I'm willing to barter for my life, sir. Wesker pays well, but others have deeper pockets, and I know it." Nash was giving her that odd stare again.

"Very well, Fielding. You'll have your phone call." Claire tensed as she waited for him to return. He did, with a cell phone connected to a larger speaker. "It won't be private, of course." Claire nodded and dialed Chris. She prayed this would work.

"Hello, this is Agent Fielding," she stated. "Connect me to Wesker." She knew Chris had one of the numbers from listening to him and Wesker bargaining. It had been given for the airport exchange, and Claire only hoped Wesker had not changed the number.

"Claire, is that you?" Chris asked desperately.

"Damn it, Smith, you know it's me. I don't need to do the test. Connect me to Wesker. Now." Chris seemed to take the hint that something important hinged on this. The phone went silent a moment, and then there were more rings.

"Yes?" Wesker's voice cut sharply across the line. Nash seemed to tense at the sound of his voice, and Claire felt an odd mixture of relief and hope.

"Wesker, sir, it's agent Fielding. The job's underway. No news from Redfield yet. He failed to come through, and Claire is MIA. As for N, he'll be close to me if you need him." There was a pause. Claire was sure that he had to recognize her voice; however, she didn't know what Wesker could do to help, and she doubted he would if he could. But for the moment, she was still alive. Her hope was that he would come for her out of self-interest when he realized something was wrong. As long as he understood who N was…Time stretched on. "Sir?"

"Agent Fielding, know your place," Wesker barked. Claire didn't need to fake tensing; it came naturally, but she figured it added to the show. "I heard you. Continue with your work, and don't interrupt me again until you have worthwhile information."

"Yes, sir." She closed the phone.

"The pause was clever," Nash said with cold calculation. "But Wesker would need satellite technology that doesn't exist to track this phone." Claire swallowed her emotional response. "We'll discuss business tomorrow."

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Wesker's computer screen flashed numbers at him. His position offered him a range of tools that the world had yet to see, and he used it now. Claire's message was beyond unexpected, but Wesker prided himself on quick recoveries. He had read between her lines easily, and he intended to find out exactly what was going on.

Somewhere in space, a satellite spun and crunched information. Wesker waited and tapped the desk softly and rhythmically to occupy himself. He was a patient man when it came to his plans. It had taken years to get where he was.

Destination found. The screen zoomed onto a common looking apartment complex outside of Baltimore, Maryland. His calculating mind went to work. Why did you call me, Miss Redfield? The more he considered it, the more he suspected he had fallen into a very nice position. N. He smiled and picked up the phone. Claire Redfield was much more useful than her brother.