Chapter 5: B.O.N.E.S.
October 1, 1998
4:00 PM
White Umbrella Headquarters, New York
On paper the tall, nondescript concrete building in downtown Manhattan was a training facility for the New York branch of the FBI. This was only a half-truth.
The building was, indeed, a state of the art training facility but not for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. No, this institution was the training center and base of operations for the New York branch Bio-hazard Ordinance Neutralization and Elite Squad. It was the workplace of White Umbrella's most classified and deadly military personnel. The home of the corporation's own private army.
After passing through the glass front doors of the building one would enter into a plain looking gray lobby with a plain looking gray table in the center behind which a rather bland, plain looking security guard sat. All personnel entering the headquarters would have their photo ID's scanned by the guard before passing through a metal detector and heading towards the only other object of importance in the room: a plain looking stainless steel elevator.
Set beside the door of the elevator was a mechanical device that included a numerical keypad, as well as a palm and retinal scanner. Anyone wanting access to the elevator would have to pass all three of these security measures before the doors would slide open and admit them.
After passing through the scans the operative was free to roam the various floors of the headquarters. The facility was complete with revolutionary training grounds to better the skills of B.O.N.E.S. troopers. There were above ground classrooms where operatives were trained in ever aspect of fieldwork, from intelligence gathering to biochemistry. The institution was also complete with less interesting destinations such as administration offices and a cafeteria. The secrets all lay below ground.
In addition to the training grounds there was an armory – a cold room of fireproof metal – stocked with enough weapons to rival that of the American government. The Research and Development Lab was also located below ground, where even more advanced and deadly weapons were being researched. The locker rooms for all B.O.N.E.S. personnel were located beneath the streets of New York, so that Umbrella's soldiers could suit up in secret before rushing off to clean up whatever trouble had surfaced for the company. It was also on this subterranean level that the briefing room, or Classroom as it was known to the operatives who frequented it, was stationed.
The Classroom had received its name due to the fact that it bore a striking resemblance to a university lecture hall. It sported it's own chalkboard and uncomfortable seats all in rows of descending height, focusing in on a desk at that rested in the middle. Behind this desk sat the fat, balding form of White Umbrella's Director of Paramilitary Operations, Ronald Waters.
Ronald smoothed the folds in the Italian knock-off suit he had chosen to wear this day and watched as the five-man team strolled into the high-ceilinged room and took their seats. What he was about to tell them would make their chins fall to their ankles, he suspected. Nothing in the company's entire history compared to the incident, taking place in Raccoon City.
Sure they had not been without their share of accidents – a spill in the Paris lab, an information leak at the Chicago facility, another accidental release of the virus at a laboratory in London – but those had all been contained incidents. The problems there had been solved quickly and cleanly, leaving the Umbrella brass coming out sparkling white as always. The only thing that even came close to this disaster had been the affair at the Spencer Estate. And what a fiasco that had turned out to be. Jackson and the Inner Circle had severely underestimated the backlash that could bring in time.
'If we didn't have Chief Irons in our pocket then every Umbrella man, including myself, would be wearing handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit now.' Ronald thought darkly, standing up. 'Sad to say that pathetic sack of hot air actually saved our butts. I wonder how he's doing right now with his city collapsing all around him knowing there's nothing he can do to stop it. Probably run off and duck into one of his little hidey-holes in the station. He's one sick puppy if he does even half of what that psych report on him says he does.'
Waters shook his head as the last man took his seat. There would be time to muse over those thoughts later. Brian Irons probably wasn't even dead yet, the carriers would have a hard time finding him in one of his foxholes but it was only a matter of time before one of the more advanced B.O.W's got to him or the chief wound up eating a bullet. Either way, Waters would be satisfied.
Ronald adjusted his tie once more and surveyed the group with beady blue eyes. It was Rico Da Silva's team, Beta Squad, they were supposed to be good. With what he was about to tell them, Director Waters certainly hoped that was true.
"Gentlemen," Waters began, looking at each stoney, scarred face, "as I'm sure you already know we have a situation. I am also quite certain you are all aware of the crisis gripping Raccoon City, after all, it's been on the news for weeks."
"So what's the deal chief?" Rico asked, his voice tinged with a Spanish accent, running his hand through short brown hair. "You know something we don't?"
"Yes, Major Da Silva, as a matter of fact I do." Waters cleared his throat uncomfortably here it was, time to tell Rico and his men all about Mission Impossible. "Gentlemen, it has come to my attention recently that the White Umbrella research laboratory located within Raccoon City has suffered an accident. There has been a spill, to be precise, and the disease afflicting the citizens of Raccoon is the T-virus."
"God in heaven." Sergeant Mick Murphy muttered in his Irish burr. "There must be a city full of carriers by now."
"Our computer projections show that a little under ninety-percent of the area's population is infected at this point." Waters reported, noting the shocked expressions on the faces of the B.O.N.E.S. members. "Within the next twelve hours those numbers are expected to jump to nearly ninety-five percent as law enforcement and emergency services begin to breakdown. Twelve hours after that we anticipate there won't be anyone left in Raccoon who is not infected."
"How the hell did this happen?" Rico asked, anger creeping into his voice. "I thought the security at the Raccoon facility was doubled after your guinea pigs at the Spencer Mansion got loose and started having the residents for dinner."
Again, Waters cleared his throat irritably. He really had known all along that he would have to answer this question and had been dreading doing so all day. Not only would he have to explain to these men that their employers were responsible for the outbreak, but it had been caused by B.O.N.E.S. operatives themselves.
"As you may be aware, Doctor William Birkin and his wife Annette were in charge of running the administration at the Raccoon facility." Waters began. "They had been developing a variation of the original viral strain which they had code named the 'God Virus' or, more simply, the G-virus. When asked to deliver a sample of this strain to White Umbrella officials to be reviewed and inspected, William and his wife refused to do so. Further requests for delivery of the sample were refused and shortly thereafter more direct action was ordered to be taken against the doctors."
"What kind of action?" Sergeant Boris Petrovsky asked, looking sour-faced as usual.
"Military action." Waters said plainly and saw several of the troopers raise an eyebrow or furrow a brow. "Two B.O.N.E.S. units, lead by Major James Cooper, were sent in and authorized to use any means necessary to obtain a sample case. Before losing radio contact with Major Cooper, he reported that William Birkin had resisted and forced one of his men to use deadly force. They had retrieved the case with all ten samples of both the T and G strains intact. Doctor Birkin was critically wounded and thought to be dead.
"Thought to be?" Rico interjected, emerald eyes flickering suspiciously.
"Yes, you see, after retrieving the case Major Cooper's team was to meet up with Major Boggs' team in the Raccoon sewers and report to the pick-up zone." Waters replied, turning his gaze to Rico. "This did not happen as planned. Cooper's next radio transmission was sketchy but he reported that the rest of his squad was dead. Some – thing – had followed them out of the lab. Something that reportedly bore a striking resemblance to Doctor Birkin."
"The doctor mutated?" Heavy weapons sergeant, Sven Diechter sounded incredulous. "You aren't suggesting that he injected himself, are you? What person in their right mind would do that?"
"Once you read the mission profile, Sergeant Diechter, you will learn that Doctor William Birkin was certainly not within his right mind." Said Waters. "Birkin slept maybe four hours every two days and, according to his psych evaluation, had one hell of a God complex. His whole life revolved around this project of his.
It is believed that after being fatally wounded by Cooper's man Doctor Birkin used the G-virus on himself hoping its ability to regenerate dead cells would save his life. He must have known we would be sending in a B.O.N.E.S. team and kept another sample in secret. Unfortunately the G-virus proved to be even more unstable than its predecessor and the good doctor turned into…something else."
"Something that slaughtered several well-trained and well-armed men." Said Sergeant Rodney Foller. His accent was distinctly Austrailian. "What exactly were the married couple working on down there?"
"We don't know for sure." The director shook his head sadly. His job always left him with more questions than answers. Questions that it would be unwise to give voice too but he couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like for these men. They would be the ones facing off against the things he could not explain. "We have been unable to get our hands on a copy of the G strain or any of the research notes made by William or his wife."
"I thought you said Cooper obtained an entire case of samples?" The Latino said.
"Yes, he did get the sample case," Waters nodded, "but Cooper reported that during the attack he was forced to either lose the samples or lose his life. He chose the case. We now believe that after Major Cooper ditched the case it was damaged and the samples it contained were released. From there it spread to the citizens of Raccoon City via sewer workers who were infected by rats that had consumed the virus. The outbreak has grown considerably out of hand since then."
"What happened to Major Cooper?" Rico asked, he may have been a mercenary at heart – most members of B.O.N.E.S. were – but he was still a soldier and sahred a bond with those like him.
"We lost contact with him two days ago, he was trying to reach the Umbrella research station in the Arklay Mountains. We assume that he was killed on his way." Director Waters said and Rico nodded, apparently not surprised.
"So where do my guys come in?" Da Silva asked, apparently not deciding to dwell on the possible circumstances of his comrade's death. Knowing some of the things Umbrella cooked up it probably was not all that pleasant. "This going to be a standard clean-up gig? Go in, take out anyone left who knows anything, grab the good doctor's files and burn the lab down?"
A look of surprise flashed across the B.O.N.E.S' leader's face when Waters shook his bald head, "No, the security measures around and within the lab are still in place so we don't believe it to be directly threatened. Besides, that place was the focal point of the outbreak and no doubt a hot zone for the disease and its carriers." Waters paused a moment. "However, it is imperative that we do obtain a copy of Doctor Birkin's research."
"How?" Mick asked quickly. "Everything would be at the Raccoon lab."
"Not quite." Waters countered. "There is still one other copy of the information out there. The Arklay Mountains Research Station should have something on file. All research for ongoing projects has to be sent there to be reviewed by Umbrella officials before they would take an interest in a project and give it funding. If William wanted to keep the money rolling in for his pet project he would need to send progress reports regularly to the research station."
"Then why not just have those guys send you the files?" Rico asked and Waters was forced to sympathize with the younger man. A lot of this must have seemed unnecessarily complicated to him.
"The research station went offline shortly after the time of the initial outbreak." Waters informed the B.O.N.E.S crew. "We haven't heard a word from them in two weeks."
"So, we get into the AMRS, find out what happened to the poor bastards there, grab the files you need and make it back home in time for Letterman right?" Rico asked, summing up his teams objectives in a round about way.
"Sadly, no." waters opened his desk drawer and removed five manila folders stuffed with papers. The word 'CLASSIFIED' had been stamped across the front below the white and red shield that served as the Umbrella insignia. Waters passed out a folder to each man. "Your squad will have one other goal to complete, Major Da Silva."
Director Waters paused and gave the team members a few minutes to flip through and scan the material contained in the folders. Of course, he already knew what was in the files. When his superiors had given him a copy to look over he had thought it made for an interesting read indeed.
Contained within the briefing package was a compilation of news articles from papers in Raccoon about the outbreak and the growing civil unrest as a result of it. There were also several documents written by Umbrella researchers about how the virus spread and the inner workings of the disease. Unfortunately, the better part of the report was typed in a language that only a biochemist had any hope of understanding but Waters knew the team would get the gist of it: do not get any infected tissue in open mounds or mucous membranes.
Next would be the photos of what human carriers looked like as well as the bio-organic weapons engineered in the Raccoon facility. Among these were the Re3, nicknamed the "Licker" among the lab technicians for the creature's monstrously long tongues. While the Re3's were highly lethal, with their seemingly boneless way of moving and claws that could rend sheet metal, getting past four of the mutants was a cakewalk compared to dealing with even one of the Hunter Gamma or Beta series. These had been part of a rather successful experiment in the bowels of Saint Michael's Hospital. It was a pity, Waters thought, that by the end of the next night they would all be wiped out.
The next page in the section on the B.O.W's would be the real eye-opener. The Director of Paramilitary Operations felt a pang of guilt as he saw the expressions of the shock and terror on the faces of Da Silva's men as they reached the last photo and attached file. Even he could hardly believe the company had been twisted enough to create an aberration like the one in the handout.
The photo was of a giant. The creature stood at least eight feet tall, its skin a rusty brown and heavily muscled. The giant's chest was bare, revealing thick veins and criss-crossing slashes of scar tissue, but around its waist – nearly reaching to its ankles – hung a leather kilt. The giant's face was the worst part. Glowing yellow orbs rested in deep, sunken sockets high above a mouth filled with rows of bone-white razors. The mouth was all wrong though as it seemed to be able to unhinge its jaw, lowering its chin to the top of its scarred chest. To top it all off five sets of seven-inch claws hung from the hands of two tree-trunk arms. Appropriately enough the codename on the giant's file named it as the Devourer.
"My God." Mick muttered, the page trembling in his hand as he raised it for closer examination, almost as if not believing it was really on the page directly in front of his face.
"The logical part of my brain is telling me that thing can't exist," Rico commented, seeming unusually cool, "but the part that works for this company is telling the logical side it should know better."
"Yes." Was all Ronald Waters could bring himself to say as the B.O.N.E.S. team continued to go through the file.
He hated being a suit so much. It meant that he got to sit in a comfortable chair behind a desk and tell able-bodied men that it was their job to go out and put their lives on the line for an organization that would deny their existence should they ever be killed or captured. At least when he had been a captain in the Marines he had been on the battlefield with the men he sent out to fight. Now it was his duty to pass those dangers along to someone else.
Rico and his men had reached the last page. Waters knew by heart that it was a map of Saint Jude's Hospital in Raccoon City. Unlike most blueprints for Saint Jude's this map included plans of the sub-basement as well as instructions on how to access the White Umbrella lab hidden in its depths.
"Another secret lab?" Said Rodney Foller. "Bloody fuck, Umbrella has its hands into everything in this city."
"Care to tell us boy scouts what we're going to be doing at Saint Jude's, scoutmaster?" Rico quipped, giving Waters a sardonic smile.
"A standard retrieval mission, Major Da Silva." The director answered as the troopers went over the handouts once more, committing the information to memory. "The sub-basement of the hospital is actually a top secret laboratory used by Umbrella scientific personnel posing as medical doctors. They were doing work on an experimental variation of the T-virus. IT was reported to be a success and quite a breakthrough at that but has only been tested once and the researchers wanted more time to work out the kinks. Unfortunately the outbreak has thrown a ratchet into things and we have no idea what shape the lab is in now. Your orders are to find the case containing samples of the T-variant and then destroy everything else in the facility."
"Where is the sample located?"
"There's a freezer in the lab containing all viral materials. You should find the sample case there unless the chemists took it upon themselves to hide it elsewhere." Waters said this and saw Rico frown he too knew that this may be a possibility. Umbrella scientists all seemed to love cloak and dagger and if they had hidden the sample case it would make the mission that much more difficult.
"What about survivors, sir?" Mick asked, raising his hand.
"If you come across any Umbrella researchers that are injured but not infected your orders are to bring them back safe and sound. Otherwise," Waters paused, he didn't like this part of his job too much but as a former soldier he knew such measures could be necessary to the completion of a mission. "There are to be no survivors. Do you understand, sergeant?"
Mick Murphy only nodded. Clearly, as a medic, he was not used to being given the command to murder before.
"There is something else you should know, Major Da Silva." Waters said, starring intently at the B.O.N.E.S. leader.
"And that is?"
"A mission supervisor is being sent along with your squad to evaluate your performance."
"The hell?" Rico snapped indignantly. "I was just evaluated last month."
"Yes," Waters agreed calmly, "as a part of a simulation exercise. This time you are being graded on your ability to command your squad in a highly volatile and lethal setting. A very real setting."
"May I ask who my supervisor will be?"
Waters told Rico, whose eyes grew wide as he let out a low whistle.
"You're kidding?" The major was incredulous. "I thought he was dead."
"He's not." Waters said dismissively, waving a hand. "And we aren't paying you to think, major."
"Yes, sir." Rico gave a mock salute.
"Any questions?" Director Waters looked at the gruff, unshaven, scarred faces of the B.O.N.E.S. members and saw only one hand shoot up. He was not at all surprised to see that it was attached to the arm of Rico Da Silva. "Yes, major?"
Rico lowered his hand, an eager grin splitting his face. "When can me and my boy scouts here get to work?"
Now it was Rico's turn to not be the least bit surprised. The answer, of course, was immediately.
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Within ten minutes they were locked, loaded and airborne aboard the C-141 helicopter. Each B.O.N.E.S. trooper had been issued the standard weaponry: a black-finished AK-47, Colt M1911 handgun, two clips of spare ammunition and a pair of anti-personnel grenades. Sven Dietcher who, as heavy weapons specialist, favoured the M-60 over the AK.
In addition to their weapons each man carried a pack with emergency rations, headset radios, flares and a gas mask. Petrovsky's also held a large charge of C-4 plastic explosive and a remote detonator. Mick carried a field surgery and first-aid kit with the rest of his equipment. The team members were draped in the black flak jackets and cargo pants that served as their uniform. There was no symbol on any of their gear lest it be traced back to Umbrella.
Rico sat on a bench as the chopper cut through the cold night, watching his men check their gear and noticing how upset Mick Murphy looked. Probably still displeased about their orders to kill any survivors. Should anyone have been so lucky as to still be alive by the time they arrived anyways.
'Well,' Rico thought quietly as the helicopter tore through the sky, 'that's understandable I suppose. The IRA never really shed any tears about killing soldiers but civilians were a different matter. Probably has something to do with Mick being a medic too, surgeons always trying to save lives rather than take them. Sentimental bullshit, true, but I can still understand how he feels.'
Rico always held the belief that if a leader wanted a mission to be successful then he had to know everything there was to know about his teammates. That always meant knowing every detail about their pasts.
Mick had graduated with honors from university and went in to do his time at a medical school of some repute in Dublin. It was during this time he took up the cause of the Irish Republican Army against the British occupation. However, Mick had left the group after the IRA had abandoned any hope of political change for outright fanaticism, becoming too ideological and far less profitable. Regarding the medic's current demeanor, Rico thought that perhaps some IRA ideals died harder than others.
Sergeant Diechter, Petrovsky and Foller were all military men, which made Rico feel a slight bit weird that he had been appointed as squad commander. As a former Basque rebel, he thought surely one of the others would have been given the job but such was not the case. Just his luck.
Sven Diechter, built like a tank and cold as ice, had once been a member of the elite GSG-9 unit in his home country. Petrovsky was the oldest, most experienced member of the team, and had served several tours in the Red Army fighting in Afghanistan before being recruited by White Umbrella. Rodney Foller had served time in the Royal Western Austrailian Regiment back home and could fly a chopper if need be.
As diverse as their backgrounds might have been their motivations – like Rico's – for joining up with Umbrella were all the same. Money. If one thing could be said about their employers was that they paid well. Very well.
Rico and Mick had deserted the Basque and IRA factions as the groups began to become insanely ideological. Ideologists wound up dead or in jail but not rich as far as either man was concerned. With the poor state of economies in Germany and Russia, Sven and Boris jumped at the fat cheques offered to them by the Umbrella recruiters. Sergeant Foller was no exception, as he made nearly three times as much now than he had when he was a member of Her Majesty's Royal Western Regiment.
'Then,' Rico thought looking across the bench at the man who was to be his supervisor for this operation, 'there is you my friend.'
Rico's supervisor sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees seemingly starring off into space. His face was hidden behind the red goggles and black plastic of a gas mask, just like each of the other B.O.N.E.S. soldiers. He wore the same uniform and carried the same equipment as the other troopers. To the naked eye he blended right in with the rest of the unit but, to Rico's eye, he stuck out like a businessman in lower Harlem.
Major Da Silva knew his supervisor well, he had been responsible for most of his training after joining B.O.N.E.S. and ever since their first meeting eight years ago there had been something amiss about the man. Rico couldn't place his finger on what exactly but knew he always got the same uneasy vibe whenever this man was around. Rico did not like to think of himself as being superstitious but at the same time he knew there was something wrong with his supervisor. There was an invisible mist that obscured his emotions and intentions. The same mist was evident in his cold, smoky voice and it always made the B.O.N.E.S commander uneasy when he had to listen to his mentor speak.
During his training Rico had only asked questions that he felt would be absolutely crucial to his survival and success in the field, so that he would be able to obtain the necessary information without having to listen to that foggy, eerie tone any longer than was necessary. Now, even though he was regretting it already, Rico knew he had to ask his supervisor something. It might not be important to the mission but it was important to the major.
"So, what should I call you while we run this little errand together?" Rico asked and watched the supervisor's head slowly swivel his way.
"Sir." Came the answer, as cold and blunt as Rico had expected it to sound.
"Sir?" Rico said, shifting in his seat, the man's voice was just as haunting and unnerving as it had been eight years ago. "Come on, we go way back, can't we get a little more personal than that?"
The supervisor shrugged. "Call me…Smith."
"That's a little cliché," Rico laughed nervously, "but alright. Mind enlightening me as to why the upper echelons of the company saw fit to send along a man of your caliber to evaluate a grunt like me after my boy scouts and I were already evaluated last month?"
"That's really none of your concern major," Smith began but then his hard, robotic voice lightened, "but alright. If you must know, White Umbrella has never had to handle an operation on this kind of scale before. Sure, there have been a few small spills at some of our more isolated, out of the way, locations that were cleaned up nicely by B.O.N.E.S. and U.B.C.S. personnel, but never has an entire city been exposed to the virus before. The company won't be able to sweep this fiasco under the rug so easily."
"That still doesn't explain why you're here…sir." Rico cut in, his tone deathly serious. Smith nodded.
"Blatantly put, major, I'm here to make sure you don't fuck this up." Smith replied, his tone ice once again and hard as stone. "If at anytime I come to believe that your ability to lead has come into question I have orders to take command of this mission and ensure that it is completed without incident."
Rico felt his men stiffen beside him as they took in this new information, though none of them said a word. What Smith had said still did not surprise Rico as much as he thought it might have. He had suspected that more was going on than a simple evaluation of whether he was doing an acceptable job or not. Still, he did not feel at all comfortable with the thought that Smith could usurp him at anytime, put a bullet in the back of his head and continue on his merry little way. In fact, it made the major quite angry that the corporation did not trust him enough to do their dirty work and had to send along a babysitter to make sure he did not slip up. Especially when he thought that babysitter was dead and buried for five months now.
"So they sent a long a zombie like yourself to hold my hand huh?" The disdain in Rico's tone was clear and he knew he was toeing a dangerous line but at the same time didn't care. Rico didn't like any of the two-faced, double-dealing bullshit he had to put up with and, at that moment, did not particularly care if Smith knew it. "I find that sweetly ironic…sir."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about, major." Smith said plainly and Rico could hear the irritation behind his words.
"Don't play the fool, sir, it doesn't suit you well." Rico said, leaning forward and, once again, he could feel the tension radiating off his men. They had not been expecting anything like this to happen. "I heard that you died on an operation months ago. It was all anyone could talk about for awhile. You can't possibly be who Waters said you are."
"Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear, Major Da Silva." Smith said. "Anything is possible."
This time it wasn't Smith's tone of voice that made Rico's skin crawl but his words. From his experience with the man, the major had never come to think of his supervisor as a cryptic man. Rico knew that Smith was a blunt, straightforward type of person and not one accustomed to using metaphors or speaking in circles. This scared Rico. The haunting voice was the same but the words it spoke had clearly changed.
Maybe he was paranoid, maybe he was jumping to conclusions but somehow Rico knew that this man was not the same one he had met all those years ago. Something him, something subtle, had changed and Rico had learned that the subtle things were often what meant the difference between success and failure. Life and death.
'I'm going to keep my eye on you.' Rico thought as the pilot announced it would be only another minute before they reached their target. The major made a mental note to keep a round chambered in his pistol, just in case Smith decided to try anything crafty. If it came down to that Rico could always explain things to Waters later. He was good at working in a pinch.