Chapter 30: The Mole
October 3, 1998
2:00 AM
Arklay Mountains
Rico noticed with a cool kind of indifference that the entrance to the Arklay Mountain Research Station was the product of more White Umbrella paranoid cloak and dagger. The brass had gone to such an extent to hide the facility that they set the front entrance directly into the cliff face itself. Of course, the gate would have been impossible to find for anyone lacking a map with the exact location marked on it but fortunately such was not the case for the B.O.N.E.S. team and after a tiring run through the steep, snaking paths of the Arklay Mountains, Smith called for everyone to halt.
It looked just like any other part of the Arklay Mountains – rocky, dusty and gray. The thin, unassuming crack running down the middle of the high stone wall would have been invisible to any eye not actively looking for it but Smith traced its length up and down twice without error. After a moment's inspection of the doorway hidden deep in the twisting mountain passes Smith dropped to one knee and brushed aside a dense covering of sand and gravel to reveal a pinhole-sized electrical jack set into the base of the rock.
"It's really pretty amazing how one company can invent a virus that turns people into walking killing machines and can come up with technology like that," Rico gestured to the jack with the barrel of his rifle, "and yet we still can't find something more sophisticated than toilet paper when it comes to managing personal hygiene."
"You do enjoy hearing yourself speak, don't you major?" Smith said quietly, digging around in his rucksack before pulling out the slender, handheld computer he had first used to track his spy with back at Saint Jude's.
"Just avoiding an awkward silence." Rico shrugged. "That the key to this fine establishment?" Again, he gestured to the forty-foot high slab of stone facing them.
"Nothing gets by you, does it, major?" Smith replied in that smugly superior tone that always made Rico suspect the supervisor was grinning from behind his gas mask.
Well, he can smile until his lips fall off so long as he gets us out of this fiasco in one piece. Rico watched with anxious anticipation as Smith removed an electrical adapter from his pack, plugging one end into the top of the computer and the other into the newly exposed jack. The soft sound of clicking keys filled Rico's ears as Smith's fingers flew across the numerical pad set into the device's handle and the major found himself on the edge of despondency, ready to let his mind drift off into space and wait for Smith to crack the door – when a new sound brought him sharply back to reality with a muffled curse.
Rico spun towards the direction of the noise – falling rocks, boots scrapping through dirt – and opened fire as one of the Army Rangers came around the corner to his right. With a startled yelp, the soldier – a plain-looking man of average height with a tactical radio strapped to his back – threw himself back behind the boulder he had just rounded. The bullets sent tufts of dust up into the sky as they pounded uselessly into solid stone and Rico cursed more loudly this time, one hand fumbling for a fresh clip. Just when he had a new magazine in hand, something struck the major hard in the side of the neck and removed his feet from the ground. When the stars quit bursting before his eyes Rico was not the least bit surprised to find himself on his back, starring up at Smith.
"Idiot!" Smith admonished. "You could have killed him you brainless monkey!"
"Well," Rico shot back harshly, "I did think that was the general idea. Care to tell me what the hell is going on now?"
Smith merely grunted and muttered something under his breath. "If it's all the same to you, major. I'd rather not waste my breath." He turned and nodded towards Petrovsky. "Help him up."
Boris moved to assist the major back to his feet but Rico slapped the Russian's hands away. He could still stand up under his own power – no thanks to Smith though. Pressing one hand to his neck – it felt a great deal as if someone had struck him several times in the same spot with a sack of oranges – Rico used the other one to dust off the front of his vest, watching with interest as Smith paced over to where the Ranger had dared to duck his head out. Rico scowled venomously at the pair of them.
"You can come out now, Sergeant Owens," Smith said to the pale-faced soldier, "Major Da Silva has been…domesticated."
Rico snorted disdainfully, a sudden realization begging to take hold. This man – this Sergeant Owens – was Smith's agent, the mole in the Ranger unit. It was the only logical explanation for the supervisor's…rude…behavior when Rico had tried to drop the fellow. While he did feel a slight bit sheepish for nearly executing a friendly, Rico was far more upset with Smith. If the spook had told them who to look out for in the first place then maybe a mistake like that would never have occurred. Oh no though, that just was not Smith's style.
"So, he's your rat huh?" Rico said, not caring if Owens or Smith found his tone abrupt. "Maybe now would be the time to tell us boy scouts just what kind of information your carrying and why exactly we've been risking our necks for two fucking day s to get a hold of it?"
Despite all the blood and grit caked to Owens' face like a second skin, Rico could plainly see the narrowing of his eyes and the tightening of his lips. "I prefer the term 'professional' to 'rat'," Owens said, "and, secondly, you can go fuck yourself. Next time you decide to shoot me you better not miss or I'll give you an enema with that AK you're holding."
"You've got a big mouth, maybe I should see if I can fit my fist down it?" Rico challenged and took a step forward but was shoved back curtly by Smith.
"I'm sure watching the two of you beat one another into the ground would be entertaining to say the least," Smith said smoothly, "but it will have to wait until we get back. The major did raise a good question – for once – though. Do you have the data on Operation Puppet Master, sergeant?"
"Yes sir." Owens responded with a final, menacing look for Rico. The mole dropped to his knees, shrugged off the bulky radio and began to rifle through his rucksack. After a moment or so he handed a navy blue laptop into Smith's outstretched fingers.
"Operation Puppet Master?" Rico asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now, I realize that being a grunt means not getting all the facts but I sincerely dislike it when my boy scouts and I are left out of the loop altogether and please do not give me that 'need to know basis' crap again, if you don't mind."
Owens glared at the major, his upper lip curling back into a rictus snarl. He glanced in Smith's direction with askance written across his face and the supervisor shrugged casually, popping open the laptop and focusing his attention on the glowing screen. Still looking as if he were contemplating murder, Owens turned back to Rico – was he holding his rifle a little tighter now? Rico could not be sure.
"I was ordered to collect combat data on the T-carriers within Raccoon City." Owens explained. "I was supposed to see how well an elite military unit – the Army Rangers – and the local emergency response forces could hold up against an outbreak of this size. All my findings are in that computer and after everything I've seen tonight I sure as shit better get that goddamn bonus they promised me."
"You're with B.O.N.E.S.?" Mick asked skeptically.
"Nah," Owens replied with a grim, sour little smile, "I'm more what you'd call a freelancer. Your bosses set up my missions, create my background and fill my bank account. I just do all the legwork. No connection to your employers that way."
"You must have a good insurance policy," Rico observed dryly. "You must have some coverage or no brains to blow your own helicopter out of the sky – while riding in it."
"And three others." Owens grinned, showing too many teeth for Rico's comfort.
"This all seems to be in order." Smith said, snapping the laptop shut and sliding it into his bag. "Where's the rest of your unit, sergeant? Dead?"
"No," Owens said with a grimace and a shake of his head. "I ditched them back a ways but it won't be long before they pick up my trail. I covered my tracks well but they've got a guy with them that could find a grain of sand in a snowstorm. Zeke'll be confused at first too – he's near the breaking point now – but he's still smarter than – "
A burst of gunfire sailing over their heads snapped Owens' mouth shut and sent Rico scampering through the dirt in search of cover. The major found it quickly, along with the rest of his team, in the form of a granite ridge rising on a steep incline over the escarpment below. The wall behind which they hid was positioned on a bit of a slope and open on the right end but Rico would take what he could get.
"We've been here before." Rico grumbled, throwing a look to where Owens and Smith crouched behind a sun-bleached boulder to the left. Smith's handheld computer, the key to their freedom and a handsome paycheck lay just out of reach. Swearing, Rico ducked his head lower as another chorus of rounds whizzed past his cheek and ear.
"Bang up job on losing your friends," Mick spat acidly at the mole from beside Rico, "bloody brilliant."
"I told you they could track." Owens fired back. "Why don't you shut your holes and use those two brain cells rattling around upstairs to come up with a fucking plan?"
"You're the professional." Rico said with a shrug and nearly giggled with delight at the look that bloomed across the mole's face.
"Lay cover fire," Smith ordered, cold as ice even with hot lead streaking through the air, "they're in the pass below us. Keep them pinned down, I'm going to try and get to the keypad."
Not having any better ideas at the time, Rico nodded to his men. Together they sprang up over the edge of the rock slab and fired into the passage below, dust forming a thick froth as stones were chewed to powder by the endless stream of automatic fire. Out of the corner of his eye Major Da Silva saw Smith scrambling through the gravel for the small computer and Rico found himself wishing his supervisor luck and speed for once. To die here, so close to the end of the mission, so close to walking away smelling like daisies, seemed morally incorrect.
I'll make it out of here. Rico swore to himself, switching clips as Sven laid down suppressive fire with his M-60. I'll make it out of here and then I'm done. I'm retired. I'm going off the grid and disappearing. Let Umbrella find some other goon to clean up their messes and get cut to bits by their playthings – I'm through with this bullshit. I've still got friends in Madrid – I can disappear. I will disappear.
Rico decided to make it a promise – that once he was out of Raccoon he'd hop on a flight to Madrid and hit his cousin up. Ramon owed him a favor and fake records were his specialty besides. Yes, it was a promise. Still, despite his conviction the major felt troubled. Throughout his whole life Rico Da Silva had never been all that good at keeping his promises. Even the ones he made to himself.
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Zeke saw that phase one of his plan was in full swing and working quite well but pulling off the second half would be a great deal more difficult. They were running low on ammunition as it was, everyone's nerves were near the point of snapping and the B.O.N.E.S. troopers had some fairly solid cover. If his team ran out of rounds or the Umbrella thugs spotted his approach then the fat lady would start singing loud enough to bring down the entire Arklay Mountain range. He would just have to trust to luck and move quickly.
So far the lieutenant's luck had held. Shank had been able to follow Owens' hastily concealed tracks – saying that "a one-eyed chimp" could have spotted the broken twigs and boot prints – to the passes winding through the dusty mountain. While Zeke still had yet to see the wayward sergeant he had been able to spot several black clad bodies along the ridge above them with his binoculars. He had nearly laughed with a perverted kind of joy when he noticed the nigh invisible dirt track that looped up around behind the ridge with several dozen feet of sheer rock overhanging it to provide cover. If they could just get through there unnoticed then they could take a bite out of the B.O.N.E.S. squad's flank and leave them reeling.
Of course, things always seem easier on paper than when they're put into practice, Zeke reminded himself sourly as he ducked back beneath the ridge with the others as the Umbrella soldiers rained lead down upon them. Trust to luck. You don't have anything left to lose.
Maybe he didn't, Zeke thought grimly as he looked around at the wan, dirty faces of the people next to him, but the others certainly did. Eddie Gabbor had only wanted to do his job, to be a cop, to serve the common good and maybe if he survived Raccoon City he would still be given that chance somewhere else – but not if Zeke Wilcott got him killed. Shank and Tech had lost four of their friends in the passing of a night. What would they have left if Zeke made a slip up that cost one or the other his life? Then there was Skip Francis, a frightened young man Zeke had found squatting in an elevator. Faithful, steady, Skip who had tried so hard to keep up and be brave. He had a whole other life to live but would the hand of Death that followed Ezekiel Wilcott reach out to take this boy next?
And what of your own men, lieutenant? The dry, mocking voice that had entered Zeke's mind upon his arrival in Raccoon City asked. Despite his failings, Pierce has a family – a wife and little girl – would you take him from them as repayment for his blunder in saving Rachel? Do you really think Wesley cares enough about you to throw his life away for the sake of your hunger for vengeance? And Cooper – you hardly even know the man! Would you ask a stranger to die alongside you, Zeke?
No, he would not but nor would he let the sin of Rachel's death go unpunished. She was dead and that simple, agonizing truth made Zeke's path clear. The promise of revenge fueled the Ranger's heart and set his resolve. He had already taken the life of Rachel's killer, left him bleeding his life out in the forest, but the men who battled them now were just as much at fault. They worked for a company that had not only murdered his Rachel but tens of thousands of others as well all for the sake of greed.
The dead had no voices to protest with, no champions to seek justice on their behalf but soon that would change. Tonight, Ezekiel Wilcott would be their avenger. Tonight, he would become the Hand of Justice and sweep away the wicked into oblivion. The dead were owed their vengeance as much as he was owed his.
"Coop!" Zeke shouted to the dark-skinned Ranger above the crack of bullets kicking up clouds of dust all around them. "How many rounds do you have left?"
"Not enough, boss." Cooper replied dryly after checking his ammo belt. "Maybe enough to hold these bastards down for two or three minutes."
"That should be long enough for me to do what I have to." Zeke said and all heads turned his way. This time the lieutenant felt no discomfort or uncertainty at having so many eyes on him. He only felt cold, numb and distant for Justice was blind and held no emotions. "Wait for a lull in their firing," he told them, "then open up with a wall of suppressive fire. Keep it going until you run empty. I shouldn't be long but every second you can keep them distracted will help." Zeke drew his pistol, fished a silencer from his vest and began to attach it when, from beside him, Skip seized his arm.
"Where are you going?" The young man demanded, doe-eyed, his slender fingers locked in a death grip around the lieutenant's wrist. "You can't leave us, Zeke. We need you to get us through this."
For a moment, the Ranger was flabbergasted, unable to do anything but stare into the young man's wide, fearful eyes. A crack appeared in the icy armor Zeke had wrapped himself in and he felt a flush of warmth for Skip who now gripped his arm as if it were some kind of charm. Earlier that evening he had told Skip he should have been a Ranger to assuage his fears but now Zeke knew it for the truth. Skip Francis was responsible, courageous and loyal almost to a fault. Zeke was proud to be with the boy now and would have been proud to have served with him as well.
In another life, maybe, Zeke thought, but that time isn't now. Right now I'm Justice and I have his work to do.
"They killed Haag and Shots, Skip," Zeke told the young man, his frosty demeanor restored. Justice could spare feelings for no one – even a friend. "They blew Sam's leg off and stabbed Rachel in the back. I'm going to go and even up the score."
Without wasting another second to allow for protest, Zeke tore his arm from the young man's grip and raced up the narrow path to his right. The passage was thin and lined on both sides by tall rocks but the lieutenant still crouched low, keeping his head down as he moved at a quick walk. Straining his ears the Ranger waited for a break in the clatter of the B.O.N.E.S. group's fire. He needed to wait only a moment for it before the roar of his team's guns moved in to fill the gap of silence. Doubling his pace, Zeke almost paused when he heard the sounds of running footsteps at either side.
Soon Kathryn Ward was keeping pace with him. Her eyes were red and swollen; the product of too little sleep and too much grief but her face was locked in an expression of serious concentration. One thought fueled her whole being now and Zeke ventured a guess at what it was even before she caught him starring and looked his way. There was a fierce, predatory glimmer in her eyes and the way she moved with her Beretta held low.
"You lost Rachel, I lost Sam." She said matter-of-factly, cocking her pistol, face devoid of both fear and hope. "I have a right to this. To see them die."
And so she did. Zeke nodded and together they ran.
Shank and Pierce materialized on the lieutenant's other side a second later. The heavy-set Psycho ran with Haag's rifle clutched tight against his massive chest, teeth bared and snarling deep in his throat like a cornered bulldog. Pierce stalked more than he ran, carrying his silenced Colt held high as silent and deadly as a wraith.
"When you mess with an alley dog's family it bites you in the nuts and doesn't let go." Shank explained when he caught Zeke's eye. "I think it's about time I collected some testicles on behalf of Blaze, Boomer and Shots."
Ryan merely nodded when he noticed Zeke looking his way. The sniper shared no words but let his eyes do all the talking. "For Rachel," they said and so the lieutenant simply returned the nod. Together they would be Justice and make this roving band of killers pay the price for all the lives they and their employers had taken. The cost would be in blood and souls.
At the top of the slope Zeke and the three other vengeance seekers turned the corner and spotted their quarry spread out across the ridge, kneeling behind a row of boulders, periodically rising up to fire a burst down below. Four men in gas masks formed a defensive line along the ridge while a fifth crouched near a steep cliff face a few yards distant typing away madly on what Zeke though to be a mini-disc reader of some kind. Then, at the very end of the ridge-line formation, Zeke's eyes fell across a man in Ranger gear firing down into the passage below where two fellow Rangers, a police officer and two civilians sheltered. Cold, tasteless fury turned to boiling, unfocused hate as Lieutenant Wilcott leveled his Colt handgun with Scott Owens' back.
The shots made no noise save for the softest puff-puff sound but rage clouded Zeke's senses, bloodlust fogged his vision and compromised the lieutenant's aim. Two crimson holes blossomed on Owens' left arm and with a strangled cry the traitor fell onto his back in the dirt. Zeke fired a third round but Owens proved too agile and rolled to the side before the .45 caliber bullet could find its mark.
Stirred by the sound of their mole's shout the B.O.N.E.S. troopers whirled about to face the oncoming ambush. The mercenary closest to Zeke – a hulking figure gripping an M-60 heavy machine gun – managed to raise his weapon before Pierce dropped to one knee and sent a rapid trio of rounds through his neck. As the tall heavy gunner fell away another of the black garbed soldier's rose, bringing his AK to bare and squeezing off three rounds. Shank hisses as two of the shots struck him, one grazing his side while the other tore a strip from his leg. The biker staggered back a step, firing a burst of his own that punched a ragged line across his enemy's stomach. Kathy finished the wounded trooper off with a single shot through one of the gas mask's goggles.
"This way!" The B.O.N.E.S. soldier with the mini-computer called to his remaining fellows before hefting a silver briefcase at his side and thumbing down a key on the handheld device.
A tremor shook the ground, a shockwave rolling through the mountain that was strong enough to dislodge Kathy's footing and send the wounded Shank to his knees with a curse. Wholly convinced that a slumbering giant was awakening beneath their feet, Zeke was still nothing short of awed to watch the cliff face the trooper had been kneeling in front of split apart. The wall of slick, smooth stone divided into two perfect halves and slid apart to reveal a gap that was at least forty-feet high if it was a foot. It was easily the largest, most elaborate doorway Zeke had ever seen in his life and must have cost millions to construct.
The AMRS isn't just stationed up in the mountains, Zeke realized. It's built inside the damn thing! No wonder Burke said we'd need his help to find it.
The trooper holding the silver case disappeared through the passageway before the tremors even finished subsiding and then his two companions, along with the lying rat Scott Owens, were making a beeline for safety as well. Zeke's entire focus was on the man that had betrayed them all; that had fostered and nurtured Zeke's paranoia to keep him from discovering the truth. He was as much responsible for Rachel's death as anyone else – and perhaps the deaths of Captain Sullivan and all the other Rangers that had perished in the nightmare of Raccoon City. Zeke drew a bead on his two-faced radioman's knee, intending to cripple the traitor but then Owens fired a burst as he ran by and Wilcott was forced to duck and give up the shot.
As Scott vanished through the opening in the mountain side another of the B.O.N.E.S. troopers paused to open fire. Hot pain cut across the top of Zeke's shoulder as one of the assault rifle rounds found him but the lieutenant simply grit his teeth and calmly returned fire. The Umbrella cleaner jerked violently as Zeke's shot caught him in the elbow then fell twitching to the weathered ground, cut down by a hail of lead from Pierce, Shank and Officer Ward.
The only remaining B.O.N.E.S. trooper strafed across the open ground as he made for the AMRS entrance, filling the air with a blanket of molten metal that sent the foursome sprawling in the dirt for cover. Barely half an instant after the final cleaner was through the opening the earth began to heave and quake once more, the towering stone doors sliding closed.
"Like hell you do, Owens." Zeke grunted, pulling himself back to his feet, ignoring the trickle of blood seeping between his fingers as he raced for the rapidly closing doors of the Arklay Mountain Research Station.
"Come on!" Kath cried, darting ahead of Zeke, her eyes ablaze with a strange fanaticism. "They're getting away!"
"The fuck they are!" Shank growled indignantly, clutching his injured side with one hand as he limped along with Sergeant Pierce in tow.
Perhaps three feet of space remained between the two closing halves of the cliff and Zeke felt a wild surge of hope. They were going to make it. They would get inside the AMRS, deal with the backstabbing Owens and his two cronies and then let the others in. From there it was simply a matter of finding Burke's helicopter or the underground trolley and making it outside the blast area.
I'm going to make him howl. Zeke though, the promise of revenge so sweet it made him salivate as he ran, pumping his arms for speed. I'll break both that rat's legs and tell him to dance. I'll hang him from the ceiling by his eyelids. Run fast, Owens, because your time is just about –
All thoughts of exacting a protracted revenge slowly from the hide of Scott Owens fled Zeke's mind as he caught sight of a round, dark object traveling through the closing gap in the stone wall. It was smooth and black, about the size of a man's fist. Skidding to a halt as he realized what it was, Zeke spread his arms to stop Ryan and Shank but Kathy was already too far ahead of him and the raven-haired officer did not seem to have even noticed the grenade.
"Kathy wait!" Zeke cried, panic clawing viciously at his mind but part of the lieutenant knew it was too late already. The mocking, half-mad part of the Ranger's mind cackled devilishly.
Hearing Zeke's alarmed shout Kathryn halted dead in her tracks – and then she saw the explosive arcing her way. Time slowed as Zeke looked on in wide-eyed horror, helpless to act as the hand grenade kicked up a pall of dust an inch from the policewoman's right foot. Confusion flashed across Kathy's face as she looked down and Zeke wanted to shriek but a deafening thunderclap knocked him and the others from their feet. An impossible heat singed his face.
When the ground ceased to tremble and his ears ceased to ring the lieutenant and his two companions scrambled back to their feet. Deep down, Zeke knew it was irrational to hope but he could not keep from praying that Kathryn was only injured and not dead. What remained of his fragile sanity would surely crack under the burden of having to carry one more death upon its shoulders. Zeke raised his eyes.
A smoking crater, a smoldering shoe and a few scraps of clothing were all the evidence that Officer Kathryn Ward had ever been. The rest of her remains must have been blown clear over the ridgeline. With a strangled noise Zeke collapsed to his knees, the pistol falling from fingers he no longer felt. You promised me you'd look after her, This time the voice in Zeke's mind was that of Sam Brocket's, gravely and cold as death, you promised to take care of her for me. You're a liar Zeke Wilcott. A liar.
"Holy Merciful Christ." Shank breathed at his back, starring at the steaming black hole where Kathryn had been standing. To Zeke's ears the biker's voice sounded a mile or more distant.
Running footsteps sounded coming up the track as the others raced to rejoin them but by then it no longer mattered. With a grinding, shuddering sigh the two halves of the cliff face sealed themselves up again. Zeke's enemy and his chances at tasting vengeance had once more been robbed from him. The Hand of Justice had failed.
Author's Note: I'm back! Boy, it feels like it's been forever. I apologize a thousand times for my prolonged absence but please know, loyal fans and readers, that I am NOT abandoning this story. Some times inspiration rains down upon me and makes a flood and other times there's unfortunately nothing but sunny skies. I will never abandon this work though. I won't set static dates for updates anymore but know they will come as soon as possible and I pray that you will continue to read and review. Your reviews often help to change the weather of my inspiration so please keep them up! Enjoy this installment and look for a new one soon. Thank you.