Chapter 6

Ada purchased a train ticket under the identity of one of her aliases, and only a few hours after the bank infiltration she was sitting comfortably in a first class cabin on her way to Ankara, Turkey's capital. While not nearly the size of Istanbul, it was big enough for her to disappear easily, even if she was being hunted. Fortunately, she moved fast enough before the local law enforcement could tighten a net around transportation.

Once the train was moving and she was sure the Turkish government wasn't right on her heels, she let down her guard a little bit and ordered some tea from the steward. The business suit had been ditched at the train station in Istanbul, and she changed into something with a little more local flavor to blend in better; a brown loose fitting silk blouse and a pair of capris. She could have passed for a tourist on vacation, sampling some of the fashion. The look was completed with a pair of different sunglasses and a messenger bag slung casually over her shoulder.

The adrenaline crash was worse than the after effects of any caffeine rush, even when some of the edge was taken off from the ginseng in her tea. The cabin had a fold down bed for longer travels, which looked very tempting as the afternoon slowly became evening. Still, wanting to take a nap as she did, she dug out her PDA from her pocket. From the messenger bag she pulled out a laptop, and then booted both devices up.

The privacy of her cabin ensured a quiet environment to try and fish something out of the information without being disturbed. It might take her five minutes, five hours, or five days to find something, but she needed to know more about the account holder. They would eventually find out that she infiltrated and shot up the place, and might relocate. She needed to find them before that happened, and she wasn't sure what kind of clock she was facing.

"Alright, Mr. Spencer," she muttered to herself as the computer finished warming up. "Let's find out who you are."

She connected her PDA, then started a transfer to the laptop. The little device was a marvel to modern technology, not to mention a sexy spy tool, but it wasn't efficient enough for what she currently needed, which were a keyboard and a bigger screen.

She blew over the top of her tea and took a sip, then began to look at the files. However, her computer didn't house the same programs as the banks did. As a result, the data was a near incomprehensible mix numbers and image files. It took the better part of an hour to organize only a part of it, and at the very best, she was able to get it into a format that was legible. That was assuming, of course, that there was an order to it, and that it hadn't been stored randomly on the hard drive.

The numbers that did make sense right away were extraordinary. The previous years she had been in the organization had brought her into contact with enormous amounts of wealth, and her own personal accounts were nothing to blush at either, but the owner of the account blew both out of the water. There were cash records not only indicating ample amounts of deposits in Istanbul, but other bank accounts worldwide. Mixed in with it were lists of what could have been safety deposit boxes or other stashes that could have house more private matters.

Like diamonds, gold bullion, or other swag that can't be easily converted to hard cash. I wouldn't have minded picking up a few spare diamonds while I was there.

As she dug deeper and deeper, more of the iceberg began to show. There were lists and records of bonds pertaining to several companies she recognized. They were large pharmaceutics companies, most of which went down when the Global Pharmaceutics Consortium tried to clear up the legal matter after the Raccoon Outbreak.

What was more, there was also an incomplete record of stocks the account held, and once again, many of them were with pharmaceutics organizations. It was a proverbial rollercoaster of financial ups and downs; companies that were hit hard after the outbreak obviously took a bite out of the wealth, but other companies that survived balanced the finances out.

She considered what she was looking at. Whoever had been dealing with Irving had a big interest in what was going on with the pharmaceutics companies over the past six years. Not only that, but some of the dates on the bonds were older than six years, before the whole mess in Spain brought Las Plagas into the mix.

Maybe this could be Wesker and Crow's stash? They could have been planning this for years before Spain, just waiting for the right time. That makes sense, but why put all this time and cash into other markets? They would need a reason to lose cash from drowning corporations…

Not to mention, the dates pushed even further back. Wesker, as cunning as he was, couldn't have made plans that far in advance…

…then again, underestimating Wesker was a bad idea.

She turned her attention to some of the image files, half hoping they would be a black or white answer to her questions. To her dismay, the first few were photocopied bank statements, most of the information on them blacked out. The next few were digital copies of stocks and bonds, just circular information confirming what she had gleaned from the data stream a few minutes before.

She opened another image file, and gasped audibly through her tea at what popped up. It was just another copied banking statement, but what brought her shock was the emblem in the corner of the official document, faded through years of storage and re-copying.

Umbrella.

Sure enough, the old company's parasol logo was distinct, only black, white, and grainy on the screen instead of red and white. She could only stare at it in surprise for a few moments, her hand frozen over the computer's touchpad, and then she hastily set her tea to the side. A jolt on the tracks jostled her, sending a hot spill over the back of her hand that made her wince.

She dried her hand, the tea forgotten as she panned over every pixel of the image. Most of it was unreadable, but a date was just barely noticeable in one of the text boxes near the top of the statement. It was marked decades before the Raccoon Outbreak, back when Umbrella had been a thriving company.

Her hand trembled slightly in excitement as she scrolled down to the bottom of the image. The signature was at the bottom, clear as day. It was so obvious now; she should have made the connection as soon as Samet said the name.

Spencer. Ozwell Spencer.

The founder of Umbrella Corporation.