Chapter 9

Leon had never been a fan of nightlife, which is probably why he got hung up at the door for as long as he did; his nights out usually consisted of a sports bar and a ball game.

The nightclub Providence was built into a casino a relatively short car ride from New York, and with so little time to plan, the meeting Ada came quickly and left him feeling a little unprepared. He wouldn't deny he felt a little isolated too, despite having worked on solo operations before, but at least Hunnigan was usually in his ear, watching from satellite. If nothing else, she could have at least kept him company, but Fischer agreed that it was better to not try and spook Ada while they had the chance. That meant no Hunnigan.

She hadn't said anything about coming unarmed, however.

It wasn't a simple matter of walking through the door, as he quickly found out after waiting in a rather long line that stretched through the casino foyer. When he inquired as to why the meaty bouncer stopped him with an abrupt hand to the chest, the answer almost made him want to laugh.

"Dress code."

"Ah, 'scuse me?" he asked, not sure if he'd heard him correctly.

The bouncer gestured to the line of people waiting. It was odd that he didn't notice it when he'd been standing there. Women were wearing dresses of various lengths, men in nicer clothes. Not shirts and ties and ball gowns, but not exactly ripped shirts and shorts either.

"You're kidding me," he said flatly. He was dressed pretty casual, jeans, a simple black muscle shirt with a black button down over it to hide his sidearm. "You won't let me in because of how I'm dressed?"

The bouncer cocked his head, the universal sign for beat it. He wasn't intimidated; the bouncer was thicker, but they were the same height, and Leon was confident in both his strength and fighting prowess. It wouldn't come to fighting, though. Fischer had given him plenty of leeway on this assignment, but he wasn't about to get into a scuffle with hired muscle that would inevitably draw attention to himself.

Leon sighed patiently. "Listen, I really need to get in there. It's kind of important. I'm supposed to meet someone."

"You and everyone else," the bouncer replied, folding his arms. "Rules are rules. That means the dress code is enforced."

He dug into his pocket to pull out his ID. He hated having to pull the "I'm a government agent" routine, especially with the public. It was guaranteed to work, but it usually meant having to wait longer while someone in the red tape discovered he was actually legitimate.

"I'm with the government," he stated, holding the card up that bore his mug shot. "Leon S. Kennedy, Government Security Agency, subset of the FBI. The person I'm meeting pertains to national security."

Fortunately, the bouncer had more sense than Leon gave him credit for. He peered at the ID, then back to him. "Something going on here that we should know about?"

"No, not that you need to know about," he said, putting the card away. He didn't want to poke at security anymore than he had to, and now that he had some leverage, he had to play the part. "Like I said, it pertains to national security."

Despite his willingness to accept the ID, the bouncer still seemed reluctant to let him enter. Maybe he was thinking it was an elaborate show to weasel his way into the club.

He rolled his eyes. "You can either let me in, or go through the hassle of confirming my identity, but I'm not leaving. Give me twenty minutes, tops. If I'm not back by then, you can come throw me out. Sound fair?"

The bouncer paused, and then stepped to the side. "Fine. Twenty minutes."

"Thanks."

Twenty minutes would be long enough to accomplish whatever Ada had in mind. If she went this far to contacting them, he doubted she'd pass information in a public place and draw it out. It would be quick and discreet. Probably.

He moved through the darkened foyer of the club and immediately remembered why he never liked nightclubs. The dim lighting gave way into the main club, and it was packed. The dance floor comprised a majority of the floor space, bordered by not one, but two DJ booths. There was a bar on the far end, closer to a line of booths and a door that presumably led to private rooms. The floor was crowded with close to a hundred dancing civilians, with more standing in the periphery or lounges, sitting in various chairs and enjoying drinks.

The crowd would have been bad enough, but then factor in that the darkness spread through the entire club, lit only by strobes, flashing neon lights, lasers, and LCD screens. His eyes wouldn't adjust to the settings; the lights kept his eyes refocusing constantly, and the throbbing bass coming from the speakers reverberated into his core, disorienting him in conjunction with over-stimulating lights. Any longer than twenty minutes was going to give him a headache.

Even if he had worn a wire, the music would have overpowered everything. She was covering her tracks, being extra thorough.

The crowd seemed to move with the music, following the beat while a recorded voice belted nonsensical lyrics.

Your life, euphoric

I've waited for so long

I'm crashing

Sweet foam in these eyes

Like a six ton mega bomb

Your heart, platonic

I've waited until this time

The force, erratic

Like a deuce from a laser storm

Your spite, turns on me

Like a cloud cries in the rain

Your karma, it's solid

You got a wonder, it's all your own…

Somewhere in the room, Ada was waiting, only she hadn't specified how they were going to meet. He checked his watch; an hour before midnight, right on time, then scanned the crowd. Other than determining sex, recognizing the faces of the people was impossible in the extreme opposites of light and dark.

Don't find her. She'll find you, just be ready when she does. If it wasn't for Ada, this would be a trap.

He decided to make for the bar. That way, he'd be out of the grinding crowd and a little more noticeable. The way the club was set up, however, the dance floor stood between him and his intended destination with no other way around. Nevertheless, he clenched his teeth and began to push through, his excuse me's lost over the music. The people really didn't seem to notice him or even care, which made pushing through them harder and his progress slow. Everything he touched was sweaty, scented, and moving.

He was just passing the middle of the floor when he felt arms around his waist and the distinctive feeling of a body pressing up against him, then warm breath against his neck. He stiffened at the suddenness of it.

"Hey handsome, wanna dance?"

So much for being ready.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a dancer." He had to shout over the music, despite the fact she had barely whispered in his ear.

Ada laughed. "Never know until you try. Just try moving your hips."

He could feel her moving behind him, her own hips pressed against his and matching the tempo of the music beat for beat. The room was stifling from being packed in a windowless, smoky room filled with hundreds of moving, sweating bodies, and he had already started to sweat himself. The smooth movement of her hips was intoxicating, and her hands were dangerously low, resting just below the buckle of his belt.

That incredible urge to just lose himself swelled up fast, but he pressed it back down. He knew who he was dealing with.

"I'll take a rain check." He gripped her wrists just enough to loosen her teasing hold, then turned to face her.

Behind him, she was limited to his imagination, which concerning Ada Wong was substantial, but something that never got the better of him. Actually seeing her was an entirely different experience, and, over the years, like looking through a spectrum. He had seen the cool and professional side of her in Raccoon City. In Spain, she was nothing but passion and curves. What he saw now was her wild side.

Gone was the strict professional cocktail dress or the long elegant gown he'd seen her in last. Instead, she wore a short, slinky red halter dress that looked right at home in the club and made every other woman appear overdressed. He couldn't help his glance to the keyhole front or notice the fact that it stopped mid-thigh. The lights glazed off the fabric and her skin, and the shine told him that she never settled for anything less than silk. It was hard to tell what was cloth and what was skin.

The sexy attire was only matched by that confident grin. For a minute, all he could do was stare, but he was entirely grateful she kept a little distance between the two of them, even though her hands were still clasped around his waist, anchored at the small of his back.

"Miss me?" she teased.

You know it. "Not really," he lied. "You wanted to talk?"

She gave him a hurt, playful little pout, then smiled and unhooked her arms from his waist and led him through the crowd. He probably imagined it, but she seemed to have a much easier time than he did. Once they were out of the seething mass of flesh and sweat, she took him to one of the booths near the bar and sat down. Grateful to be out of the people in cooler air, he slid in across from her. Here, her radiance was a little less, out of the violent strobes and motion, but she was still beautiful. Even in the dark settings he could see her lipstick, eye shadow, and the long gold earrings that dangled from her ears.

A waiter came by, asking if they wanted anything to drink. Ada ordered a martini, but Leon opted for nothing despite the fact he could go for water. The booth was away from the speakers; his voice would hold out for a little longer, but he would still have to talk loudly to be heard.

"So, where do we start?" she asked conversationally.

"Well, as I recall, the last time you and I were this close you ran away, leaving me with a bullet in the gut after I saved your life," he said. "Why don't we start with that?"

The comment stung, he could see it on her features as she looked away. It came out a little colder than he intended, but she needed to know exactly where they stood. You don't just forget the past.

"Sorry," she apologized. It was hard to tell, but she looked morose. When she did look back, the confidence had returned. "Look at it from my perspective. Did you really expect me to just sit there and let the GSA take me in?"

Leon shrugged. "Could have. You had been cooperating. I'd even go so far as to say that Fischer would have cut you some slack."

"So I was supposed to sit in lockup while another assassin got ready to stick a knife in me?"

Leon glared at the implication that the GSA was riddled with moles. Finding out it had been true was bad enough, but there was no way Wesker could have had more than one agent in an organization that closely tied to the President. That thinking at least helped him sleep at night.

"You seemed to disappear rather conveniently afterwards," he remarked. "Did you get caught on purpose and have someone waiting to pick you up?"

Ada laughed. Her drink arrived, and the waiter left, leaving them to the conversation after she took a sip. "I just happened to meet the right people at the right time."

"And they would be?" He expected a lie, or the question to remain unanswered.

"It was S," she answered right away. "Wesker went to them after Spain, but they found out he was going to betray them, so he bailed. When I followed up with my own investigation, the CEO took a liking to me. Ultimately, they weren't the players we originally thought they were...you know the rest."

It had been all over the news a while back. S couldn't take the heat being thrown on by the Global Pharmaceutics Consortium, and the company tanked. What wasn't released to the public was evidence that they were working on their own B.O.W program, though it was still in its infancy. It sounded like it was going to be another Umbrella the way they had been progressing, so it was fortunate they went bankrupt.

"So S knew about Wesker, but they're all finished now, and I'm assuming what they knew, you know?" he clarified, and Ada nodded. "It sounds like the trail would stop there. What else did you find?"

"Wesker and Crow were the only ones who had access to Umbrella's research after Raccoon City. That means they were the ones who were distributing it on the black market, or at least the ones who started the B.O.W trade."

Crow. Ada had mentioned that name before. She told him that he was Wesker's partner in this, and the one who used to run the organization. The GSA didn't have anything on him, which was unusual, and tipped the scales when anything concerning Wesker came up. They needed to know if there was another player involved.

"Just who is Crow?" he asked. "He was your boss, right?"

"From what I gather. I always had reason to believe the organization was something of a democracy, but regardless of how they operated, he had the final say in everything."

"Ever meet him in person?"

Ada smirked like she was proud. "Only once or twice, which is more than any of the other agents could say. We usually didn't see his face, but he seemed especially drawn to me." She scoffed and took a drink of her martini. "He's a pompous British asshole, who also happens to be a handsome lecher. But a face doesn't get us anywhere without an identity. Both him and Wesker are too good at hiding."

"But you were trying to find them, weren't you? I can't see you just walking away from the organization, especially if the two of them were trying to kill you."

Ada nodded. "I was tracking different weapons dealers that were known to be traffickers of viral weapons or B.O.W. I figured if I managed to catch one, they would be willing to part with who was supplying them, and hopefully, it would be Wesker and Crow. I managed to catch up with one, Ricardo Irving, but he slipped away. Still managed to get some information before he did."

She took yet another drink. Leon waited patiently for her to continue. He sensed movement under the table, and tried to keep his mind off imagining those long legs crossing. She was building to some kind of punch line by retelling the whole story. Not that he complained; every little bit of information on her actions was probably useful. He'd heard of Irving before, a prominent arms dealer, but they might be able to link him to Wesker now.

"It led me to a bank in Istanbul, and who do you think had been paying Irving a lot of money?" she finished with a smile.

Her silence stretched, and he realized she was waiting for a guess. It was stupid, because he obviously didn't know, but he had to humor her nonetheless. "Whoever it is, I take it it's the reason you wanted to meet?"

"The primogen of evil himself, Ozwell Spencer."

His heart skipped a beat at the drop of that name, daring to hope that the punchline she told him was actually true. Ada had found a link to the bioterror network to the founder of Umbrella, who he was sure had long since disappeared.

"You're kidding," he said for the second time that night.

"Nope," she said smugly. "And want to know more? I may have a location."

The second bit of news was just as shocking as the first. She was sitting on that kind of information?

"Okay," he said slowly, carefully trying to organize his thoughts. Things had been going too well for him to get all giddy. "Let's say you're telling the truth, and you know that Spencer has a hand in this, and maybe where he is. How did you find him, and why come to us?"

"I got a history of records. I don't know if it's recent or not, but I was able to narrow it down to a few potential places. As far as going to you…"Ada's jaw shifted, as if she was weighing her next words. "…it's because I can't do it alone."

This time, it was Leon's turn to laugh. "Coming from you, that's very surprising to hear."

"Well, what am I supposed to do alone?" she replied impatiently. "Spencer is the reason why all of this started. He formed Umbrella. As old as he is, he's still more dangerous than people give him credit for with the knowledge and influence he can pull together. We have the best chance of getting to him if we work together."

"That's assuming what you and I want is the same thing," he countered, then leaned back in the booth. He felt strangely elevated from the fact that she had to turn the tables on herself. She could play the spy mystique all she wanted, but this was the real reason why she contacted them. Ada Wong needed help. If this kept up, maybe he could get her to jump through a hoop.

"We do," she assured him. "Spencer built Wesker into the person that he is. Both of us, for one reason or another, want Wesker to pay for what he's done. He's our best bet at finding him. That should be enough for the government."

The offer was very enticing, but that's what she was all about. The red dress, the information, it all made his mouth water. There had to be some angle that he wasn't seeing, something between the lines… he needed to think clearly, and think just as hard as she would.

"Awfully generous of you to give up his location for free," he said casually. "I assume there's something you want? Asylum? Information?"

"I don't want the GSA to do anything…concerning me, that is. I'm helping you, you're helping me. Tit for tat. I'm not working for Wesker anymore, so you have no reason to track me."

It wasn't up for him to decide, but he would figure his superiors wouldn't be so keen on letting Ada walk away. "You're one of the most dangerous people in the world. You have ties to Umbrella, and you've worked for that secret organization that is ultimately responsible for the distribution of B.O.W. The government isn't just going to let you walk so you can latch on to the next bidder and cause the next cataclysm."

"I don't work for people, Leon," she said in irritation, like this was something they had gone over before. "I work for myself. The organization was just a means to my own ends. I'm not interested in toppling governments or spreading B.O.W. I just have to sometimes play the game to get out of it. If a bullet I shoot levels a building years later, I'm fine with that. You have my offer, so what's it going to be?"

"I can't make a decision for the entire government," he told her. "If you want to bargain, you'll have to go to my boss or the President. I assume that's going to be a problem?"

"That's something we'll have to work around, yes, but that's not the problem," she said, then tipped her glass back and drained the contents.

"Oh yeah, and what is the problem?"

She looked at him, and then he realized she was looking past him, over his shoulder. "The problem is that you were followed."

Author's Note: The song lyrics are not mine. They're from a song called Piledriver. It's a little obscure, but I believe it's by a group called Amoeba Assassin.