Chapter 1: Five Minute Break
The white glare cast by a row of computer screens illuminated the chiseled profile of a well-coifed man.
"Not quite what you'd hoped," Ada said. She slapped a disc into Wesker's gloved hand. "A recovery team was dispatched to WhilPharma. Downing, however, is another matter. He's been taken into custody. Extraction will be difficult."
"Do not presume to know what I hope, Miss Wong."
"If that'll be all?" Ada said.
Wesker spun his chair around to face her. "Not interested in the show?"
Ada shook her head. "I was there, for most of it."
An eyebrow arched over the rim of his polished sunglasses. "Admiring Kennedy's work?"
The young agent was Ada's only sore spot, and Wesker loved massaging it.
"It's not his work I admire. Had I the time I would've have worshipped our mutual acquaintence from more than afar." She winked, and retreated to the door. "But Kennedy went down a familiar road last night." She paused in the doorway. "With a red head. Maybe you've heard of her? Her last name is Redfield." She smiled a snakelike grin. Massage that, you pathetic son-of-a-bitch!
The Redfield name was poison to his ears and Ada watched him clench one of his fists into a ball and slowly release it, satisfied with the tight-lipped hiss she heard him exhale as the doors closed.
"Claire."
Wesker inserted the disc into a computer drive, leaned back in his chair, and waited for the data to download. He thought about the last time he'd been close to Claire on Rockfort, and smiled. What fantastic fun it had been. How he'd used the Redfield girl to draw her Neanderthal brother into the open. It was a shame the timing of events on the base had not allowed for prolonged amusements. He found the younger of the Redfield siblings to be quite an entertaining distraction.
He allowed her full access to his mental pathways during quiet moments of restful solitude, and in those moments he designed scheme after scheme in which he employed her as a catalyst to torment Chris.
None of the ideas had evolved beyond the foundation of a rudimentary plot, due to the constant preoccupation with other, more pressing, matters, and because it was simpler and easier to effectively spike Christopher's steroidal rage by sending him reminders of what Wesker could do if the mood suited him. Anticipation and suspense, the surprise of the unknown, were surprisingly effective mental predators.
A phone call here, an e-mail there, a detailed letter describing what he would do physically to the younger Redfield if he were fortunate to have her in his company once again.
Did Christopher share the entertaining notions with his younger sibling or did he keep them a well-guarded secret? Wesker opted for the latter.
He snorted in disgust. The brain dead mass of brother muscle didn't have the first clue about his lovely, and definitely more intelligent, better half. She was stronger, in character, than Christopher could ever imagine.
Wesker wondered how much rage he could provoke if he sent Christopher some of his surveillance footage. Cameras, installed outside the Redfield residence and photos taken of Claire when she dated Kennedy, indicated there was more to the Claire-Leon relationship than holding hands and eating ice cream while Pat Boone cooed sweet nothings in the background.
Wesker removed his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and his eyes. The eyestrain from staring at computer screens for two solid days was as good as excuse as any for a much needed break. He raised his boots onto the desk and leaned back. Five minutes. He closed his eyes, and let the girl creep in...
###
Raccoon City Park. A sunny spring day. The meeting had been arranged through a third party. Plenty of open space and plenty of people in case either party decided to behave foolishly.
Wesker crested a grassy knoll and strolled around a concrete pond, filled with ducks and ringed by two-seat benches. He checked his watch. His contact was late. The designated bench was unoccupied.
There was a tug on the coat tails of his long jacket. He turned to face a young girl. He estimated her to be around eight or nine years of age, with red hair swirled the colors of mahogany and fire embers and gathered into a high ponytail on top of her head. She stood in his shadow.
"Can you help me?" the girl asked, her large aqua eyes made rounder in excitement, and almost too large for her small, delicate face.
Wesker glanced in several directions. "Young lady, didn't your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?"
She pursed her lips together while she concentrated on how to answer his question. "I don't have a mommy and daddy, just my older brother."
"And where is this brother?"
The girl pointed to a young man some distance away. He threw a Frisbee to a dog.
"You should ask him to help you," he said curtly as he turned to walk away.
Another tug on his jacket forced Wesker to give her his attention, yet again.
"I don't want to walk all the way over there to get him." She pointed in the direction of a tall tree nearby. A kite was stuck high up in one of its branches. "Can't you help me get it? You're closer."
Without giving him a chance to object, she grabbed him by his hand and pulled him toward the tree. It was a powerful reminder to Wesker as to why children irritated him. They always placed their needs before your own.
Wesker looked up. The kite was too high for him to reach it. "I am afraid I cannot help you."
He wondered what she would do next. He would love to break her heart by telling her he wasn't going to climb up and get it for her, if she asked. It would serve her right for bothering him.
She didn't ask. She had a plan of her own. "I'll climb up and you..." She pushed on his stomach, and Wesker back peddled until he found himself directly below the branch on which the kite rested. "You stand here and catch me in case I fall, okay?"
Wesker almost smiled at the child's resilient nature. He could appreciate ambition. "A sensible plan."
The girl nodded and started up the tree like a monkey, expertly weaving between the tree limbs. When she reached the branch that cradled the kite she got down on her stomach, locked her legs together, and slowly inched her way across the branch. She did well, until a loud shout startled her.
"Claire! What're you doing! You'll fall!"
Word proceeded deed. The girl slid sideways and was now hanging on upside down. "I think my brother's right," she said calmly, without any of the normal hysteria that Wesker suspected a child might produce in a similar situation.
Wesker nodded. "I would agree."
"Can you please put out your arms?"
"How do you know I will catch you?"
"Because you smell like my brother and he wouldn't drop me."
Wesker was astounded. The child determined good people verses bad people based on scent. He made a mental note to always at least smell like the good guy.
He sighed at the absurdity of the whole situation and held out his arms. The girl plopped into them like a rag doll.
Her brother reached them as Wesker set her on the ground. "Thanks Mister," he huffed, out of breath. He pulled the girl close and knealt beside her. "What do you think you're doing? You could've gotten hurt."
"Getting my kite."
"Perhaps if you had kept a proper eye on this child she would not have placed herself in a situation to break her neck," Wesker admonished.
The boy's cheeks blossomed red, and the splash of color spread quickly to his sweat drenched forehead and pimpled chin. "I try dude, believe me I try. She told me she was going to the bathroom."
"Try harder," Wesker replied. "Nine million children suffer unintentional injuries each year. Nearly three million of those injuries are fall related, and require a visit to an emergency room or treatment in a physician's office. Under your lax supervision this child is a future statistic. Would you care to be enlightened on the probabilty of stranger abduction and the mortality rates associated with children adbucted by strangers as well?"
"Jesus, dude. Lord no. I don't wanna talk about any of those things, and I certainly don't want them mentioned in front of her. C'mon Claire. I'll get your kite." He motioned for her to follow him and headed toward the tree.
The girl stamped her foot. "I could have gotten it myself." She looked up at Wesker. "He never lets me do anything."
"He let you wander off to the bathroom," Wesker said softly, as she turned to join her brother.
Suddenly she swung around, walked back to Wesker and held out a grimy hand. "Thanks anyway, Mister."
"A pleasure, Claire." He extended his hand and shook hers.
She smiled.
###
Break time was over. Wesker lowered his feet, and brought up the data from all the surveillance cameras at the terminals of Harvardville airport up onto multiple screens.
"Hello Senator," he said, staring at the video footage on the first monitor.
Screens two, three, and four displayed wide angle shots of the arrival and departure gates. He panned the cameras past a man in a Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat. Jehovah's witnesses were congregated in a far corner. Reporters were to the far right of a terminal, eager for a Senator barbeque. A woman with a wide smile on her face presented with a hug by an enthusiastic child. A...Wesker rewound the footage and replayed the greeting between the woman and child. He zoomed the cameras in closer.
"Dear Heart," he muttered. "What an interesting surprise. Whatever were you doing in Harvardville?"
A genuine smile spread across his face. He zoomed the cameras in as close as they would go. The words TerraSave were etched onto a backpack she had slung over her shoulder. "Were you planning a visit to my associates at Wilpharma?" he asked the screen as though he were asking her directly.
Screens five and six looped footage of the airplane barreling through the terminal. There! Infected had emerged from the aircraft after it had crashed, confirming Wesker's suspicions. There had been a two-tier attack. One virus released, his samples, on the aircraft. One virus released in the terminal prior to the aircraft's destructive arrival.
Wesker dialed the first contact number in his cell phone's list, and spoke without the courtesy of a simple "hello".
"Senator, we have a problem."