Summary: Alex Paterson [Alex Wesker] murders James Marcus and associates with Oswell E. Spencer, her biological father.
I
The bullet pierced the skull and embedded itself in the frontal lobe. The barrel of the revolver burned.
The body crashed limp to the ground.
She grabbed a saw from the toolbox and cut off the head. She put the trophy in a vacuum bag.
She dialed an international number on the hacked phone.
"Who's calling?"
"Get me Mr. Spencer. It's urgent."
"Lord Spencer won't see anyone without an appointment and without first meeting the caller."
"Tell him I have the virus and James Marcus's head."
II
She rode in the 4x4 with the virus and the head of James Marcus. A group of individuals in protective suits entered the basement of the ranch. A man with a thick British accent assured her that they would get rid of the body and the lab. The SUV started up. She would travel by private plane to Luxembourg.
III
Spencer examined the severed head of James Marcus with a clinical eye. A clean shot to the forehead had killed him. A single shot had extinguished the sullen Texan.
A single shot.
Spencer went to light a cigar but gave it up for the shocking sight of the head. The damned head with the glassy eyes and the jagged features, eaten away at the edges and yellowed with decay. He'd loathed Marcus in recent years, but cold-blooded murder and mutilation like that... On a par with what he'd done to Trevor.
He asked Patrick to turn his head away, for the putrid smell had congested his nostrils. He blew his nose into his handkerchief. The disturbing thing, however, had not been Marcus's death, but who had killed him: a twenty-eight-year-old woman who claimed to be the biological daughter of Oswell Ernest Spencer.
Alexandra Paterson.
"Hide the sample. It will be our secret," he ordered Patrick.
IV
The woman who claimed to be his biological daughter had inherited his blond hair, blue eyes and features. He recognised the mother at the mention of her name. The daughter of a millionaire rancher whom he had met at a party in California. The same mother who years before had sent him a letter to charge him for the care of a supposed daughter of his. And there it was: his worst nightmare.
Alex didn't drink tea and her American accent bounced off his ear canal as if he were at a rodeo. American on top. Stereotypically American. Spencer sipped from his teacup.
"And you're from California?"
"Arkansas."
"Oh, cows and cowgirls."
Spencer set the cup down carefully and smiled condescendingly at his appearing daughter.
"I worked with Brandon Bailey in Africa. I befriended him so he'd trust me. I gave him the ranch and the lab when Marcus wanted to escape," Alex said.
"Why did you kill Marcus?"
Alex looked down.
"He attacked me. He suspected me. He pointed the gun at me and wanted to kill me so I wouldn't steal his research. He thought you'd sent me; that I was a spy. He went mad. He hated you."
"Why did he hate me?"
"Because all you care about is money and politics."
Spencer laughed.
"He was a good friend... Brilliant at science, but stupid at social relations. Anyway, and you brought me his head as proof of loyalty?"
Alex shrugged.
"I doubted you'd listen to me if I rang the doorbell."
"And what do you want from me?" Spencer prepared himself a cigar. "Money? Connections? A house on the prairie? A new cowboy hat?"
"I want to be your daughter."
Spencer smiled.
"Sure, with that accent and manners. My family will welcome you with open arms."
"I want to work at Umbrella. I want to research that virus."
"What?"
"I'm a virologist, and you're half physicist, half economist. Who have you hired to translate the reports for you?"
Spencer got serious.
"And you've come to save me, Alexandra. That's very kind of you. But I don't require anyone's services. No one. Let out of my house."
"Marcus' virus is a variant T-virus untested in humans, only in insects and arthropods. It's capable of inducing exaggerated mutations in a very short time and replicating certain genetic structures."
"Replicating?"
"Mimic the genetic structure of the host, like cloning. I started working with Marcus in 1983. I know how that virus works, and I know a few things about you and Umbrella. You're just gonna let me walk away?"
Tough as nails and twisted, just like her father.
"Let's make a deal. Suppose I hire you, you work for Umbrella, and I assign you to a lab. Suppose I let you research that virus and many others. Would I end up with a bullet in my head, or would you worship your father?"
"I can't inherit your fortune and your family will hate me, so why would I shoot my only safe conduct?"
Spencer finished his cigar.
"I'll give you one chance."
One chance.