The S.T.A.R.S., Trent's poem, objectives and contacts.
It was hard to focus after such a draining experi-ence, and it didn't help matters that he'd been tired to begin with. He hadn't slept well in days, and thinking of all that lay ahead of them only made concentration harder. Rebecca's information about Dr. Griffith was disconcerting, to say the least, and though he was no less determined to carry out the Caliban Cove opera– tion, it was just one more concern to add to a seemingly endless list. Chris walked into the room wearing a faded blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and fell into a chair across from David, his face hidden in shadow. After a moment, he leaned forward, enough light filtering through the closed blinds so that David could see his expression. The younger man's gaze was tired, thoughtful and apologetic.
"Look, David… the last couple of weeks have been rough on all of us, you know? Waiting to see what Umbrella was gonna do, the suspension, feeling like our friends died for nothing…" Chris stopped himself, then started again. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot earlier, and I'm glad you're on our side. I shouldn't have been such an asshole about it."
David was surprised and impressed by the sincerity behind the words; when he was in his twenties, he would've rather had his fingernails pulled out than display any emotion, except anger of course. He'd had no trouble expressing anger. Yet another legacy from dear old Dad…
"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for," David said softly. "Your concerns are more than justified. I-I've been under a bit of strain myself, and I didn't mean to come across as domineering. The S.T.A.R.S. are, that is, they mean a lot to me, and I want us… I want for them to be whole again…"
Jill walked in from the kitchen, saving David from continuing with his fumbling speech. Much to his relief, Chris seemed to understand; he met David's gaze evenly, nodding, as if to say that the air had been cleared between them. David sighed inwardly, won– dering if he'd ever be able to overcome his awkward– ness with expressing emotions. He'd done a lot of thinking since Barry had first called, about himself and his almost obsessive anger over the S.T.A.R.S. betrayal and had come to the unsettling realization that he wasn't happy with the way his life was turning out. He'd thrown himself into his career in an effort to avoid dealing with a dysfunc– tional childhood, something he'd always known, but now, facing Umbrella and the treachery of an organi– zation that he considered his family, he'd been forced to really think about the implications of his choice. It had made him an excellent soldier, but he didn't have any close friends or attachments… and having his "family" taken away had come as a cruel wake up to the fact that he had based his life on running from human contact.
Brilliant for me to have figured it out this late in the game. I suppose I should thank Umbrella for that much; if they don't kill me, they'll at least have managed to send me into therapy.
Jill had brought out a pitcher of water and several mismatched glasses which she passed around as Barry and Rebecca joined them. Barry wore a clean bandage on his arm and seemed pale in the dim light, certainly shaken by their discovery of Captain Shannon. David felt bad about killing Shannon, though he'd recon– ciled himself long ago to the realities of combat; in a war, people died. The captain had made his choice, and it had been the wrong one. They drank in silence, the four Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. (ex-S.T.A.R.S., he reminded himself) pensive and somber, perhaps aware of the ticking clock. He and Rebecca would have to leave in a few moments. There was a convenience store a block away where they could telephone for a cab. David wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but the truth was the truth: they were going on a dangerous mis– sion, and there were no guarantees that any of them would survive to meet again.
"Have you thought about what you'll tell the local police?" David asked finally. Barry shrugged. "We won't have to lie much, any– way. The three of us were at my place, a buncha guys broke in and tried to shoot us. We ran." "Irons will probably try to play it off as a botched burglary," Chris sneered. "If he's in this as deep as I think he is, he won't want to call attention to anything Umbrella's doing." "Just be careful not to mention actually seeing any bodies," David said. "They may have had time to clean up. And you should say that you were chased
into the park. It would explain your leaving the scene, as well as Captain Shannon's body…"Barry smiled tiredly. "We'll handle it. And I'm going to make some calls first thing tomorrow, get us some backup. You just worry about your end, okay?"
David nodded and stood up, as did Chris. David shook hands all around and then turned to Rebecca, uncomfortably aware that he was taking her from her teammates and trusted friends. The girl looked at the others in turn with a thoughtful expression and then grinned suddenly, an unaffected and purely wicked smile.
"Sure you guys can hold down the fort for a couple of days? I hate to think of you flailing around all directionless while me and David go clean up this Umbrella thing." "We'll try to limp along without you," Chris shot back, smiling. "Won't be easy, what with you having the brain and all…" Rebecca punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll send you a postcard with instructions." She nodded at Barry. "Take care of your arm. Keep it clean and dry, and if you spike a fever or get dizzy, get to a doctor ASAP." Barry smiled. "Yes, ma'am." Jill embraced her lightly. "Give 'em hell, Becca." Rebecca nodded. "You, too. Good luck with Irons." She turned to David, still smiling. "Shall we?" They walked to the front door together, David wondering at the girl's easy demeanor. They'd just barely survived a serious attack, carried out by people who'd probably trained her, and she was leaving with a man she hardly knew to embark on a life– threatening mission. She was either putting on an act or was amazingly optimistic and if she was faking the casual bravado, she deserved an award. He watched her carefully as they stepped out into the small, unkempt yard of Brad Vickers's house, and saw her smile fade, quickly replaced by a look of vague sadness and beyond that, the same kind of focused intensity that she'd had when she'd told them about Dr. Griffith and his research. Whatever she was thinking, he could see in that look that she was perfectly aware of the risks, but that she refused to be cowed by them. The perfect definition of bravery… David was satisfied with his decision to enlist Rebecca Chambers for the operation. She was smart, professional, and committed, as superior in her field of study as the rest of his team members were in theirs. He could only hope that their combined skills would be enough to get them in and out of Caliban Cove in one piece, bringing with them proof of Umbrella's experiments, an objective that would lead to the ruin of the company that had corrupted the S.T.A.R.S., and perhaps let him sleep peacefully again. David nodded, and the two of them set off to make the call.
After rereading the information on Caliban Cove, Rebecca folded the papers and carefully tucked them into the overnight bag under David's seat. He'd bought three bags at the airport, one for the weapons, currently in cargo, the others to carry on so they wouldn't attract attention. Rebecca wished they'd thought to buy some snacks while they were at it. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and the packet of nuts she'd swallowed after takeoff wasn't cutting it. She reached up to switch off the reading light and then settled back in her seat, trying to let the smooth hum of the 747 engines lull her into a doze. Most of the other passengers on the half-full plane were asleep; the dim "night" lights and the steady drone of the engines had already worked for David. But even as drained as she felt by the evening's events, she gave up the effort after a minute or two. There was too much to think about, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep without at least sorting through some of it.