Bertolucci stood up and glared at her, his lips curling. "And who the hell are you?" Pretending that she hadn't heard, Ada upped the desperation, but just a hair; she didn't want to over– play the helpless female bit, it kind of clashed with the fact that she'd survived this long.
"I'm trying to find a friend of mine, John Howe.
He was working for a branch office of Umbrella based
in Chicago, but he disappeared several months ago
and I heard a rumor that he's here, in this city…"
She trailed off, watching Bertolucci's expression. He knew something, no question, but she didn't think he was going to give it up. "I don't know anything," he said gruffly. "And even if I did, why would I want to tell you?"
Original. If the cop wasn't here, I'd probably just shoot him. Actually, she probably wouldn't; Ada wasn't into killing for the fun of it, and thought that she could probably get it out of him using one of her more persuasive methods – if her feminine charmsdidn't work, there was always a shot to the kneecap. Unfortunately, she couldn't do anything with Officer Leon hanging around. She hadn't planned on their encounter, but for the moment, she was stuck with him. The cop obviously wasn't happy with the reporter's responses. "Okay, I say we leave him in there," he growled, talking to Ada but staring at Bertolucci with undisguised irritation. Bertolucci half-smiled, reaching into one pocket and pulling out a set of silver cell keys on a thick ring. Ada wasn't surprised, but Leon looked even more pissed off. "Fine by me," Bertolucci said smugly. "I'm not about to leave this cell, anyway. It's the safest place in the building. There are more than just zombies run-ning around here, believe you me."
From the way he said it, Ada thought she'd proba– bly have to kill him after all. Trent's instructions had been clear – if Bertolucci knew anything about Bir– kin's work on the G-Virus, he was to be disposed of; why, exactly, she wasn't sure, but that was the job. If she could just get a few moments alone with him,she'd be able to ascertain how much he actually knew.
The question was, how? She didn't want to shoot Leon; as a rule, she didn't kill innocents – and be– sides, she liked cops. Not necessarily the brightest lot, but anyone who took a job that required putting his or her life on the line had her respect. And he had great taste in weaponry – the Desert Eagle was top of the line…
… so why rationalize? I ditch him first and then circle back, doesn't mean I'm going soft… "Ggrraaaa!"
A violent, inhuman shriek pierced the tense silence. Ada snapped her Beretta around, aiming at the open gate that led back through the empty cell-block area. Whatever it was, it was somewhere in the basement… "What was that?" Leon breathed from behind her, and Ada wished she knew the answer. The still resonating echo of that furious scream was like noth– ing she'd heard before – and nothing she expected to hear, even knowing about Umbrella's research. "Like I said, I'm not leaving this cell," Bertolucci said, his voice breaking slightly. "Now get out of here before you lead it right to me!" Sniveling coward… "Look, I may be the only cop left alive in this building," Leon said, and something about the com-bination of fear and strength in his tone made Ada shoot a look back at him. The officer's gaze was fixed on Bertolucci, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.
"… so if you want to live, you're gonna have to come with us." "Forget it," Bertolucci snapped. "I'm staying here 'til the cavalry shows up – and if you're smart, you'll do the same thing." Leon shook his head. "It could be days before anyone comes, our best chance is to find a way out of Raccoon – and you heard that scream. Do you really want to get a visit from whatever made it?"
She was impressed; some Umbrella freak could be lurching its way toward them even now, and Leon was actually trying to save the reporter's worthless hide. "I'll take the risk," said Bertolucci. "And good luck getting out, you're gonna need it…"
The rumpled reporter stepped up to the bars, looking back and forth between them, running a hand over his greasy hair. "Look," he said, his voice softening. "There's a kennel in the back of the building, with a manhole in it. You can get to the sewers from there, it's probably the fastest way out of the city."
Ada sighed inwardly. Terrific; so much for her hidden route to the lab. If she dumped Leon now, it would take him about five minutes to find her.
You can always kill him, if it comes to that, or… you can get him lost in the sewers and come back for Bertolucci while he's clearing the path for you.
Unlike Bertolucci, she didn't want to run into whatever had screamed and now that she knew he was staying put, luring the cop away was the next logical step.
The things I do to avoid unnecessary bloodshed… "Alright, I'm going to check it out," she said, and without waiting for Leon's response, she turned and sprinted for the gate.
"Ada! Ada, wait!"
She ignored him, hurrying past the empty cells and back into the chilled hall, relieved that the passage was still clear and feeling a little unnerved by her sudden reluctance to simplify the situation. Things would be a lot easier if she just got rid of them both, a decision she wouldn't have hesitated to make under different circumstances. But she was sick of death, sick and tired and disgusted with Umbrella for what they'd done; she wasn't going to take the cop out unless she had to.
And if she did have to, if it came down to some innocent's life or completing the job?
That she could ask herself that question at all told her more about her state of mind than she wanted to admit. She'd reached the door to the kennel; Ada took a deep breath, forcing every twinge of nagging emo– tion from her thoughts, and stepped inside to wait for Leon Kennedy.
FOURTEEN
So beautiful… even in death, beverly Harris was radiant, but Irons couldn't risk having her wake up while he wasn't watching; he carefully folded her into the stone cabinet beneath the sink and latched it, promising himself that he would take her out when he had more time. She would become the most exquisite animal he'd ever transformed, posed and forever perfect once he'd prepared her the proper way… a dream come true.
If I have time. If there's any time left.
He knew he was feeling sorry for himself again, but there was no one else to commiserate with, no one to marvel at the sheer magnitude of all that he'd suf– fered. He felt terrible – sad and angry and alone, but he also felt that things had finally become clear. He knew now, knew why he was being persecuted, and that awareness had given him a focus – as de– pressing as the truth was, at least he was no longer lost.
Umbrella. An Umbrella conspiracy to destroy me, all along…
Irons sat on the scarred, stained table in the Sanctu-ary, his special, private place, and wondered how long it would be before the young woman came for him. The one with the athletic body, the one who'd refused to tell him her name. In a way, she was responsible for his newfound clarity, an irony that he couldn't help but appreciate; it had been her sudden appearance that had provided him with the truth. She would find him, of course; she was an Umbrella spy, and Umbrella had obviously been watching him for quite some time. They probably had lists of everything he owned, volumes of psychological profil– ing reports, even copies of his financial records. It all made sense, now that he'd had some time to think; he was the most powerful man in Raccoon, and Umbrel– la had designed his downfall, tailored each vicious backstab to cause him the most acute agony possible. Irons stared at his treasures, the tools and trophies that sat on the shelves in front of him, but felt none of the pride they usually inspired. The polished bones were simply something to look at as his mind worked, absorbed with Umbrella's treachery. Years before, when he'd started taking money to turn a blind eye to the company's doings, things had been different; then it had been a matter of politics, of finding himself a niche in the power structure that really controlled Raccoon. And things had worked smoothly for a long time – his career had progressed on schedule, he'd earned the respect of officials and citizens alike, and for the most part, his investments had paid off. Life had been good.