Barry chuckled, shaking his head. He was only thirty-eight, but had been with the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. for fifteen years, making him the senior member. He endured numerous old age jokes, mostly from Joseph.
Brad cocked an eyebrow. “The Spencer place? Why would it be in a magazine?”
“You kids, gotta learn your history,” Barry said. “It was designed by the one and only George Trevor, just before he disappeared. He was that hot-shit architect who did all those weird skyscrapers in D.C.—in fact, Trevor’s disappearance may have been the reason that Spencer shut the mansion down.
Rumor has it that Trevor went crazy during the construction and when it was finished, he got lost and wandered the halls until he starved to death.”
Brad scoffed, but suddenly looked uneasy. “That’s bullshit. I never heard anything like that.” Joseph winked at Barry. “No, it’s true. Now his tortured ghost roams the estate each night, pale and emaciated, and I’ve heard tell that sometimes you can hear him, calling out, ‘Brad Vickers . . . bring me Brad Vickers_’” Brad flushed slightly. “Yeah, ha ha. You’re a real comedian, Frost.”
Barry shook his head, smiling, but wondered again how Brad had ever made it to Alpha. He was un-doubtedly the best hacker working for S.T.A.R.S., and a decent enough pilot, but he wasn’t so hot under pressure. Joseph had taken to calling him “Chicken-heart Vickers” when he wasn’t around, and while the S.T.A.R.S. generally stuck up for one another, nobody disagreed with Joseph’s assessment.
“So is that why Spencer shut it down?” Brad addressed this to Barry, his cheeks still red. Barry shrugged. “I doubt it. It was supposed to be some kind of guest house for Umbrella’s top execs. Trevor did disappear right about the time of comple-tion—but Spencer was whacko, anyway. He decided to move Umbrella’s headquarters to Europe, I forget where exactly, and just boarded up the mansion. Probably a couple million bucks, straight into the crapper”
Joseph sneered. “Right. Like Umbrella would suffer.”
True enough. Spencer may have been crazy, but he’d had enough money and business savvy to hire the right people. Umbrella was one of the biggest medical research and pharmaceutical companies on the planet. Even thirty years ago, the loss of a few million dollars probably hadn’t hurt.
“Anyway,” Joseph went on, “the Umbrella people told Irons that they’d sent someone out to check the place over, and that it was secure, no break-ins.” “So why look for blueprints?” Brad asked. It was Chris who answered, startling Barry. He’d walked back to join them, his youthful face fixed with a sudden intensity that almost bordered on obsessive. “Because it’s the only place in the woods that hasn’t been checked over by the police, and it’s practically in the middle of the crime scenes. And because you can’t always trust what people say.”
Brad frowned. “But if Umbrella sent somebody out. . ”
Whatever Chris was going to say in response was cut short by Wesker’s smooth voice, rising from the front of the room.
“All right, people. Since it appears that Ms. Valen-tine isn’t planning on joining us, why don’t we get this started?”
Barry walked to his desk, worried about Chris for the first time since this whole thing had started. He’d recruited the younger man for the S.T.A.R.S. a few years back thanks to a chance encounter in a local gun shop. Chris had proved to be an asset to the team, bright and thoughtful as well as a top-notch marks-man and able pilot.
But now . . .
Barry gazed fondly at the picture of Kathy and the girls that sat on his desk. Chris’s obsession with the murders in Raccoon was understandable, particularly since his friend had disappeared. Nobody in town wanted to see another life lost. Barry had a family, and was as determined as anyone else on the team to stop the killers. But Chris’s relentless suspicion had gone a little overboard. What had he meant by that,
“you can’t always trust what people say”? Either that Umbrella was lying or Chief Irons was. . . . Ridiculous. Umbrella’s branch chemical plant and administrative buildings on the outskirts of town supplied three-quarters of the jobs in Raccoon City; it would be counter-productive for them to lie. Besides, Umbrella’s integrity was at least as solid as any other major corporation’s—maybe some industrial espio-nage, but medical secret-swapping was a far cry from murder. And Chief Irons, though a fat, weasely blow-hard, wasn’t the kind to get his hands any dirtier than they’d get accepting illegal campaign funds; the guy wanted to be mayor, for chrissake.
Barry’s gaze lingered on the picture of his family a moment longer before he turned his chair around to face Wesker’s desk, and he suddenly realized that he wanted Chris to be wrong. Whatever was going on in Raccoon City, that kind of vicious brutality couldn’t be planned. And that meant. . .
Barry didn’t know what that meant. He sighed, and waited for the meeting to begin.
Two
JILL WAS DEEPLY RELIEVED TO HEAR THE
sound of Wesker’s voice as she jogged toward the open door of the S.T.A.R.S. office. She’d seen one of their helicopters taking off as she’d arrived, and been positive that they’d left without her. The S.T.A.R.S. were a fairly casual outfit in some respects. But there also wasn’t any room for people who couldn’t keep up—and she wanted very much to be in on this case from the beginning.
“The RPD has already established a perimeter search, spanning sectors one, four, seven, and nine. It’s the central zones we’re concerned with, and Bravo will set down here ...”
At least she wasn’t too late; Wesker always ran meetings the same way—update speech, theory, then Q and A. Jill took a deep breath and stepped into the office. Wesker was pointing to a posted map at the front of the room, dotted with colored tags where the bodies had been found. He hardly faltered in his speech as she walked quickly to her desk, feeling suddenly like she was back in basic training and had shown up late for class.
Chris Redfield threw her a half-smile as she sat down, and she nodded back at him before focusing on Wesker. She didn’t know any of the Raccoon team that well, but Chris had made a real effort to make her feel welcome since she’d arrived.
“. . . after a fly-by of the other central areas. Once they report in, we’ll have a better idea of where to focus our energies.”
“But what about the Spencer place?” Chris asked. “It’s practically in the middle of the crime scenes. If we start there, we can conduct a more complete search—“ “—and if Bravo’s information points to that area, rest assured, we’ll search there. For now, I don’t see any reason to consider it a priority.”
Chris looked incredulous. “But we only have Um-brella’s word that the estate is secure. ...” Wesker leaned against his desk, his strong features expressionless. “Chris, we all want to get to the bottom of this. But we have to work as a team, and the best approach here is to do a thorough search for those missing hikers before we start jumping to con-clusions. Bravo will take a look-see and we’ll conduct this by the book.”
Chris frowned, but said nothing more. Jill resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Wesker’s little speech. He was doing the right thing, technically, but had left out the part about it being politic to do as Chief Irons
wanted. Irons had made it clear time and again throughout the killing spree that he was in charge of the investigation and was calling the shots. It wouldn’t have bothered her so much except that Wesker presented himself as an independent thinker, a man who didn’t play politics. She had joined the S.T.A.R.S. because she couldn’t stand the bullshit red-tape that dominated so much of law enforcement, and Wesker’s obvious deferral to the chief was irri-tating.