vague; he believed that there was an organized assault going on, and that external influences were involved somehow. Wesker asked if he had anything new to add (stressing new, Jill noticed), and Chris shook his head, looking depressed.
Wesker capped the black pen and sat on the edge of his desk, gazing thoughtfully at the blank expanse of board. It's a start, he said. I know you've all read the police and coroner reports, and listened to the eyewitness accounts.
Vickers here, over. From the back of the room, Brad spoke quietly into his headset, interrupting Wesker. The captain lowered his voice and continued.
Now at this point, we don't know what we're dealing with and I know that all of us have some… concerns with how the RPD has been dealing with the situation. But now that we're on the case, I…
What?
At the sound of Brad's raised voice, Jill turned toward the back of the room along with everyone else.
He was standing up, agitated, one hand pressed to the ear piece of his set.
Bravo team, report. Repeat, Bravo team, report!
Wesker stood up. Vickers, put it on 'com!
Brad hit the switch on his console and the bright, crackling sound of static filled the room. Jill strained to hear a human voice amidst the fuzz, but for several tense seconds, there was nothing.
Then… you copy? Malfunction, we're going to have to…
The rest was lost in a burst of static. It sounded like Enrico Marini, the Bravo team leader. Jill chewed at her lower lip and exchanged a worried glance with Chris. Enrico had seemed… frantic. They all listened for another moment but there was nothing more than the sound of open air.
Position? Wesker snapped.
Brad's face was pale. They're in the, uh, sector twenty-two, tail end of C… except I've lost the signal. The transmitter is off-line.
Jill felt stunned, saw the feeling reflected in the faces of the others. The helicopter's transmitter was designed to keep working no matter what; the only way it would shut down was if something big happened – the entire system blanking out or being seriously damaged.
Something like a crash.
Chris felt his stomach knot as he recognized the coordinates.
The Spencer estate.
Marini had said something about a malfunction, it had to be a coincidence – but it didn't feel like one.
The Bravos were in trouble, and practically on top of the old Umbrella mansion.
All of this went through his head in a split-second, and then he was standing, ready to move. Whatever happened, the S.T.A.R.S. took care of their own.
Wesker was already in action. He addressed the team even as he reached for his keys, heading for the gun safe.
Joseph, take over the board and keep trying to raise them. Vickers, warm up the 'copter and get clearance, I want us ready to fly in five.
The captain unlocked the safe as Brad handed the headset to Joseph and hurried out of the room. The reinforced metal door swung open, revealing an arsenal of rifles and handguns shelved above boxes of ammo. Wesker turned to the rest of them, his expression as bland as ever but his voice brisk with authority.
Barry, Chris I want you to get the weapons into the 'copter, loaded and secured. Jill, get the vests and packs and meet us on the roof. He clipped a key off his ring and tossed it to her.
I'm going to put a call in to Irons, make sure he gets us some backup and EMTs down at the barricade, Wesker said, then blew out sharply. Five minutes or less, folks. Let's move.
Jill left for the locker room and Barry grabbed one of the empty duffel bags from the bottom of the gun safe, nodding at Chris. Chris scooped up a second bag and started loading boxes of shells, cartridges, and clips as Barry carefully handled the weapons, checking each one. Behind them, Joseph again tried hailing the Bravo team to no avail.
Chris wondered again about the proximity of the Bravo team's last reported position to the Spencer estate. Was there a connection? And if so, how?
Billy worked for Umbrella, they own the estateChief? Wesker. We just lost contact with Bravo;
I'm taking us in.
Chris felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and worked faster, aware that every second counted – could mean the difference between life and death for his friends and teammates. A serious crash was unlikely, the Bravos would have been flying low and Forest was a decent pilot… but what about after they'd gone down?
Wesker quickly relayed the information to Irons over the phone and then hung up, walking back to join them.
I'm going up to make sure our 'copter's outfitted.
Joseph, give it another minute and then turn it over to the boys at the front desk. You can help these two carry the equipment up. I'll see you on top.
Wesker nodded to them and hurried out, his footsteps clattering loudly down the hall.
He's good, Barry said quietly, and Chris had to agree. It was reassuring to see that their new captain didn't rattle easily. Chris still wasn't sure how he felt about the man personally, but his respect for Wesker's abilities was growing by the minute.
Come in, Bravo, do you copy? Repeat…
Joseph patiently went on, his voice tight with strain, his pleas lost to the haze of white static that pulsed out into the room.
Wesker strode down the deserted hall and through the shabbier of the two second-floor waiting rooms, nodding briskly at a pair of uniforms that stood talking by the soda machine.
The door to the outside landing was chocked open, a faint, humid breeze cutting through the stickiness of the air inside. It was still daylight, but not for much longer. He hoped that wouldn't complicate matters, although he figured it probably would…
Wesker took a left and started down the winding corridor that led to the helipad, absently running through a mental checklist. … hailing open procedure, weapons, gear, report…
He already knew that everything was in order, but went through it again anyway; it didn't pay to get sloppy, and assumptions were the first step down that path. He liked to think of himself as a man of precision, one who had taken all possibilities into account and decided on the best course of action after thoroughly weighing all factors. Control was what being a competent leader was all about.
But to close this case…
He shut the thought down before it could get any further. He knew what had to be done, and there was still plenty of time. All he needed to concentrate on now was getting the Bravos back, safe and sound.
Wesker opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped out into the bright evening, the rising hum of the 'copter's engine and the smell of machine oil filling his senses. The small rooftop helipad was cooler than inside, partly draped by the shadow of an aging water tower, and empty except for the gunmetal gray Alpha helicopter. For the first time, he wondered what had gone wrong for Bravo; he'd had Joseph and the rookie check both birds out yesterday and they'd been fine, all systems go.
He dismissed that train of thought as he walked toward the 'copter, his shadow falling long across the concrete. It didn't matter why, not anymore. What mattered was what came next. Expect the unexpected, that was the S.T.A.R.S. motto, although that basically meant to prepare for anything.
Expect nothing, that was Albert Wesker's motto. A little less catchy, maybe, but infinitely more useful. It virtually guaranteed that nothing would ever surprise him.
He stepped up to the open pilot door and got a shaky thumbs-up from Vickers; the man looked positively green, and Wesker briefly considered leaving him behind. Chris was licensed to fly, and Vickers had a reputation for choking under the gun; the last thing he needed was for one of his people to freeze up if there was trouble. Then he thought about the lost Bravos and decided against it. This was a rescue mission. The worst Vickers could do would be to throw up on himself if the 'copter had crashed badly, and Wesker could live with that.
He opened the side door and crouched his way into the cabin, doing a quick inventory of the equipment that lined the walls. Emergency flares, ration kits… he popped the lid on the heavy, dented footlocker behind the
