suffered the least tissue deterioration. Given the proper instructions, Alan could probably still pass for human. Griffith pulled the police whistle out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of Athens.
'Dr. Athens, recall the Trisquads from duty. Tend to their physical needs and send them to the cold room. When you've finished, go to the cafeteria and wait.'
Athens picked up the whistle as he stood, then walked out of the room, down the hall toward the dormitory's other entrance. The whistle would deacti– vate the teams and call them in. There were four Trisquads, twelve soldiers in all. They'd be roaming the woods along the fence, or moving stealthily around the bunkers, having been trained to stay away from the northeast area of the compound, the light– house, and dorm. Griffith had to admit, they were quite effective at their purpose. Umbrella had wanted soldiers that would kill without mercy, and fight until they were literally blown to pieces. The T-Virus had been good for that much, and since they'd sped up the amplification time, they'd been able to turn out subjects in hours, rather than days. Once trained with weapons, the Trisquads had become killing ma– chines, although with the recent heat wave, he didn't know how much longer they'd be viable… Griffith turned his attention to Dr. Thurman, still grinning and stinking like some bloated infant. He even looked like a baby, pudgy and bald, his smile as innocent and guileless as a child's.
'Dr. Thurman, go to your room and remove your clothes. Shower and dress in clean clothes, then go to the caves and feed the Ma7s. When you've finished, go to the cafeteria and wait.'
Thurman stood up, and Griffith saw that the pad– ded chair was wet and stained. Christ. 'Take the chair with you,' Griffith said, sighing. 'Leave it in your room.'
After he'd gone, Griffith sat down across from Alan, suddenly feeling tired. The anticipatory pride he'dfelt only moments before was gone, leaving a cold emptiness in its place.
My children. My creation…
The virus was so beautiful, so perfectly engineered that the first time he'd seen it, he'd wept. Months of private research, of picking apart the T-Virus and isolating effect, culminating in that first micro– graph… while the others had been gloating over their war toys, he'd found the true path to a new beginning.
And do they appreciate what I've done? Do any of them know how crucial this is? Crapping himself like a disgusting child, like a monkey, disgracing my work, my life…
Griffith looked at Alan Kinneson, studying his handsome features, his expressionless eyes. Dr. Kin– neson stared back, waiting to be told what to do. He'd been a neurologist once. There were pictures in his
room of his wife and baby, a little boy with a bright, beautiful smile… Griffith's sanity shuddered suddenly, a terrible, rending twist that made him dizzy, a thousand voices screaming unintelligibly through the cracks of reality. For just a second, he felt as if he was losing his mind.
How many will just starve to death, sitting in puddles of filth, waiting? Millions? Billions? 'What if I'm wrong?' Griffith whispered. 'Alan, tell me I'm not wrong, that I'm doing this for the right reasons…' 'You're not wrong,' Dr. Kinneson said calmly.'You're doing this for the right reasons.' Griffith stared at him. 'Tell me your wife's a whore.' 'My wife's a whore,' Dr. Kinneson said. No pause. No doubt. Griffith smiled, and the fear melted away.
Look what I've accomplished. It's a gift, my cre-
ation, a gift to the world. A chance for man to become
strong again, a peaceful death for all the Louis Thur-
mans in existence, better than they deserve…
He'd been working too hard, tiring himself, and the strain was getting to him. He was only human, after all… but he couldn't afford to let the stress of his body affect his mind again. There would be no more tests. He'd spend the day getting ready instead, pre– paring himself for the cleansing. Tomorrow at sunrise Dr. Griffith would give his gift to the wind.
SIX
Karen driver was a tall, lanky woman in her early thirties, with short blond hair and a serious, businesslike demeanor. Her small home was spotlessly kept and almost antiseptically clean. The clothes she'd picked out for Rebecca were utilitarian and perfectly folded: a dark green T-shirt and crisp matching pants, black cotton socks and underwear. Even her bathroom seemed to reflect her personality; the white walls were lined with shelves, each neatly organized according to purpose.
Scratch a forensics scientist, find an obsessive-compulsive…
Rebecca immediately felt guilty for thinking it. Karen had been welcoming enough, even friendly in a brusque way. Maybe she just hated clutter. Rebecca sat on the edge of the toilet and cuffed the overlong pants around her ankles, relieved to be out of her old clothes and feeling surprisingly clear– headed after a night of broken sleep. David had rented a car at the airport, and in the early hours of the morning, they'd found a cheap motel and stag– gered into their separate rooms, Rebecca too ex– hausted to do more than take off her shoes before crawling into bed. She woke just before ten, took a shower and had been waiting nervously when David knocked at her door. Rebecca heard the front door open and close, new voices floating through the living room. She slipped on her high tops and laced them quickly, feeling her anxiety level jump a notch. The team was assembled. They were that much closer to going in, and though she'd thought of little else since waking up, the realization continued to come as a kind of shock. Umbrella's surprise attack on Barry's house already seemed like it had happened in another lifetime, though it had been only hours ago…
… and hours from now, this will all be over. It's what's gonna happen in between that worries me. David and his team weren't there, they didn't see the dogs, the snakes, those unnatural creatures in the tunnels… or Tyrant.
Rebecca shook the images away as she stood up, scooping her dirty clothes off the floor and stufling them into the empty bag that she'd carried on the plane. There was no reason to assume that the Cali– ban Cove facility would be the same, and worrying about it wouldn't change anything. She paused in front of the mirror, studying the tense features of the young woman she saw there, and then walked to the door. She headed for the living room, past the sparkling kitchen and around a corner in the hall. She heard David's lilting voice, apparently summing up the events of the night before.
'… said he'd ring some of the others first thing this morning. Another of the team has a contact in the FBI to use as a go-between and to initiate an investi-gation when we have proof. They'll be waiting to hear from us when we've completed today's operation…'
He broke off as Rebecca walked into the room, and all eyes turned to her. Karen had pulled a few extra chairs into the room and sat in one of them next to a low, glass topped coffee table. There were two men sitting on the couch, across from where David stood. David smiled at her as both men got up, stepping forward to be introduced.
'Rebecca, this is Steve Lopez. Steve is our resident computer genius and our best marksman…'
Steve grinned, an aw-shucks smile that suited his boyish features perfectly as he shook her hand, his teeth white against his natural deep-tan coloring. He had dark, quick eyes and black hair, and was only a few inches taller than her.
Not much older, either…
His gaze was friendly and direct, and in spite of the circumstances, Rebecca found herself wishing that she'd at least run a brush through her hair before coming out of the bathroom. Simply put, he was hot.
'… and this is John Andrews, our communications specialist and field scout.'
John's skin was a deep mahogany brown and he didn't have a beard, but he reminded her of Barry nonetheless. He was massively built, his six-foot frame bulging with tightly packed muscle. He grinned brightly at her, his smile dazzling white.
'This is Rebecca Chambers, biochemist and field medic for the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S.,' David said. John let go of her hand, still smiling. 'Biochemist? Damn, how old are you?'
Rebecca smiled back, catching the glint of humor in his eyes. 'Eighteen. And three-quarters.'John laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle as he sat back down. He glanced at Steve, then back at her. 'You better watch out for Lopez, then,' he said, then dropped his voice to a mock whisper. 'He just turned twenty-two. And he's single.' 'Knock it off,' Steve growled, his cheeks flushing. He looked at her, shaking his head.
'You'll have to excuse John. He thinks he's got a sense of humor and nobody can talk him out of it.' 'Your mother thinks I'm funny,' John shot back, and before Steve could respond, David held up a hand. 'That's enough,' he said mildly. 'We only have a few hours to organize if we mean to do this today. Let's get started, shall we?'
Steve and John's banter had been a welcome break from her tension, making her feel like one of the team almost instantly, but she was also glad to see the serious, intent looks on all of their faces as they turned their
