As they stood to leave, David reminded himself that they were doing this because it was necessary, that each of them had made up their own mind to participate in the dangerous operation. They knew the risks. And he also knew that if anything went wrong, that knowledge would be cold comfort indeed. Karen sat in the back of the van and loaded clips, the words of the mysterious message repeating through her thoughts as she thumbed the nine– millimeter rounds into each magazine.
… Ammon's message received/blue series/enter answer for key/letters and numbers reverse/time rainbow/don't count/blue to access.
She finished another clip and set it aside with the others, absently wiping her oily fingers on the leg of her pants before picking up the next. A welcome breeze whispered through the muggy van, smelling of salt and summer-warmed sea. They'd pulled off the road south of the cove, finding a clear patch to set up not a quarter mile from the water's edge. Outside, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. The not-so- distant sound of soft waves against the shore was soothing, a white noise back-ground to the low voices of the others as they worked. Steve and David were propping the raft, while John checked out the motor. Rebecca was assembling a medical kit from the supplies they'd 'borrowed' out of the S.T.A.R.S. equipment warehouse.
… the letters and numbers… a code? Does it relate to time? Does counting relate to the sum of the lines, or to something else?
Her mind worked the riddle relentlessly, gnawing at the words the way a dog worries a bone. What did it mean? Were the lines connected to a single concept, or did each represent a separate aspect of a bigger puzzle? Had Ammon sent the message, and if he worked for Umbrella, why?
She finished the last clip and reached for a water-proof carryall, refocusing herself to the task at hand. She knew that her thoughts would return to the strange little poem as soon as she'd completed her assigned detail. It was the way her mind worked; she just couldn't relax when presented with an ambiguity. There was always an answer, always, and finding it was just a matter of concentration, of taking the right steps in the right order. The semi-automatics were cleaned and ready, lay– ing in a neat line next to the checked radio gear on the floor of the van. They weren't taking any weapons besides the S.T.A.R.S.-issued Berettas, David insist– ing that they needed to travel light. Although Karen agreed, she was sorry they wouldn't be bringing in the assault rifles, which were equipped with night scopes. After hearing more of the details about the zombie– like creatures on their ride, she didn't know how comfortable she felt with just a handgun and a halogen flashlight.
Admit it. You're worried about this one, and have been since David broke the news. The facts are all out of order, the pieces don't fit the way they're supposed to.
It was ironic that the reasons compelling her to crack this mystery were the same ones that made her so uneasy: Trent, the S.T.A.R.S.'s apparent collusion with Umbrella, the possibility of a biohazardous incident in her home state. Who had been bribed? What had happened at Caliban Cove? What would they uncover? What did the poem mean? Not enough data. Not yet.
She'd always prided herself on her lack of imagina– tion, on her ability to find the truth based on empiri– cal evidence rather than wild, unsubstantiated intu-ition. It was the key to success in her field, and though she was aware that she sometimes came across as overly clinica – even cold – she accepted who she was, embracing the kind of peace that was found in knowing all of the facts. Whether it was examining blood spray patterns or measuring angles on an entry wound, there was a deep satisfaction for her in solving puzzles, in finding out not only why, but how. The unanswered questions about Caliban Cove were an affront to her careful thought processes. They went against her grain, smudging her very ordered sense of reality – and she knew that she wouldn't find relief until those questions were put to rest. She was finished with the weapons. She should check the utility belts again, make sure everything was locked down and ready, and then see if David had anything else for her to do… Karen hesitated, feeling a trickle of warm sweat slide down her back. No one was within sight of the open back door, and she'd already double-checked every flap and pocket on every belt. With a sudden rush of something like guilt, she reached into her vest pocket and pulled out her secret, comforted by the familiar weight of it in her hand.
God, if the guys knew, I'd never hear the end of it.
It had been given to her by her father, a remnant from his service in WWII and one of the few items she had to remember him by-an ancient anti-personnel shrapnel grenade, called a pineapple because of its crosshatched exterior. Carrying it was one of her few unpractical idiosyncrasies, one that made her feel a little silly. She'd worked hard to present herself as a thoroughly rational, intelligent woman, not prone to emotional sentimentality and in most respects, that was true. But the grenade was her rabbit's foot, and she never went on a mission without it. Besides, she had half convinced herself that it might come in handy one day…
Yeah, keep telling yourself that. The S.T.A.R.S. have digitized anti-personnel grenades with timers, even flash- bangs with computer chips. The pin on this relic probably couldn't be wrenched out with pliers… 'Karen, do you need any help?'
Startled, Karen looked up and into Rebecca's ear– nest young features, the girl leaning into the back of the van. Her quick gaze fell to the grenade, her eyes lighting up with sudden curiosity.
'I thought we weren't taking any explosives… hey, is that a pineapple grenade? I've never actually seen one. Is it live?'
Karen quickly looked around, afraid that one of the team had overheard, then grinned sheepishly at the young biochemist, embarrassed by her own embar– rassment.
It's not like I got caught masturbating, for chrissake; she doesn 't know me, why the hell would she care if I'm superstitious? 'Shh! They'll hear us. Come here a sec,' she said, and Rebecca obediently crawled into the van, a con– spiratorial half-smile blooming on her face. In spite of herself, Karen was absurdly pleased by the young biochemist's discovery. In the seven years she'd been with the S.T.A.R.S., no one had ever found out. And she'd taken an instant liking to the girl.
'It is a pineapple, and we're not taking explosives in. You can't tell anyone, okay? I carry it for good luck.' Rebecca raised her eyebrows. 'You carry a live grenade around for luck?' Karen nodded, looking at her seriously. 'Yes, and if John or Steve found out, they'd ride me ragged. I know it's dumb, but it's kind of a secret.' 'I don't think it's dumb. My friend Jill has a lucky hat…' Rebecca reached up and touched her head-band, a tied red bandana beneath mousy bangs.
'… and I've been wearing this for a couple of weeks practically. I was wearing it when we went into the Spencer facility.'
Her young face clouded slightly, and then she was smiling again, her light brown gaze direct and sincere.
'I won't say a word.'
Karen decided that she definitely liked her. She tucked the grenade back in her vest, nodding at the girl. 'I appreciate that. So, are we ready out there?' Tiny lines of nervous strain appeared on Rebecca's face. 'Yeah, pretty much. John wants to run another check with the headsets, but other than that, every-
thing's done.'
Karen nodded again, wishing she could say some– thing to ease the girl's fear. There wasn't anything to say. Rebecca had dealt with Umbrella before, and any words that Karen might mouth would be hollow ones, might even seem patronizing. She felt some anxiety herself, she'd be a fool not to, but fear wasn't a state that she wore often or well. As with most missions, the overriding feeling she experienced was anticipa-tion, a kind of cerebral hunger for the truth.
'Go ahead and hand out the weapons, I'll get the rest,' Karen said finally. She could at least give her something to do. Rebecca helped her unload the equipment as the sun dipped lower in the heavy summer sky. The winds off the water grew cooler and the first pale stars shimmered into view over the Atlantic. As twilight crept in, they moved down to the water in an uneasy silence, loading their weapons, stretch– ing, staring out at the black waters that eddied and swirled with secrets of their own. When the last of the daylight melted off the hori– zon, they were as ready as they were going to get. As John and David slipped the raft into the lapping darkness, Karen slipped on a black watchcap and patted the heavy lump inside her vest for luck, telling herself that she wouldn't need it. The truth was waiting. It was time to find out what was really going on.
SEVEN
Steve and david climbed in, edging to the front of the six-man raft as Karen and Rebecca followed. John hopped in last, and at David's signal, started the motor with the push of a button; it was as silent as David had promised, only a faint hum that was almost lost in the sound of gently moving water. 'Let's move,' David said
