A slow grin spread across his features. Blood was seeping from his fists, from where his ragged fingernails had dug into the heels of his hands, but he felt no pain. His gaze wandered around the open, silent laboratory, resting briefly on the airlock. Then to the blank, stupid faces of his doctors. To the cylinders of compressed air and virus, his miracle. And finally, to the controls for the mesh gate that led to the animal enclosure. Dr. Griffith's smile widened. Blood pattered to the floor.
Let them come.
NINE
As steve read aloud, rebecca saw david glance between his watch and the door several times. She didn't think it had been ten minutes, but it had to be close. John and Karen weren't back yet.
''… where each is designed to measure applica-tion of logic, as combined index projective techniques with interval precision…''
It was rather dry reading, apparently a facility report on the analysis of some kind of I.Q. test. It had obviously been written by a scientist, was, in fact, the kind of boring double talk that a lot of researchers tended to fall into when trying to explain anything more complicated than a chair. Still, it was what had come up when Steve had asked for information on 'blue series.' Since the room had yielded little else, Rebecca forced herself to pay attention, fighting off
– nine -
the nagging, quiet fear that had settled over her during the fruitless search. Somebody had cleaned out the room, and done a very thorough job of it. She'd found books, staplers, pens and pencils, a ton of rubber bands and paper clips, but not a single piece of paper with writing on it, not a scrap of information to work with. Steve's computer search wasn't much better; no map and nothing at all on the T-Virus. Whoever had taken over the facility had apparently wiped out everything they might've been able to use.
Except for a shitload of dull psycho-babble, which so far hasn't even mentioned the word blue. How are we supposed to accomplish anything here?
Steve touched a key, then brightened considerably.
'Here we go…' ' 'The red series, when looked at on a standardized scale, is the most basic and simple, applicable up to an intelligence quotient of 80. The green series…'' He broke off, frowning. 'The screen just went blank.'
Rebecca looked up from the mostly empty desk she'd been going through as David walked over to join Steve. 'System crash?' he asked worriedly. Steve was still frowning, tapping at keys. 'More like a program freeze. I don't think – hello, what's this?' 'Rebecca,' David said quietly, motioning for her to come look. She closed a drawer full of blank, unlabeled file folders and moved over to stand behind Steve, bend– ing down to read what was on the monitor. The man who makes it doesn't need it. The man who buys it doesn't want it. The man who uses it doesn't know it. 'It's a riddle,' David said. 'Either of you know the answer?'
Before either of them could respond, Karen and John walked back into the room, both of them bol– stering their weapons. Karen held a sheet of torn paper in one hand. 'Locked up tight,' John said. 'Halfa dozen offices, no windows at all and only one other external door, north end.' Karen nodded. 'There were file cabinets in most of the rooms, but they were empty, except I found this in one of the drawers, stuck in a crack. It must have ripped off when the place was being cleaned out.'
She handed the piece of paper to David. He
scanned a few lines, his dark gaze taking on a sudden intensity. He turned back to Karen. 'This is all there was?'Karen nodded. 'Yeah. But it's enough, don't you think?'
David held up the torn sheet and started to read it
out loud.
' 'The teams continue to work independently, but have shown a marked improvement since the modification of aural synapses.' ' 'In Scenario Two, when more than one Trisquad is present, the second team (B) will no longer engage when the first (A) concludes (when target ceases to move or make sound).' ' 'If the target continues to provide stimuli and A has discontinued the attack (lack of ammunition/disabling injury to all units), B will engage. If within range, additional patrols will be drawn to the attack and will engage in succession.' ' 'At this time, we have not successfully managed to expand sensory ability to trigger desired behavior; the visual stimuli of Scenarios Four and Seven continue to be unpro– ductive, although we'll be infecting a new group of units tomorrow and expect correlating results by the end of the week. It is our recommendation that we continue to further develop aural capabilities before considering heat-detection implantation…'' 'That's where it's torn off,' David said, looking up. Karen nodded. 'It explains a lot, though. Why the team at the back door of the boathouse didn't do anything; the team out front was still firing. It wasn't until you and Steve took them out that the second group moved in.'
Rebecca frowned, not liking the implications of the report for more than just the obvious; Umbrella's continued experimentation on humans. From what she'd seen in Raccoon, the T-Virus took seven or eight days to fully amplify in a host, the host then falling to pieces within a month.
So what's this about infecting a new group and getting data in a week? Or for that matter, implanta-tion and sensory modification with the hosts they already have? There shouldn't be time for all that, the 'units' should be disintegrating, way beyond learning new behavior…
She bit her lip nervously, suddenly wondering what the researchers at Caliban Cove might have done with the virus. If they'd found a way to speed up the infective, perhaps tampered with the virion's fusion membrane, made it more cohesive…
… or somehow multiplied the indusionary, allow-ing it to replicate exponentially… we could be look-ing at a strain that works in hours, not days.
It was a nasty thought, and one that she didn't want to consider until she had more information to go on. Besides, it wouldn't make a difference in their current situation; the Trisquads were just as deadly either way.
'The sign on the north door says we're in block C, whatever that means,' John said, moving to the computer. 'Did you find a map?' Steve sighed. 'No, but take a look. I asked for information on the blue series, and it started to give us a report on these I.Q. tests, coded by color, then this. I can't get anything else.' John peered at the screen, mumbling, '… man who makes it doesn't need it, buys it, doesn't want it, uses it, doesn't know it…'
Karen, who had been rereading the Trisquad mate– rial, looked up with sudden sharp interest. 'Wait, I know that one. It's a casket.'
Somehow, Rebecca wasn't surprised that Karen knew the riddle; the woman struck her as someone who thrived on puzzles. They all gathered around as Steve quickly typed in 'casket.' The screen remained unchanged. 'Try 'coffin,'' Rebecca suggested. Steve's fingers flew across the keys. As soon as he hit 'enter,' the riddle disappeared, replaced by: BIDE SERIES ACTIVATED.
Then followed:
TESTS FOUR (BLOCK A), SEVEN (BLOCK D), AND NINE (BLOCK B)/ BLUE TO ACCESS DATA (BLOCK E).
'Blue to… Ammon's message,' Karen said quickly. 'That's it – the message received related to the blue series, then said, 'enter answer for key.' The answer was 'coffin'…' '… and the test numbers are the key,' David said. 'There are three more lines in the message, then 'blue to access.' The lines must be the answers to the tests, the letters and numbers reverse, time rainbow, and don't count. Jill was right, it's all about some-thing we're supposed to find.'
Rebecca felt a rush of excitement as David grabbed a pen off the desk and turned over the scrap of the Trisquad report. The information they had finally made sense – Dr. Ammon's message actually meant something.
We can do this, we've got something solid now…
David drew five boxes in two lines, the same as on Trent's map, marking the southernmost box with the letter C. After a pause, he tentatively labeled the others, starting at the top left with A and going right to left, marking the test numbers next to each letter. 'Assuming that this is right side up,' he said, 'and that we need to complete the tests in order, we'll be moving in a stagger, a zig-zag between the buildings.' 'And assuming the Trisquads don't have a problem with that,' John said softly. Rebecca felt her excitement dwindle, could see the same mixed emotions in the suddenly somber expres– sions they all wore, staring down at the boxes. She'd known that they were going to have to leave eventu– ally, but had somehow managed to avoid thinking about it, putting it off until it was in front of them. It was in front of them now. And the Trisquads would be waiting.
They stood at the north door in a dark and stuffy hallway, tightening bootlaces, adjusting belts, putting fresh
