pretty well; she was smart and tough and resourceful, always had been … but she was also a college student, for Christ's sake. Unlike the rest of them, she didn't have any formal combat training. He couldn't help thinking that she'd been lucky so far, and when it came to Umbrella, luck just wasn't enough.
'Chris, get in here!'
Leon, and it sounded urgent. Chris and Barry looked at each other, Chris seeing his own worry mirrored in Barry's face, and they both stood up. His heart in his throat, Chris hurriedly led the way down the hall to where Leon was working, feeling eager and afraid at once. The young cop was standing next to the computer, his expression unreadable. 'She's alive,' Leon said simply. Chris hadn't even been aware of how bad things had been for him until those two words. It was like his heart had suddenly been released after being gripped hi a vise for ten days, the sense of relief as physical as it was emotional, his skin flushing with it.
Alive, she's alive… Barry clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. 'Of course she is, she's a Redfield.'
Chris grinned, turned his attention back to Leon and felt his smile slipping at the cop's carefully neutral expression. There was something else. Before he could ask, Leon motioned at the screen, taking a deep breath. 'They've got her on an island, Chris … and there's been an accident.'
Chris was leaning over the computer in a single stride. He read the brief message twice, the reality of it slow to sink in.
Infection trouble approximately 37S, 12W following attack, perps unknown. No bad guys left, I think, but stuck at the moment. Watch your back, bro, they know the city if not the street. Will try to be home soon.
Chris stood up, silently locking gazes with Leon as Barry read the message. Leon smiled, but it looked
forced. 'You didn't see her in Raccoon,' he said. 'She knows how to handle herself, Chris. And she managed to get to a computer, right?' Barry straightened up, took his cue from Leon. 'That means she's not locked down,' he said seriously. 'And if Umbrella's got its hands full with another viral spill, they're not going to be paying attention to anything else. The important thing is that she's alive.'
Chris nodded absently, mind already working on what he would need for the trip. The coordinates she'd listed put her in an incredibly isolated spot, deep in the South Atlantic, but he had an old Air Force buddy who owed him, could jet him down to Buenos Aires, maybe Capetown; he could rent a boat from there, survival gear, rope, medkit, an assload of firepower… 'I'm going with you,' Barry said, accurately reading his expression. They'd been friends a long time. 'Me, too,' Leon said. Chris shook his head. 'No, absolutely not.' Both men started to protest, and Chris raised his voice, talking over them.
'You saw what she said, about Umbrella homing in on me, on us,' he said firmly. 'That means we have to relocate, maybe one of the estates outside the city someone has to stay here, wait for Rebecca's team to get back, and someone else needs to scout out a new base of operations. And don't forget, Jill will be here any day now.'
Barry frowned, scratched at his beard, his mouth set in a thin, tight line. 'I don't like it. Going in alone is a bad idea…' 'We're at a crucial phase right now, and you know it,' Chris said. 'Somebody's got to mind the shop, Barry, and you're the man. You've got the experience, you know all the contacts.' 'Fine, but at least take the kid,' Barry said, gesturing toward Leon. For once, Leon didn't protest the label, only nodded, drawing himself up, shoulders back and head high.
'If you won't do it for yourself, think about Claire,' Barry continued. 'What happens to her if you get yourself killed? You need a backup, somebody to pick up the ball if you fumble.' Chris shook his head, immovable. 'You know better, Barry, this has to be as quiet as possible. Umbrella may have already sent in a cleanup crew. One person, in and out before anyone even realizes I'm there.'
Barry was still frowning, but he didn't push it. Neither did Leon, although Chris could see that he was working up to it; the cop and Claire had obviously gotten pretty close.
'I'll bring her back,' Chris said, softening his tone, looking at Leon. Leon hesitated, then nodded, high color burning in his cheeks, making Chris wonder exactly how close Leon and his sister had become.
Later. I can worry about his intentions if we make it back alive… … when we make it back alive, he quickly amended. If was not an option. 'It's settled, then,' Chris said. 'Leon, find me a good map of the area, geographical, political, everything, you never know what might help. Also post back to Claire, just in case she gets another chance to check for messages tell her I'm on my way. Barry, I want to be packing major influence, but lightweight, something I can hike in without too much trouble, maybe a Glock… you're the expert, you decide.'
Both men nodded, turned away to get started, and Chris closed his eyes for just a second, quickly offering up a silent prayer.
Please, please stay safe until I get there, Claire.
It wasn't much but then, Chris had the feeling he would be praying a lot more in the long hours to come.
The hidden monitor room was behind a wall of books in the Ashfords' private residence. Upon his return to their home, secreted behind the 'official' receiving mansion, Alfred slung his rifle and immediately walked to the wall, touching the spines of three books in quick succession. He felt a hundred pairs of eyes observing him from the front hall shadows, and though he had long since grown used to Alexia's scattered collection of dolls, he often wished that they wouldn't always watch him so intently. There were times that he expected some privacy. As the wall pivoted open, he heard the whistling chitter of bats hiding in the eaves and frowned, pursing his lips. It seemed that the attic had been breached during the attack. No mind, no mind. Concerns for another day. He had more important business that demanded his attention. Alexia had apparently retreated to her rooms once more, which was just as well; Alfred didn't want her upset any further, and news of a possible assassin at Rockfort would certainly achieve that. He stepped inside the hidden room and pushed the carefully balanced wall closed behind him. There were usually seventy-five different camera shots that he could choose from, to watch on any of the ten small monitors in the small room, but much of the equipment around the compound had been damaged or destroyed, leaving him with only thirty-one usable images. Knowing Claire's foul objectives, to steal information and search for Alexia, Alfred decided to focus on
her approach from the prison compound. He had no doubt that she would appear shortly; one such as her would not have the good manners to die in the attack or its aftermath … though as his expectations built, his interest in the game growing, he began to feel anxious that she might, in fact, have expired. Thankfully, his initial assumption had been correct. Another of the prisoners came through the main gate first, but he was followed shortly by the Redfield girl. Amused at their halting progress, Alfred watched as Claire tried to catch up to the young man, prisoner 267 according to the back of his uniform, who seemingly had no idea that he was being pursued. As the young man topped the stairs that led up from the prison area, stood uncertainly looking between the palace grounds and the training facility, Alfred entered 267 into the keypad beneath his left hand and found a name, Steven Burnside. It meant nothing to him, and as the boy hesitated indecisively, Alfred found his attention moving back to his quarry, curious about the young woman who was soon to be his short-term playmate. Claire was walking across the damaged chasm bridge only a moment or two behind Burnside, walking high on the balls of her feet like an athlete. She seemed quite self-possessed, cautious but unapologetic about her right to cross the span … but she was also careful not to look down into the mist-filled darkness, the massive crevice walls extending down hundreds of feet, nor did she linger. In the warm security of his home, Alfred smiled, imagining her delicious fear … and found himself remembering the trick that he and Alexia had once played on a guard. They'd been six or seven years old, and Francois Celaux had been a shift commander, one of their father's favorites. He'd been a fawning sycophant, a bootlick, but only to Alexander Ashford. Behind their father's back he had dared to laugh cruelly at Alexia one afternoon when she had tripped in a pouring rain, splashing her new blue dress with mud. Such an offense was not to be withstood.
Oh, how we planned, talking late into the night about a suitable punishment for his unforgivable behavior, our child minds alive and whirling with all the possibilities…
The final plan had been simple, and they'd executed it perfectly only two days later, when Francois had duty as guard of the main gate. Alfred had sweetly begged the cook to let him bring Francois his morning espresso, a chore he'd often performed for favored employees … and on the way to the chasm bridge, Alexia had added a special twist to the strong, bitter brew, just a few drops of a curare-like substance she'd synthesized herself. The drug paralyzed flesh but allowed the nervous
system to continue working, so that the recipient couldn't move or speak, but could feel and understand what was happening to him. Alfred had approached the prison gates slowly, so slowly that the impatient Francois had stalked out to meet him. Smiling, aware that Alexia had returned to the residence, was watching and listening from the monitor room Alfred had been wearing a small microphone –
