Aftermath

<--Previous Chapter|Next Chapter-->

Chapter Five

The mall food court was a thronging, disorganized mass of chatty teenagers, bored senior citizens, and overweight middle-class parents trying to keep an eye on their rowdy children. The central seating area was a cluttered maze of small circular tables with cheap plastic chairs, most of them occupied by people with shopping bags at their feet, stuffing down food so unhealthy it almost required warning labels. Outside the seating area in a large semicircle were a series of fast food “restaurants” staffed by disinterested drones, with long lines of impatient customers waiting to order, all the while trying to dodge the vast numbers of people walking around in every direction. People on cell phones, women pushing enormous baby strollers, children running around while their parents tried in vain to haul them in, packs of trendy high-schoolers spending their parents’ money, bored-looking janitors picking up trash. The noise was almost deafening, a constant chattering screech, caused

by every single person trying to shout over the others in order to be heard.

And sitting motionless in the middle of the room, was Albert Wesker. On the table in front of him was a plastic tray with a half-eaten hamburger and a soda, the burger now cold and the soda warm. He bought the food simply for show, as he had no appetite to speak of. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his reflective black sunglasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose.

He was dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black pants, although he probably could have worn a clown suit or a gorilla costume and still blended in with the crowd seamlessly. Normally, he would have avoided a place like this at all costs, for several reasons, but it was an excellent place for a meeting. Especially the kind of meeting Wesker was here for, the kind of meeting where a huge number of potential witnesses would keep all involved parties on their best manners.

He could not help but overhear the conversations all around him. There was plenty of normal day-to-day gossip and inane babble, but one topic was on everyone’s minds, it seemed. Wesker barely had to focus his hearing at all to catch snippets of a hundred conversations.

“... wonder how many people survived? They say it was only like a hundred ...”

“... unbelievable, I can’t understand how something like that could ever ...”

“... the speech last night? He looked like a ghost ...”

“... not getting the whole story, not by a long shot. I don’t believe ...”

“... all those poor people. What about their families? What are they going to ...”

“... thousands dead, tens of thousands? They don’t even know the death toll yet ...”

“... a disease like that could ever get loose? They all need to go to jail ...”

“... don’t care how what kind of disease it was, you don’t just blow up all those ...”

“... it spread outside that city, what if they didn’t do it in time? What if ...”

“... said it drove people insane. I don’t know what to believe ...”

“... bad enough that the whole country was in danger? How could they ...”

“... murdered them. All those people were innocent, and they murdered them ...”

Wesker sat back and let the conversations flow around him, picking out sentences here and there, fascinated at the huge variety of reactions. Sadness and grief, anger and frustration, disbelief and indifference, confusion and shock. That was the other reason he chose such a public location for the meeting. He wanted to know how people felt and how much they suspected, and whether or not Umbrella’s media blitz was having the desired effects.

Wesker knew long ago about Umbrella’s plans for a Final Decontamination, but right up until the last minute, he secretly doubted that the Board of Directors would ever truly allow such an option to be considered. Even when Nicholai informed him of Umbrella’s plans, Wesker didn’t really believe they would do it. Somehow, such an act of absolute desperation seemed even beyond Umbrella’s reach. Even they would not dare to enact such an insane plan.

Of course, Wesker knew that destroying the city was the proper course of action, the only possible way to stop the spread of the virus. And Umbrella knew it too, as much as they must have known that doing so would effectively destroy the entire corporation. In that sense, it was almost a noble sacrifice. Wesker almost had to give them credit for doing the unthinkable, even when it was absolutely the right thing to do.

A young couple approached his table carrying food trays. The man wore gray pants and a blue shirt while the woman wore a black skirt and a gray blouse. They were both mid-twenties, blonde, and reasonably attractive, if not necessarily memorable. The woman had a black leather purse hanging from her shoulder, and the man had a cell phone clipped to his belt. There was a little colored symbol on the man’s shirt; a pattern of three pentagons facing each other, dark green, light green, and light blue.

“Are these seats taken?” the woman asked, smiling brightly, showing off perfect white teeth.

“Go ahead,” Wesker said. He pushed his own tray out of the way, making room for theirs, which like his, contained just a burger and a drink.

“Seen the news today?” the man said in a friendly manner.

Wesker nodded. “I read the news this morning.”

The man sipped his drink, but neither of them reached for their food. The woman crossed her legs and sat with her hands in her lap, looking intently at Wesker, as if trying to read his expression. But Wesker had spent his life practicing a blank expression, so if she was trying to learn something from him, she was out of luck.

“We were surprised to hear from you yesterday,” the man admitted, setting down his drink, giving Wesker an insincere smile. “Today, we were less surprised.”

“We’ve actually been trying to contact you for years,” the woman added.

“I bet you have,” Wesker said. “Well, here I am. Would you like to talk business?”

All around them, people came and went, and no one seemed to pay any attention to them. As far as the other mall shoppers were concerned, Wesker and the couple were just more visitors to the mall, nothing to be interested in. Speaking in such an extremely public place was almost safer than speaking in private.

“Before we start any of that,” the man said, “we need to know that you’re free and clear. There cannot be any connections between you and your former employer.”

“There are none,” Wesker said firmly. “I can assure you of that.”

“How?” the woman asked.

“Because they think I’m dead. And even if they don’t, they can never prove I’m not.”

The woman glanced at her partner and nodded. “Works for me.”

“Does anyone else know?” the man asked, leaning forward.

Wesker had thought about this at length already. The only person who could possibly know that he was still alive was Nicholai, who mysteriously disappeared right after the city was destroyed. He should have contacted Wesker long before now, and the fact that he had not meant that he was most likely dead himself, which was wonderful news.

“No one,” Wesker said. “And it is imperative that we keep it that way.”

“Okay,” the man said, sitting back again. “We are more than prepared to make a deal with you, which is of course why you contacted us. And if what you say is true, then I doubt you had many options. There are few companies with the capability to handle your type of work.”

“There are one or two others that I’m sure would love to have my knowledge, but only yours has the resources to actually make it worth my while.”

“Exactly what are you offering us?” the woman asked, neatly folding her hands on the table. Her eyes seemed to glimmer with the question, and she struck a very seductive pose, almost comically out of place in the noisy, crowded food court. Unfortunately for her, Wesker’s interest in women was almost as nonexistent as his interest in the hamburger on his tray.

“I can offer you full details on all my previous work, complete reports and detailed computer files, as well as samples of almost every strain I have helped develop over the past decade. Essentially, I’m offering you everything. Myself included.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Wesker could see the gears turning, as what he told them slowly began to sink in. The woman’s eyes grew and her breath quickened, and she sunk back into her chair, while the man sat up straighter, anticipation flashing in front of his eyes. They shared a single glance, and returned their attention to Wesker, who observed them silently.

“Samples?” the woman asked.

“Hundreds of them. All labeled, with appropriate files and project information.”

“Where are they?”

“In a safe place,” Wesker said. “No risk of exposure, if that’s what you mean.”

The man picked up his napkin and dabbed his forehead. “Well, that is pretty impressive. Is there anything that you don’t have?”

“What else do you want? I don’t have any infected hosts, but I could get some suitable test subjects if you like.”

“No, thank you,” the woman said quickly. “That’s more than enough.”

“I’ll give you everything I have,” Wesker said. “That’s ten years worth of research and development, and enough data and biological samples for a hundred scientists to spend a career working on. Some of my work was even kept secret from my former employer, and you can have that as well. You won’t just catch up to their research, you’ll exceed it.”

“And in return?” the woman asked quietly, staring at Wesker once more.

Wesker leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. He knew that he could make any demand he wanted, any amount of money, and they would agree to it immediately. He could see it in their eyes, he could read it in their entire body language. They were nowhere near as good at he was at hiding their emotions, or perhaps he was just better at reading them.

What he was offering them was nothing less than complete and total domination in the field of advanced biological research. Umbrella was the current world leader, but with Raccoon City a smoldering crater, their reign was at an end and everyone knew it. Wesker was handing over the keys to the kingdom, and any price he asked for would be a pittance compared to the amount of money a company could make with the information he possessed. He could ask for ten billion dollars in cash and they would hand it over willingly. He could ask for their first-born sons and they’d probably ask if he wanted their daughters as well.

But Wesker did not find money and power to be that appealing. Money was meaningless to him, and power was only a means to an end.

“First,” Wesker said, “You must guarantee that my identity will remain a secret. Create a new identity for me if you wish, but the world must continue to believe that I am dead. If my former employer ever figures out that I am still alive ...”

He allowed the sentence to hang unfinished, letting the man and woman come up with their own conclusions. In truth, Wesker didn’t have a clue what would happen if Umbrella learned he was still alive. Would they try to have him killed, or would they just sue him for breach of contract? Whatever happened, they would all be tangled in a legal mess of unprecedented proportions.

“Second,” he continued, “You will provide me with a new lab, preferably one in a remote location. Complete with the most advanced equipment you have, and fully staffed with my own team. Give me your best and brightest. I also require some very specific equipment that you will have to procure for me. I will need a lab complex at least as advanced as the one I had before, you understand.”

He looked at both the man and woman, and they nodded eagerly.

“Third, I will have absolute authority over the lab, and complete control over the research that is performed there. I will not tolerate any management overseeing my work. The only people in your entire organization that I will take direction from is your Board of Directors, and if they want to give me orders they must talk to me directly. For all intents and purposes, I will be the new acting supervisor of all research done at your company. No one will have any authority over me except the Board, is that understood?”

The couple shared another glance, this one longer and not as certain. After a moment or two, they looked back at Wesker and nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

“Agreed,” the woman said.

“I thought so,” Wesker said.

“Is that all?” the woman asked, sounding surprised.

Wesker thought about it for a moment and then gave a short nod. “Those are my demands, yes. I don’t think I’m asking for too much.”

“We expected ...” the man started hesitantly, glancing at his partner. “Well, we expected a financial arrangement.”

“I’m not interested in money,” Wesker said simply, leaning back in his chair once more. “I thought you would have realized that by now. I want to continue my research without all the red tape and needless bureaucracy I was forced to deal with before.”

“And will your research be profitable?” the man asked. “I’m all for the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, but we’re not a university or a non-profit. If we accept your terms, we will expect results.”

“If you can guarantee me absolute freedom and control over my own lab, and the resources to advance my research as far as I can, then I’ll guarantee results.”

“How long will it take?”

“You will profit enormously from the work I’ve already done, so that is all up to you.” Wesker shrugged. “Give me two or three years, and you’ll be the world leader in the biological technology industry. Medical research, health care, pharmaceuticals, disease research, biological weapons, anything you want. The possible uses for my research are almost endless.”

The woman licked her lips and took a deep breath, looking around the food court. The man watched her, waiting for a response. It was clear by now that the woman was actually the one in charge, although Wesker suspected that as soon as they sat down.

“Well, then,” she said finally, smiling a warm, predatory smile, “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Tricell.”

She extended her slim hand and Wesker shook it firmly, looking her right in the eyes. They probably sent her because she was attractive, and like most attractive women, she was accustomed to using her sexuality to get what she wanted. Wesker’s obvious disinterest sidelined her usual course of action, but it didn’t matter because they were still going to get what they wanted. But Wesker, despite himself, did find her attractive in a non-physical way, interested in her transparent ambition and intensity. However, he would have to do something about her commanding attitude. If he was to work with her, he was going to have to show her who was in charge.

“My name is Gianna Aldritch,” she said as they broke off the handshake. “My associate here is Steven Calloway.”

“I look forward to working with you,” the man said, shaking Wesker’s hand as well.

Now that the introductions were over, Wesker stood and picked up his tray, and both Gianna and Steven stood as well. They dumped their uneaten food into a trash bin and left the food court together.

“We would appreciate it if you would show us your work,” Gianna said as they went outside into the parking lot. She pulled a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses from her purse and put them on, brushing hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “The files and samples and so forth. I would like to see exactly how much there is, how much we’re actually dealing with.”

“Of course,” Wesker said. “I brought some of it with me. My vehicle is parked up here.”

Wesker’s white van was parked down at the end of the long column of cars. It was the same van that Nicholai left for him outside Raccoon City, along with the three soldiers ordered to kill him. Those soldiers were now dead, but Wesker still had the van, complete with a barely-noticeable bullet hole in the side from when the soldiers shot him. Wesker opened the back doors and pulled out some long white boxes filled with documents.

Gianna opened one of the boxes and began flipping through the pages, her eyes quickly scanning the information. The documents were status reports and experiment updates. She looked at the three other boxes, and at the small gray case sitting directly behind the driver’s seat.

“Are those the samples?” she asked, unable to keep the interest out of her voice.

Wesker nodded. “Just a few. I have about ten more boxes like this filled with documents, several hundred computer discs with all sorts of information, and about fifty cases of biological samples. Probably over a thousand in all.”

“A thousand?” Steven asked incredulously.

“Over a decade of work,” Wesker said. “We experimented with hundreds of different strains and variants. Some of them were useful, others less so.”

Gianna reached into the van and pulled out the case. Her hands almost trembled as she undid the clips and the case snapped open. Inside were five rows of small glass vials embedded in black foam. She quickly closed the case again and swallowed nervously.

“These are … infectious?”

“Deadly,” Wesker said calmly. “How about you let me handle those? We don’t want another outbreak, now do we?”

He carefully took the case, closed the clips, and returned it to the van. Gianna turned away, fumbled in her purse, and took out a pack of cigarettes. Her hands trembled, either in excitement or fear, as she lit one up. Steven looked at her with a sly smile and folded his arms as Wesker pushed the document box back in as well.

“We’ll follow you,” Steven said. “Is it far from here?”

“A few miles. I rented out a storage unit.”

“Okay. Now before we go, is there anything else you want to know, or anything else you maybe want to tell us?”

Wesker smiled and chuckled to himself. He reached up to adjust his sunglasses as he swung the van door shut. Gianna blew out smoke and regarded him coolly, the cigarette perched across her fingers.

“Is there anything I want to tell you?” he asked rhetorically. “There are a million things I would love to tell you, but now is really not the time.”

He stepped over to Gianna and plucked the pack of cigarettes out of her purse. He tapped one out and returned the pack, and asked for a light. Gianna gave him a suspicious look, but did as he asked, lighting the cigarette for him. Wesker breathed deeply, remembering the pleasant sensation a cigarette once gave him, although nicotine did nothing for him anymore. Smoking was now just an act, a meaningless gesture. It was just one more thing that Wesker no longer needed to do, but pretended to enjoy just to keep up appearances.

“Do you want to hear a secret though?” he asked, blowing out smoke. “I was going to tell you this later, but maybe it’s better if I tell you now, so you understand exactly what you’re dealing with. And why it is so vitally important that my identity be kept secret at all costs.”

Gianna stared at him, holding her arms against her chest in an unconscious defensive posture, a wide range of emotions passing in front of her eyes. She was defiant and confident, but clearly fascinated and even attracted to him. And beneath that, she was terrified.

“I lied when I said that I don’t have any infected hosts,” Wesker said, leaning closer. “As it turns out, I did manage to smuggle one out of Raccoon City when I left. You have nothing to fear, of course. The host is under control. It’s not a threat to anyone. But you should be aware of it.”

Steven, standing just a few feet away, looking nervously at Gianna and then back at Wesker, asked suddenly, “Where is it?”

Wesker reached up to lower his sunglasses just enough to let Gianna see his eyes.

“Right here,” he whispered, grinning savagely at her. He quickly slid the glasses back up and stepped away from her, tossing away the cigarette.

He didn’t even bother to look back to see her reaction as he walked over to the driver’s side of the van and opened the door. When he did look back, Gianna was facing the other way, her hands lifted to her face. Steven stared back at him, confused and unsure what had happened.

“You know what?” Wesker said. “There is one more thing you can do for me. One more loose end I forgot to mention.”

“What is it now?” Steven asked.

“There’s someone I’m looking for. I want you to find him for me.”

<--Previous Chapter|Next Chapter-->