between the local police and Umbrella-and reach out to the S.T.A.R.S. members that you think would help us." David turned to Rebecca again. "And if you agree, I think we should leave for Maine tonight. With the information I have, it looks as though things have already gotten out of hand. My team is standing by; we could go in tomorrow at dusk."
The room was silent for a moment, the only sound that of the ceiling fan whirring overhead. Chris still felt angry, but couldn't find a hole in the man's logic; he was right about their options, and whether Chris liked it or not, the choice to go to Maine was Rebecca's to make. "What information do you have?" Jill asked thoughtfully. "How did you find out about the lab?" David reached down to a battered briefcase propped next to his chair and dug through it, pulling out a file folder. "An interesting story in itself, if a strange one. I was hoping that one of you might be able to decipher some of this..."
He laid out three sheets of paper on the coffee table as he spoke, what looked like photocopies of newspa-per clippings, and a simple diagram. "Shortly after I talked to the home office, I received a visit from a stranger, a man who claimed to be a friend of the S.T.A.R.S... he told me his name was Trent, and gave me these." "Trent!" Jill broke in excitedly. She turned to Chris, her eyes wide, and Chris felt his heart skip a beat. He'd almost forgotten about their mysterious benefactor. The guy who told Jill to watch out for traitors, who told Brad where to pick us up... David stared at Jill, his expression puzzled. "You know him?" "Just before we went in to rescue the Bravos, a man named Trent gave me some information about the Spencer estate, and warned me about Wesker," Jill said. "He was quite a piece of work, real shady-he didn't give anything away, you know? But he knew what was going on with Umbrella, and what he did tell me all panned out." Barry nodded. "And Brad Vickers said that Trent called in the estate's coordinates right after Wesker activated the triggering system. If he hadn't radioed, we woulda blown up with the rest of the mansion."
Chris suddenly realized that he had a serious head- ache brewing as they all gathered around Barry's coffee table, staring down at the papers. The S.T.A.R.S. were working for Umbrella, there was another T-Virus facility operating in Maine-and now Trent again, popping up like some cryptic fairy godmother, his motives impossible to guess at. It was like some kind of a game, the stakes all or nothing as they struggled to get to the bottom of Umbrella's conspiracy.
And we have no choice but to play-but whose game are we playing? And what do we risk losing if we fail?
Chris shot an unhappy glance at Rebecca, thinking again of his kid sister and wishing, not for the first time, that they'd never heard of Umbrella. David watched them study the information that Trent had given him, somehow not surprised that the enigmatic stranger had contacted the S.T.A.R.S. be- fore. The man had been a professional, though at what, precisely, David couldn't imagine.
Why would he want to help us fight Umbrella? What's in it for him?
David thought back to the brief encounter he'd had only five days ago, searching his memory for some additional clues, something he'd missed. He'd arrived home late from work, and it had been raining...... pouring, a thundering summer storm that beat at the windows and masked the sound of his gentle knocking... The Exeter S.T.A.R.S. had enjoyed an easy sum-mer, more paperwork than action. The Bravos had taken off for a criminal profiling seminar in New Hampshire, and David had been entertaining thoughts of packing a bag and attending the final days-until he'd received Barry's call, followed by his first hint from the home office that something was wrong. He'd spent the next day calling a few of his branch contacts with discreet questions and digging through files on Umbrella, not making it home until almost midnight. The driving rain had ushered him into his cold, dark house, the atmosphere matching his mood perfectly. He'd poured a scotch and collapsed on the couch, his head spinning from the implications of what he'd learned-that either his old friend Barry was lying or that the AD for the S.T.A.R.S. was. The rapping at