Code Veronica - By S. D. Perry Page 0,22

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 mes - sages - tell her I'm on my way. Barry, I want to be pack - ing 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 man - sion, Alfred slung his rifle and immediately walked to the wall, touching the spines of three books in quick succes-sion. 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 in - tently. 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 in - side 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 im - ages. Knowing Claire's foul objectives, to steal informa - tion 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 in - terest 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 him-self 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