Genesis - Keith R. A. DeCandido [71]
She saw the far wall, and the PlastiGlas window that gave a view into the containment unit. Over it were the levers to manipulate the waldoes that manipulated the vials inside. Underneath the window was the slot that allowed one access to the contents.
The slot was open.
Inside, the container for the T-virus was empty.
All fourteen slots were empty.
Slamming her hands on the open containment unit, Alice cried, "I don't understand."
She waded back outside and looked at Rain. "It's gone. It's gone, it's not there."
Rain seemed to deflate before Alice's very eyes. "I can't. I just can't."
Alice had been so sure, dammit.
Was it somewhere else? In the mansion somewhere, maybe? Could they get back there in time?
As she walked over to comfort Rain, she wondered what they would do next.
Twenty-Four
SPENCE PARKS LOOKED AT THE OPEN DOOR, saw the empty vault—
—and remembered.
He'd been biding his time for weeks, getting the plan together. From the minute he heard about the T-virus from one of the other guys in Security, he started his inquiries. Naturally, he kept it all subtle. It didn't do to arouse suspicions, and the people at Umbrella were damned suspicious.
So he took his time. First he got the security codes. Then he got a buyer lined up.
The question was whether or not to involve Alice.
There was a lot to like about Alice. She was tough, strong, single-minded, brilliant—and the best lay he'd ever had. God, she was like an acrobat in combat, and she was like an acrobat in bed.
Spence had had many women in his life—it was why he became a cop, initially. His uncle was a cop, and he always said, "Spence, it's the best fuckin' job in the world. You get to sit in a car all day and you get all the pussy you could ever want." In that, he was prophetic, but his dear old uncle neglected to mention that the sexual perks only partly made up for the severe lack of monetary ones.
But greed begat greed, and even the huge sums Umbrella paid him didn't satisfy him.
The quality of the pussy increased tremendously, though. Hell, living in a big mansion for free, getting to have sex with Alice pretty much any time he wanted—this was the life.
It wasn't enough, though. Not when he knew what he could get for the T-virus.
He thought dozens of times about letting Alice in on his little plan. They could split the money, run off to some tropical island without an extradition treaty, and have sex under the sun for the rest of their lives.
Or, more realistically, until they got tired of each other and moved on. But whatever—the plan was sound.
However, she was also good enough that he had to be careful.
So he kept an eye on her.
Out of the blue, Alice asked some woman from the Hive out to lunch, which aroused Spence's suspicions.
Those suspicions had orgasms when Spence learned that the woman was Lisa Broward, the person who handled the security for the Red Queen.
By the time the lunch rolled around and Alice had the Town Car drop them off a fair distance from the mansion, the suspicions were already smoking their post-coital cigarettes.
Luckily, the mansion was well appointed with top surveillance equipment. Spence pointed a distance microphone at the area where Alice and the Broward woman were talking, put on the headset, and started recording.
It took a while before they were in range of the microphone. He caught bits and pieces here and there.
Alice: "It took a while, but it wasn't too hard to figure out once I knew what I was looking for."
Broward: "What's going on, Alice?"
Alice: "It's a T-virus, and you're right, it's not at all natural."
Broward: "So they've created a killer that turns you into a zombie?"
Then nothing for a bit. Spence listened to static until he heard Alice's voice again.
"I may look like a Bond girl, Lisa, but I'm not a Bond villain. I didn't bring you here to kill you. I brought you here to talk to you."
"About what?"
"I thought that was obvious. After all, Mahmoud al-Rashan was your friend—and I can't imagine that the settlement Umbrella gave his wife did much to alleviate her grief.