Nighttime commercial flight in business class, from Washington Dulles to Madrid-Barajas. 2:48 a.m., Washington time
Leon S. Kennedy was slumped in the reclined airplane seat, his laptop resting on his lap, as he continued reading the information his boss, Benfield, had handed him 10 hours earlier in Washington D.C., when he told him it was time to return to Spain.
The last time he had been in that country was in 2004. He had traveled there to rescue Ashley Graham, the daughter of the then-president of the United States, and in the process destroyed Saddler's operation. There, he discovered the existence of a parasite cultivated by a cult known as Los Iluminados, which had not only managed to control a rural community, but also keep Las Plagas under its dominion and kidnap Ashley with the objective of infecting her in order to exercise a certain degree of mind control over her and use her as a means of gaining access to the U.S. presidency.
And that had been serious. A major diplomatic problem between Spain and the United States that had required cooperation from the European Union and the different counter-bioterrorism agencies on each side. Something he didn't particularly care about, if he was honest. Political problems were for government officials. He was the one who protected people from biological disasters, although sometimes it seemed as though all he did was clean up the shit left behind by corrupt politicians and scientists with delusions of grandeur, at far too high a price.
As Leon's index finger slid across the laptop's touchpad to read the next page, he couldn't stop thinking about the importance biological weapons had acquired in the modern world. Now that was interesting. Because, unlike tactical weapons, which were used in a more limited way (such as on a battlefield), "strategic" weapons were capable of destroying armies, cities or... a nation. And biological weapons were considered strategic, not tactical.
‹‹Spain again. Another technology related to behavioral control. Someone trying to turn biology into political power again. I wonder what the CNI will have to say about it, or whether they've finally put some money into a real agency to handle this kind of thing››
Everything seemed to indicate they hadn't. That once again, the CNI would pretend to take care of the matter while he cleaned up the mess.
Your whisky, sir.
Leon looked up and saw the flight attendant beside him.
It took him less than a second to return to the present and extend his hand.
Thank you.
Do you need anything else? - the young woman asked with a polite smile.
No. That's all.
And he insisted.
Thank you.
She walked away and he returned his attention to the report while taking a sip.
In barely an hour, he would be setting foot on Spanish soil again. There, it would be close to 9 in the morning, while his body would barely be making its way through 3 a.m. It was going to be far too long a day, but he was trained for that. Besides, he liked having work to do. And he still had a hell of a lot left to read. Basically, his boss had given him the mission and the ticket almost at the same time, relying on his previous experience. Which meant the flight had become his only chance to catch up.
‹‹You really do have a lot of faith in me, Benfield...››
The burn from the first sip passed just as Leon began mentally reviewing what he already knew about the current operation.
Since 2004, Albert Wesker had maintained a close relationship with the Tricell corporation, supplying viral samples and research material in exchange for funding for his projects... but, in addition, Wesker had managed to obtain a sample of Las Plagas from Spain and, not only that, he had also managed to perfect it.
The next sip of whisky felt harsher, because memories of Ada once again invaded his mind. He remembered the feeling that went through him when he saw her again in Spain so many years after Raccoon City, but, inevitably, his memory also returned to that night they had decided to spend together after stopping Saddler and the mistake that had been for him.
Leon forced himself to discard the memories immediately with a shake of his head.
He didn't want to care whether she had been the one who gave Wesker access to that sample because, either way, he hadn't informed his agency of Ada's presence in 2004 either. And therefore, Ada remained one of his best-kept secrets.
Leon growled harshly, drank again and looked back at the information in front of him. He knew that acquiring Las Plagas had allowed Wesker to make his way to the Ndipaya wetlands in Africa, where he reopened an old Umbrella research facility. However, in March of that same year, Chris Redfield had been there representing the BSAA and had managed to uncover Wesker's involvement with Tricell in the production of bioweapons in Kijuju, shutting down the operation. Since then, Tricell had spent 8 months in free fall through the courts, awaiting a legal conviction that seemed inevitable.
‹‹How does any of this connect to Madrid?››
Leon let out a sigh and sank back against the comfortable seat.
Benfield had told him that this Wednesday, the CNI had contacted the CIA to share information regarding certain irregularities at Alcántara Pharma that might brush up against a U.S. military incident that had taken place in September in Edonia. Of course, the CIA analyzed the information it received and decided it wasn't a case it wanted to handle with its own assets, so it passed the report to the Office of Biological Counterterrorism Strategy and put Benfield on the trail. After that, Benfield contacted him.
And now, well...
Here he was. On his way to Madrid.
Sir...
Once again, the flight attendant approached him and, maintaining that same cordial smile, murmured:
We've arrived at the gate. You may disembark.
Leon looked at her, somewhat surprised. He had been so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed they were already at Barajas Airport. He forced himself to smile again and nodded, thanking her.
Since he had priority disembarkation, he gathered his belongings, put them into his tactical backpack and got off the plane to meet the liaison agent who, according to what he had been told, would be waiting for him with a sign bearing his name. It was a shame it wasn't Isabel Robles, the agent he had already been in contact with in 2004. That woman had been effective and cooperative. The best part? She had let him work without interference.
It wasn't difficult to find his liaison. Sure enough, he was holding a sign bearing his last name, not his first. He was a man almost as tall as Leon, with an athletic though slightly leaner build, dark, short, curly hair, dressed in an impeccable charcoal-gray suit and a dark-blue tie. He wore a calm, almost friendly expression as he waited for Leon to finish approaching.
Leon wasn't sure he liked the Madrilenian displaying his last name that way. Leon carried out this kind of work under a cover name and, although "Kennedy" by itself didn't necessarily reveal much, it wasn't exactly the kind of detail he was used to leaving out in the open either.
When they were face-to-face, the man extended a hand and introduced himself:
Diego Vargas. CNI.
Leon shook it. The grip was somewhat strong, in significant contrast to the liaison's relaxed posture.
Your luggage went through the diplomatic channel. - he continued speaking to him in fluent English without releasing his grip. - It's already in my car. I assume that's where you keep your arsenal.
Leon didn't confirm anything. He simply watched him, aware that Vargas hadn't given him the chance to introduce himself and, even so, was acting as though he were completely certain Leon was the person he had been waiting for. That told Leon the Spaniard had investigated him beforehand and knew exactly what he currently looked like, something he disliked for two reasons. One. Because he hadn't known anything about this "Diego Vargas" guy in order to ask Hunnigan to investigate him. Two. Because he liked even less being aware that his face could be traced through Spanish intelligence channels.
The agent spoke again:
And right now we need to go to Alcántara Pharma. Shall we?
He seemed somewhat hurried. Leon debated for barely a second between making things difficult for him or letting it go... and decided there was no point starting off on the wrong foot.
Uh... yes. Thank you very much.
Only then did Vargas release his grip and, for some reason, Leon interpreted the gesture as relatively intimidating, although tinged with cordiality by the way he did it. Leon narrowed his eyes and, just then, Vargas held the little sign out against his chest.
Will you hold this? My boss wants a picture.
Leon stared at him in disbelief. And regretted having chosen to be cordial.
I'd rather not. - he knocked the sign back toward him sharply.
That's exactly what I told him - Vargas replied without taking it - but he insisted. You know... orders from above.
Leon didn't know whether he was fucking with him or not, but he clearly remembered his boss's voice: he was supposed to cooperate.
Although that didn't mean letting them take him for an idiot.
Your boss already has a picture of me. - he said with obvious annoyance, gesturing again for Vargas to take the ridiculous sign. - You knew exactly what I look like. I think that's enough.
He noticed that his answer managed to draw a smile onto Vargas's face, but the Spaniard made no move to comply. Then he gently slapped Leon on the shoulder and insisted:
Come on, man. You'll get me in trouble if you don't. But, if you want, we can both pose for my boss and get this embarrassing business over with.
Vargas threw an arm around his shoulders and took a picture while holding the sign himself, with Leon beside him. He did it so quickly that Leon didn't even have time to refuse.
Hey...
Leon shoved him off.
The Madrilenian laughed again with a hint of irony and finished with:
Welcome to Madrid, American.
He didn't wait for him, but instead started walking toward... the parking lot, Leon assumed.
The attitude annoyed him, but he followed.
They walked the entire way in a long silence during which Vargas never put down his phone and, judging from the expression on his face, seemed to be dealing with whatever had his attention with a certain degree of tension. Since Leon didn't know him, there was no way to tell whether the Madrilenian was always in such a hurry, but either way, he made a mental note of the expression and the seriousness on his face. You never knew when he might need to compare one Vargas attitude with another.
At one point, he saw him reach into the back pocket of his trousers and, automatically, pull out his car key and press the remote. Leon took the opportunity to direct his attention toward the vehicle that gave off the characteristic beep. It was a dark-gray Volkswagen Passat B6, a car that could undoubtedly blend easily into traffic in Madrid and the Corredor del Henares.
‹‹Definitely a smart choice for making us invisible››
Beside him, his colleague let out an exhausted sigh.
Sorry.
Leon turned his face toward him and saw him put the phone away in the pocket of his suit jacket.
I swear I'm better company than this. I just had to sort out some personal matters. But you've got me back now.
Once again, he didn't give Leon time to answer, because he was already walking around the car to open the trunk, but Leon also took note of the mention of some "personal matters." Whether it was true was impossible to know... even so, information was information.
Leon reached the trunk and Vargas showed him the two suitcases he had collected.
These two, right?
Leon looked at them and nodded. He entered the numerical combination on the locks and opened them. At first glance, the first one contained only clothes, although it had a false bottom concealing a discreet arsenal that, for the moment, he preferred not to reveal. The second contained ammunition and the equipment necessary for the operation. He didn't want to open it. There was no need. Besides, could a CNI agent know about the bioregenerative technology his agency used in the field? Probably not.
Everything's in order - Leon said.
Vargas merely smiled and walked around the car with that haste that was already beginning to characterize him, then got into the driver's seat. Leon followed, although at a deliberately unhurried pace to see whether that would manage to annoy his partner, and only then did he take the passenger seat. Vargas didn't seem irritated; that told Leon perhaps he wasn't actually in a hurry and that, probably, that pace was simply the way he moved through every day.
Once they were on the road, Leon heard the voice of a Spanish interviewer on the radio talking to a local celebrity who was emphasizing the consequences of chronic insomnia. He found it curious that they were mentioning exactly that, prolonged sleep deprivation, because it was part of what he had come to investigate. So he paid attention.
The celebrity described vehemently the difficulties caused by sleeping so little and how the usual medications had helped improve the number of hours he slept, but not the quality of his sleep.
Vargas snorted beside him with some annoyance.
Discreet advertising paid for by Alcántara Pharma - he said without taking his eyes off the road. - You know, a celebrity starts talking about a health problem during some ordinary interview to get their followers talking about it. What people don't know is that there's a company paying them to do it.
Then the Spaniard reached out to put on some music and, ironically enough, David Bowie's I'm Afraid of Americans began to play. It was a good song and Leon couldn't help finding the situation ironic, wondering whether Bowie was paying the CNI to get some airtime. He smiled. Vargas didn't even notice.
He watched his colleague follow the melody with rhythmic movements of his head, then openly mock him by raising his voice during the chorus and turning toward him for a moment, smiling challengingly.
I'm afraid of Americans, I'm afraid of the world, I'm afraid I can't help it... I'm afraid I can't...
Leon let out a dry laugh, and his colleague joined in without stopping his humming along with the song.
That Spaniard wasn't afraid of any American, that much was clear.
So tell me, Kennedy, anything I should know? Who exactly are you investigating?
Vargas returned his attention to the road.
Lucrecia Alonso.
He saw Vargas raise his eyebrows, visibly surprised. Well, that name already meant something to him. The question was: what?
Is there a problem?
No, not at all... - he replied, still following the rhythm of the song with subtle movements. - It's just that the same day they assigned me as your liaison, they placed the doctor under my protection. So, if you do anything stupid, I'll have to step in between you and her. You know, Spanish citizen and all that.
So the CNI hadn't merely given him a liaison agent; that same agent was both an obstacle and a bridge. Leon smiled. Smart bastards, these Spaniards and their contradictions.
Don't worry. - he assured him ironically, although he made sure it didn't sound that way. - I'm not here with the intention of being stupid.
Glad to hear it. Because I have no intention of interfering with your operation.
Glad to hear it.
Now that we've cleared that up... - Vargas said, and Leon watched him take one hand off the steering wheel, reach into one of the pockets of his suit jacket, pull out a card and hand it over without looking at him. - My contact information. I'm entirely at your disposal. You can call me for anything, at any time.
Leon took it and looked at it for a second.
It was a sober card with a white background and thin black lettering that read: Diego Vargas, followed by his contact number. It said nothing about his agency, as it should. In fact, Leon had similar ones, although in his case the black lettering also had a faint golden tint. A piece of stupidity from his own people because, ever since he rescued Ashley, somebody had apparently thought it was funny to turn him into the Golden Boy.
Another order from your boss? - Leon asked as he searched for his phone to save his colleague's number.
Mmmh?
Your complete availability - Leon clarified. - I assume that's another order from your boss. Like the picture.
Vargas burst out laughing and looked at him for a brief moment.
Well, I'd be lying if I told you it wasn't - he joked. - Hopefully, over the next few days, that availability will come from me personally. But you never know. Maybe you're an asshole.
Leon smiled and thought it more likely that Vargas was the asshole...
Still, he confessed:
My boss also ordered me not to piss you off.
Vargas smiled again and nodded.
Looks like we're required to get along... Then let's make them proud of their agents.
Leon nodded, without letting the smile leave his lips and without ceasing to wonder what role this Vargas guy would ultimately end up playing. Because yes, the last time he had faced Saddler, a relatively identifiable religious fanatic. This time was different. This time there was a pharmaceutical company, a scientist, institutional money, and potentially corrupt state officials. Shit, even celebrities paid to say whatever they were told to say.
This time...
Everything was more complicated.