weren't they?" Leon said, not really asking. "To keep us from coming down." John nodded. "Give that man a cigar. And if that's right, it means they're scared of us. I mean, there's no security, right? Whoever brought us down probably hightailed it to a room with a lock." "As to what we do now," he continued, "I'm open to suggestions. It'd be nice to rejoin our group, but if we can't figure out how to get the elevator going…"

Leon frowned, thinking, remembering that before Raccoon had pretty much blown his career choice, he had been trained as a cop.

Use the tools you've got… "Secure the area," he said slowly. "Same plan as before, at least the first part. Get the employees secured, then worry about the elevator. Dealing with Reston will just have to wait."

John held up his hand suddenly, cutting him off, his head cocked to one side. Leon listened, but didn't hear anything. A few seconds passed and then John lowered his hand. He shrugged dismissively, but his dark eyes were wary and he held the automatic rifle close. "Good call," he said finally. "If we can find the damn employees. You wanna go left or right?"

Leon smiled faintly, suddenly remembering the last time he'd had to pick a direction. He'd taken a left in the subbasement of Umbrella's Raccoon lab and run into a dead end; having to backtrack had almost cost him his life. "Right," he said. "Left has some bad associations for me."

John cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything; oddly enough, he seemed satisfied with Leon's rea– soning.

Maybe because he's crazy. Crazy enough to make bad jokes in the midst of situations like this, anyway.

Together, they stepped out into the long, empty corridor and turned right, moving slowly, John watch– ing their back and Leon scanning every offshoot's opening for a sign of movement. The first side hall was to their left, not fifteen feet from the elevator. "Hang on," John said, and ducked into the short hall, walking quickly to a single door at the back. He rattled the handle, then hurried back out, shaking his head. "Thought I heard something before," he said, and Leon nodded, thinking about how easy it would be for someone to kill them.

Hide in a locked room, wait 'til we're past, step out and pow…

Bad thinking. Leon let it go and they continued their slow trek down the passage, sweeping every inch with their weapons, Leon realizing that the thermal under– wear'd been a bad idea, as sweat started to trickle down his body – and wondering, quite abruptly, how things had gone so wrong so fast.

Reston had an idea. He'd almost panicked after he'd heard them saying things that they shouldn't have known, hiding in control with the door cracked open. When he'd heard one of them say his name, he'd felt the panic rise into his throat like bile, coloring his mind with visions of his own horrible death. He'd closed the door then, locking it, sagging against it as he tried to think, to sort through his options. When one of them had rattled the door, he'd very nearly screamed, but had managed to hold still, to make no sound at all until the interloper had moved on. It took him a few moments to collect himself after that, to remember that this was something he could handle; strangely enough, it was the thought of Trent that did it for him. Trent wouldn't panic. Trent would know exactly what to do – and he most certainly wouldn't run crying to Jackson for help. In spite of that, he'd almost picked up the phone several times as he watched the monitors, watched the two men terrorizing his employees. They were effi– cient, unlike their rumbling counterparts still working to figure out the elevator on the surface. It had taken the two men all of five minutes once they'd reached the living area to get the workers together; it helped that five of them were still awake and playing cards in the cafeteria, three of the construction crew and both mechanics. The young white man watched them as the other one went to the dorm and roused the rest, marching them back to the cafeteria, crowding them with his automatic weapon. Reston was disappointed with the lackluster perfor-mance of his people, not one fighter among them, and was still very afraid. Once the teams from the city came in he'd have something to work with, but until then, all sorts of bad things might happen.

"Dealing with Reston will just have to wait…"What happens when they realize I'm not in their hostage group? What do they want? What could they want, except to hold me for ransom or kill me?

He'd been on the verge of calling Sidney, in spite of the fact that Jackson would certainly find out about it – but he'd risk his colleague's disapproval, he'd risk losing his place in the inner circle if it meant he could survive this invasion. He was actually reaching for the phone when he realized that someone was missing. Reston leaned closer to the cafeteria monitor, frowning, forgetting the phone. There were fourteen people grouped to-gether in the middle of the room, the two gunmen standing some distance away.

Where's the other one? Who's the other one?

Reston reached out and touched the screen, mark– ing off the faces of the bleary-eyed hostages. The five construction workers. Two mechanics. The cook, the specimen handlers, all six of them… "Cole," he muttered, pursing his lips. The electri– cian, Henry Cole. He wasn't there. An idea began to form, but it depended on where Cole actually was. Reston tapped at the buttons that worked the screens, beginning to hope, to see a way not only to survive, but to – to win. To come out on top. There were twenty-two screens in the control room, but almost fifty cameras set up throughout the Planet and in the surface "weather" station. The Planet had been built with video in mind, the layout fairly simple; from control, one could see almost every part of every hall, room, and environment, the cameras placed at key points. Finding someone was just a matter of pushing the right button to switch between views. Reston checked the test rooms first, each set of cameras in phases One through Four. No luck. He tried the science area next, the surgical rooms, the chem lab, even the stasis room; again, he didn't see anyone.

He wouldn't be in quarters, they've certainly cleared everyone else out… and there's no reason for him to be on the surface…

Reston grinned suddenly, punching up the cameras in and around the holding cells. Cole and both of the mechanics had been using the cells to lay out equip– ment, wires and tools and various bits of machinery.

There!

Cole was sitting on the floor in between cells one and nine, sorting through a box of little metal pieces, his skinny legs splayed out in front of him. Reston looked back at the cafeteria, saw that the two armed men seemed to be conferring, watching the useless, huddled group of workers. On the surface, the other three were still hammering at the keypad and searching for something or other… The idea took shape, the possibilities coming to him one at a time, each more interesting and exciting than the last. The data he could collect, the respect that he would earn, getting rid of his problem and promoting himself at the same time.

I could edit the tapes together, have something to show my visitors after the tour – and won't Sidney be undone when Jackson sees what I've accomplished, how I've handled things. I'll be the golden child for a change…

Reston stood up from the console, still grinning, nervous but hopeful. He'd have to hurry, and he'd have to use all his acting skills with Cole; not a problem, considering that he'd spent thirty years of his life developing them, honing them… Before joining Umbrella, he'd been a diplomat. It would work. They wanted Reston; he'd give him to them.