Resident Evil: Underworld Read Online Free PDF Page A

things.
    They’re the good guys. Hell, I’m a good guy, fighting for truth, justice, and fewer viral zombies in the world…
    The bathroom was in the front. Leon started toward it, steadying himself by touching each seat as he passed, thinking that the steady drone of the plane’s engine was a soothing sound, like a waterfall—
    —and then the curtain at the front of the cabin was pushed open, and a man stepped out, a tall, smiling man in an expensive-looking trench coat. He wasn’t the pilot, and there wasn’t anyone else on the plane, and Leon felt his mouth go dry with an almost superstitious dread even though the thin, smiling man didn’t seem to be armed.
    “Hey!” Leon shouted, backing up a step. “Hey, we got company!”
    The man grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Leon Kennedy, I presume,” he said softly, and Leon was suddenly absolutely sure that whoever he was, this man was trouble with a capital “T.”

THREE
    John was on his feet before Leon had finished his warning, hopping out into the aisle and stepping in front of Leon in a single stride.
    “Who the hell—” John snarled, his shoulders set, ready to break the thin man in two if he so much as blinked wrong.
    The stranger held up pale, long-fingered hands, looking as though he could barely contain his delight— which made John all the more wary. He could easily pound the guy into hamburger, what the hell was he so happy about?
    “And you’re John Andrews,” the man said, his voice low and calm and as pleased as his expression. “Formerly a communications expert and field scout for the Exeter S.T.A.R.S. It’s so good to meet you—tell me, how are your ribs? Still tender?”
    Shit. Who is this guy? John had broken two ribs and cracked a third on the cove mission, and didn’t know this man—how the hell did this man know him?
    “My name is Trent,” the stranger said easily, nodding at both Leon and John. “I believe your Mr. Trapp can vouch for my identity…?”
    John flicked a glance back, saw that David and the girls were right behind them. David gave a quick nod, his expression strained.
    Trent. Goddamn. The mysterious Mr. Trent.
    —The same Mr. Trent who had given maps and clues to Jill Valentine, just before the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. had discovered Umbrella’s initial T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate. The Trent who had given a similar package to David one rainy August night, information about Umbrella’s Caliban Cove facility, where Steve and Karen had been murdered.
    The Trent who’d been playing games with the S.T.A.R.S.—with people’s lives —all along.
    Trent was still smiling, still holding his hands up. John noticed a black ring made out of stone on one slender finger, the only affectation that Mr. Trent seemed to have; it looked heavy and expensive.
    “So what the hell do you want?” John growled. He didn’t like secrets or surprises, and he didn’t like the fact that Trent seemed totally unimpressed by his formidable size. Most people backed down when he got in their face; Trent seemed amused.
    “Mr. Andrews, if you please…?”
    John didn’t move, glaring into Trent’s dark, intelligent eyes. Trent gazed back impassively, and John could see cool self-assurance in that bright gaze, a look that was almost but not quite patronizing. As big and buff as John was, he wasn’t a violent man— but that confident, mirthful look made John think that Mr. Trent could use a good beating. Not by him, necessarily, but by someone.
    How many people have died, just because he decided to stir things up a little?
    “It’s alright, John,” David said quietly. “I’m sure that if Mr. Trent meant us harm, he wouldn’t be standing here introducing himself.”
    David was right, whether John liked it or not. He sighed inwardly and stepped aside, but decided that he definitely didn’t like it; from what little he knew about the man, he didn’t like it at all.
    Gonna be watching you, “friend”…
    Trent nodded as though there