Chapter 4
James Marcus sat in the comfortable, expensive leather chair with his hands in his lap, not saying anything. Across the wide mahogany desk in front of him sat Dr. Ozwell Spencer, who at the moment was engaged in a thin pile of neatly stacked papers. Marcus marveled at the pristine neatness of the desktop; not a single item was out of place, not a single pencil, not a stray paperclip, not even a speck of dust intruded upon the spotless, organized surface. The order of the desk was indicative of the person. Ozwell Spencer was a supremely ordered man.
At the moment, he was immersed in the progress reports of the newest group of trainees at the training facility. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses were perched at the edge of his long nose as his steely eyes scanned the information. His hands were like talons, gripping the edge of the paper. His mouth was small and tightly closed, his lips pursed.
“So, James,” he said slowly, “How well are the new ones doing this year, do you think?” His voice was cultured and easy to listen to, in contrast to his harsh appearance, and made Marcus think of some well-educated British butler. The clipped accent was silky and deceiving.
“We have a few promising candidates,” he replied. After so many years of experience dealing with Spencer, he knew to give short answers.
“Yes, you’ve singled out Albert Wesker for rapid promotion. He has the characteristics we desire, that is certain.”
“William Birkin as well.”
Spencer glanced at the papers on the desk. “I haven’t gotten to his report yet.”
Since Spencer hadn’t asked a question, Marcus said nothing more. It was wise only to speak when spoken to. Despite the generally-accepted knowledge in the labs that Marcus and Spencer were old friends, the two of them had never shared a friendly moment in thirty years of working together. They were fellow scientists at best, but most of the time their relationship was purely employer/employee. Spencer was the boss, and Marcus was just another underling. The fact that Marcus was now in charge of the training facility, and technically Spencer’s administrative equal, did nothing to alter their relationship.
“When are you going to promote them?” Spencer asked, not taking his attention off the paper in his hand.
“Soon. A month from now, at the latest.”
“No one has completed training that quickly.”
“They’ve already completed training,” Marcus said. “Both of them are already working in the preliminary labs.”
“Did they act independently?”
“I don’t think so. I suspect Wesker was anxious to move on, and convinced Birkin to join him. Wesker is the more ambitious one.”
Spencer nodded and started reading the next sheet.
This was how most of their meetings went, Marcus thought. He had work to do down in the labs – important work – and Spencer was keeping him here like a student in the principal’s office. Was the old man trying to sweat him? Marcus wondered often at Spencer’s motives, but always came to the decision that Spencer simply had no understanding of anyone else’s needs but his own. He wanted Marcus there to ask him the occasional question regarding the reports, and so Marcus had to be there. What Marcus wanted or needed was inconsequential.
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