Offending All the Dignitaries

In the office on the top floor of Umbrella, Ian sat in his chair, holding a cup of black tea that had long since gone cold. The little Xenomorph lay sprawled across his knees, its tail hanging down, swaying back and forth.

Little Dragon was curled up in the corner of the desk, wings folded in, head buried beneath them. Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, laying a sheet of gold over the dark gray carpet.

The communicator on the desk rang.

Emily's voice came through it, calm, capable, without a trace of unnecessary emotion. "Mr. Ian, the field team just sent in their report.

They completed coordination work with three countries today. The documents require your signature. In addition, the pharmaceutical press conference proposal prepared by Public Relations has been sent to your inbox."

"Let them in."

The door opened, and three people filed in one after another. The man in front was in his forties, his hair combed with immaculate precision. He wore a dark blue suit, with silver cufflinks engraved with Umbrella's red-and-white logo. His name was Mercer, head of the field team and a former senior adviser to the State Department.

Emily had poached him from a top consulting firm.

His annual salary was three million, even higher than Emily's.

Behind Mercer followed a man and a woman, both in their early thirties, wearing dark suits of the same excellent cut, each carrying a black briefcase. Their steps were steady, their expressions professional. One glance was enough to tell they were the sort of people used to sitting in high-end conference rooms.

Mercer walked up to Ian's desk, stopped, and gave a slight bow. "Mr. Ian, coordination for the European region has been completed. The energy ministers of France, Germany, and Italy have each signed