Spencer had invited S.T.A.R.S. Wesker had expected that much. Claire, he knew, wouldn't even need a personalized summons - even if her dear brother didn't tell her where he was going, she would track him. She was, as he had learned, useful in that respect. And Leon Kennedy - the RPD-rookie-turned-government-agent, as Wesker's sources had informed him. Fresh out of training, and ready to dive into hell once more.
This band of miscreants were, Wesker decided, a team of mistakes doomed to be repeated again and again until their waltz brought them to dance with Death itself.
Yes, he was quite up to date with the majority of their activities, despite their attempts to fall off the map. In reality, they had been quite effective with their efforts and difficult to track. Perhaps this little excursion would prove more useful than he'd previously imagined.
"Oh, they'll show," Wesker assured the silent man on the other end of the line. "Chris will show, and the others will undoubtedly follow him like the trained dogs that they are."
Wesker knew that Chris Redfield simply wouldn't be able to resist the allure of the letter - the threats, the promises and the disaster. The man was drawn to it like a moth to the flame and Wesker had watched him come close to burning so many times. Despite such singed wings, he knew that the man would fight until his body simply gave out - a nearly indestructible will that Wesker lusted to break.
"What about Peregova's more native inhabitants?" Wesker inquired.
The question was open-ended, and the inflection on the word native obscure enough to leave a shadow of doubt on whether Wesker was inquiring about the natural flora and fauna of the region or Spencer, his underlings and whatever experimental leftovers they'd introduced to the island.