Numbers

Tribute to my favorite Black Ops level

The rain came down heavy, dripping water over the slums of Kowloon. Two figures with hoods strode into the lobby of the apartment building. The attendant attempted to help them, but one of them waved his hand, dismissing him. The men strode to an elevator, punching the button to the tenth floor.

"HQ was right." One of them said in a cold voice. "Kowloon is a shithole."

"I'd say it's worse than New Jersey." The other replied. As the elevator dinged for the tenth floor, the two men walked to the target's room. Humming was heard from the other side as the men removed their hoods. One of them had a pair of shades on while the other wore an eye patch over his other optic which was gouged out.

Shades knocked on the door and waited. Nobody answered until the man with the eye patch removed a breaching charge. He set it on the wall and pressed the detonator. Dust filled the hallway as the two men entered. The one with the shades turned and was jolted into action by a gunshot.

"Hudson! Look out!"

Hudson saw the bullet and dove to the side, losing his shades. A man, in his mid-forties stood at the end wielding a CZ75 pistol. He moved and was about to escape when Hudson grabbed his legs, taking him to the ground. The man with the eye patch grabbed a rope from his pocket and with Hudson's help, strapped the man in.

"Are you Doctor Dan Clarke?" Hudson asked, more of an order than a question.

"Yes." Clarke replied in a British accent. Scars lined his arms and mathematical jargon was written on one side of his face. "Weaver." Hudson continued to the man in the eye patch, "Ask him about Project Nova."

Clarke's face turned to anger from surprise. "Don't you moron's get it? If you think your government sponsored brutality intimidates me, you clearly don't know anything about Dragovich. I have nothing to gain by talking to you."

Hudson stared at Clarke for a while, Weaver adjusted his grip on Clarke's head. Then Hudson balled a fist and smashed the window, grabbing a shard of glass. He stuck the shard in Clarke's mouth and began punching.

"Think about what you have to lose."

"We can do this all day. We got plenty of windows!" Weaver pressed. Hudson nodded to his partner, "Or you can give us what we want and we will guarantee your safety."

"I'm already a dead man." Clarke shot back, "I've been hunted across every corner of the globe. If you found me, so will they. They know everything you know. They're probably on their way now."

"Why?"

Clarke gulped, "Dragovich doesn't like loose ends. I've never even dealt with him directly. Only Steiner, the German."

Hudson saw that he was getting somewhere, "What was the nature of your business?"

"I was hired to stabilize some," He paused, "volatile compounds."

"What kind of compounds?" He demanded.

"Nova Six. A biochemical weapon." Before he could say anything more, gunfire tore through the windows. "You led them right to me!"

"Get your head down!" Weaver shouted. Hudson saw approaching silhouettes and watched Weaver take out his CZ75. Like a bandit, Hudson took out his own pistols, whirled around and fired both triggers. One of the figures fell, his submachine gun firing as it hit the floor. The bullets punched through a canister, spewing green gas. Nova 6. "Gunfire's ruptured the canisters!" Clarke shouted over the fire.

"What's your escape route?" Weaver asked, slamming the butt of his pistol into one of the men's head.

"There's a hatch in the ceiling!" Clarke passed Hudson and Weaver who kept firing at the armed men, noticing the sickly green clouds drifting closer. Clarke pushed open a door and lowered down a ladder. The men began clutching their throats as the gas poisoned their insides. Weaver jumped through with Hudson not too far behind. Clarke waited until they cleared the door before setting it back in its place.

"Did you inhale the gas?" He asked his two companions.

"I don't think so." Hudson replied, happy to be out of the gaseous room.

"You're lucky." Clarke informed them, "Direct exposure is always fatal."

A figure rolled into an adjacent room, "Spetsnaz inbound!"

Hudson killed the rolling Spetsnaz and picked up his SPAS-12. They walked outside to meet the torrential downfall. A passenger jet screamed overhead on final approach to Kowloon's infamous airport.

"Chyort!" Weaver shouted, "Snipers!"

Hudson heard a Dragunov pierce the air as a bullet whizzed past his face not 6 inches. Hudson couldn't kill the Spetsnaz sharpshooter at this range, so he kept running.

"What now?" Weaver asked Clarke over the gunfire.

"We jump!"

"You gotta be kidding me!" Hudson stared at the gap between the buildings. Making a running start Hudson jumped, aiming for a mattress. He took out his pistols, firing rapidly before he crashed down on the soft cushion. Weaver and Clarke followed.

"Help me move this!" Clarke began to push a fridge with Weaver's help. "Grab what you need, they'll be here before you know it!" Hudson marveled at a secret room filled with weapons. RPGs, China Lakes, Kiparis, Spectre, even a rare G11. "You're well prepared for a dead man."

Clarke laughed, "Just because I accept the inevitability doesn't mean I'm in a hurry to embrace it."

Weaver rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say English." He took a Kiparis while Clarke took the G11. Hudson grabbed the PSG1 and slid the Spectre in his holster. After Clarke closed the door, they set on, Hudson on point. They battled Spetsnaz, dispatching them with ease until Weaver yelled. "Flashbang!"

Hudson turned, but was blinded by a light and a deafening sound. He kept his grip on the Spectre and fired blindly. Fortune shined upon him when the flash thrower died with Hudson's bullets.

"They're breaching the windows!" The trio turned to the breaching soldiers and killed them all before they fought to a hole where a pipe was and they slid down.

"Got two more assholes below." Weaver whispered, motioning to the two. Hudson scoped in and shot one of them. The other turned to find his knife halfway up his stomach. They ran through a lot of buildings until Weaver spoke again.

"Dragovich is going through a lot of trouble to shut you up! What aren't you telling us?"

"I already told you about Nova 6?" Clarke shot back, annoyed.

"Where is their base? Nam? Laos? Cambodia?" Even Hudson admitted that Weaver had to calm a little. Surprisingly Clarke answered without conflict. "His home turf. The Ural Mountains; Mt Yamatau. That's where you'll find Steiner and his final preparations for Project Nova."

"What else?" Hudson demanded. "Whispers? Rumors? ANYTHING!"

"Steiner talked with Dragovich about Numbers."

Hudson didn't understand. "What kind of numbers." Even though Clarke told him they were what the plot relied on, Hudson got no more clues than when he was told about the HQ in Yamatau. It took an effort to take his Spectre and rid the world of one less asshole.

Hudson slid down a roof, suddenly taking out his Spectre and firing into a failed ambush. Clarke and Weaver slid down later, eliminating the survivors. They regrouped as a helicopter flew past. Hudson recognized it as the Mi-8 Hip. The primary transport helicopter for the Soviet military.

"Damn." Clarke opened his arms as if to welcome the unending downpour. "They've sent in a cleanup crew to steal what's left of my research! Well no thank you Dragovich! I can clean up my own mess!" He laughed maniacally before he took a button from his pocket and pushed it. Fire spewed from Clarke's apartment building as the charges detonated. The Hip flew too close and got caught in the flames, it spun and crashed into an adjacent building.

"Either of you too low on ammo?" Clarke slid away a panel to Hudson's amazement. "We still have ways to go!" Weaver and Hudson took ammunition, not bothering to take different weapons as Clarke opened a gate and they resumed fighting.

Clarke led them to his final area where even more ammunition and weapons were stored. Hudson was more than impressed. This man could pull off any contingency. He traded his ammunition exhausted PSG1 for a Grim Reaper. His Spectre still had some ammo left, so he kept it.

"Cover me! I need to get this door open!" Clarke moved to a vaultlike door and began twisting the dials.

"Okay it's been a while. It's the dammest thing!... 54... 23...

"You forgot your own combination?" Weaver shouted in disbelief, ducking to avoid a sniper shot.

"What is it? 5... 11... 19... 45? Of course...Lucky 7!" He opened the door and the trio exploded out of the room. "Just one more leap of faith!" Clarke rolled on the side and took his chance, roaring as he fell down the gap.

"Ah! I'm slipping!"

"Hold on!" Hudson leapt, landing where Clarke had hit, he too was slipping down until Weaver landed, trying to pull the three to safety and dodging gunfire.

"What about the numbers Clarke?" Hudson asked as they dangled over the slums of Kowloon.

"Oh yes. The numbers. They're the key to" He never finished his sentence as a sniper's bullet ripped through the side of his head. Hudson let go, watching the scientist's body fall down the alley.

"Fuck!" Weaver pulled hi up, "Tug Boat, this is Redeye, immediate extraction street level."

"Rodger Redeye!" The agent replied. "Been watching the fireworks from down here. Did you snatch the asset?"

"Negative." Weaver and Hudson slid down a slanted roof. "He's dead."

Hudson landed in a canopy and grabbed his CZ75. He killed a few Spetsnaz until a van arrived with his fellow agents. They gave him a specific wave, the one to indicate friendlies. Hudson returned the signal.

"Where we headed?" One agent asked as he pulled the door open.

"Clarke ID a Nazi scientist working for Dragovich. We're headed to the Ural Mountains. Mt. Yamatau."

Hudson and Weaver climbed into the van as it sped away.