Call of Destiny
Chapter 2
Disclaimer: Not mine ., except for my character Sue.
[3rd POV]
Lavender. A flower famous for its relaxing fragrant, it reminds people of their homes and beds, even when it actually smelled of trash and sweats. Nevertheless, the fragrant failed to compel that particular sense which belongs to a man lying in junior sized bed, half of his feet sticking out. His body covered with carefully wrapped bandages with several patches on his arms; beneath it several angry looking gashes adorned his torso. For Captain John "Soap" Mactavish, the only scent he is familiar with is those of hospital and barrack's sterile disinfectant. Realizing the alien environment, his eyes flew open, trained minds and nerves ignored the pain caused by the abrupt awake.
"Don't move so much or you will rip your wounds open again." His –undoubtedly- pissed off hostess is sitting at the opposite end of the room, in front of her a table with medical supplies cluttered around and a laptop backlight softly illuminating her face.
Soap would have laughed if it wasn't for his, seemingly, broken rib so a deep chuckle came out instead, which invites a questioning look from the other inhabitant of the room.
"I'm surprised you haven't killed us for destroying your kitchen." The young captain replied, and despite the warning look from Sue, he stands and stretches his arms.
She rolled her eyes up and lazily retorted, "How can you be so sure? Price and Nikolai are already six feet under, now it's your turn."
Snorted at the reply, Soap thought how eager he is to see her try. Even in his injured state now, he can still kick an arse like hers any day, and he would bet pretty sum too that she never even lifted heavy weights with that well manicured nails of hers.
But then he realized something is truly missing, "Price and Nikolai, they make it out of your apartment don't they?"
"Yes, who the hell do you think dragged you out? Certainly not me." Her eyes still glued to the laptop, "They're shopping for some supplies, Captain Price decided that they should split and shop at different stores so they would not draw any suspicion."
Not used to being in idle condition, the Task Force 141 captain paced back and forth in the room, several times he glanced between Sue's dead serious expression and the laptop screen and although computer is his least favorite tool to work with, he offered his help. Which Sue declined, from the look of it she was busy chatting online, but then she explained that the guy she was chatting with can provide them with fake passport and IDs to allow them travel worldwide.
"Mind telling me what happened?" Soap asked her while trying to put a shirt on.
Her chair swiveled, with an incredulous look she replied, "Nothing much, it's just my usual Sunday where an old friend came to visit and we are about to have a beautiful breakfast and coffee in the kitchen when suddenly RPG-wielding mercenaries decided to blow my kitchen up and probably killed a kitten that just adopted a week ago. Apparently these 'new' friends of mine forgot to tell me that their status as fugitives have potential of wrecking somebody's life upside down. Then you passed out with a large gash in your back and here we are." She smiled sweetly, saccharine sweet. "If nothing else bothers Mr. Neanderthal Caveman, would he mind telling what happened in HIS side of the story?"
"Makarov." The tension in the room instantly raises and the quick tapping of the keyboard pauses. "He's what happened."
"I catch that part. In fact I can exactly correlate as to why you're here. You think I knew where 'my boss' is right? Cause I'm his personal accountant? You are wrong."
"You may call him your boss. He is, however, widely known as a terrorist on the loose, murderer. I'm sure you know that fact aye?" Rough baritone and thick accent lose its control and came out through his words.
"Airport Massacre? Subway Bombing? Stealing Plutonium? I know that alright. But what you don't know is more than that." She opened one of her bag and fished out several pieces of papers, Soap received it. "That, is his current worth."
"US$ 163 Million?"
"Slovenskaya Mafiya. They do illegal arms trading, human trafficking, narcotics, or any other things they can get their hands on. Makarov, is the head!"
Soap read the papers carefully, seeking a way to understand them, but the very paper holds no meaning for the battle hardened soldier merely numbers, names, and more numbers stacked together. Even so he was a captain and a commander in field never showed hesitation towards the unknown.
"We've heard Slovenskaya before but never of Makarov being its leader. Fill me in." He commanded swiftly.
The petite woman tampered for a while, not quite sure if it is the best move to tell him everything, for Makarov would probably protect her if she has the chance to slip away from these guys. Will he? She pushed the thought aside, geez who was she thinking? Makarov would definitely shoot her on sight.
She faced him, once again dark brown meet blue colored eyes, "You may have heard of Mikhail Antonovich as the godfather of that organization, but the fact is that the organization is owned and controlled by Makarov, the other guy serves only as a sock puppet." She paused to see if he was paying attention, he obviously did. "His activities both as a 'bussinessman' and as a terrorist runs separately, the organization is not in any way acquainted with his terrorism activity across the world. Makarov would never use anyone in his mafiya organization to do his personal bidding or to supply him weapon, the only thing that links them together is Makarov and his money. Thus up until now, nobody, not even CIA -I reckon, knows that his act of terror is often funded by Slovenskaya."
The man digested her words carefully; lots of questions filled his brain. One at a time, he thought. "He already had enough money from bank robbing and kidnapping, why would he need any other source?"
She huffed loudly and crossed her legs, "Did anybody in the Special Forces ever count? Surely they realize a mere several million dollars and rubble would not be enough."
Upon Soap's silence she whined, "Oh, tell me they do count! I mean how else would you guy find out about me?" When no answer was heard from the former SAS Captain, she wildly guessed, "It's Nikolai isn't it?"
Soap looked up at her from the papers in his hands, "Don't look at me."
"Gods I knew it! That guy is gonna be the death of me! Cannot keep his mouth shut for even a split second!" She threw her hands in the air and start huffing furiously, flinging her comically long hair back and forth.
Soap, sensing the dangerously high level of estrogen fury in the room, quickly cut in. "How well protected is that guy?"
"For a start, he owns dozens of BTRs and choppers and his own personal army –thanks to the Ultranationalist party. He had numerous back ups in Russian parliament, he had contact in States and every other corner of the world! I mean he could've elected himself president of Russia and have his personal secret service, or whatever they're called there, if he wanted so!"
He and price had attempted the impossible before, penetrating a base full of hostiles is just another day for him, but the fact that Makarov is not a simple mad case of a terrorist like he thought before made soap cautiously ask, "And our chances of taking him out?"
"What do you mean taking him out?" The accountant before him need no reply as she gazed into those blue orbs, "This is crazy, I'm out of here. I'm out, you gus wanted to go on a suicide mission do it yourself." With that she picked up her belongings from the table.
A hand run through his now grown and unkempt Mohawk, "Nobody's asking you to get involved, all we wanted is the info…"
"I've been involved since you guys burst to my apartment!" The answer came out harshly and she quickly arranged her bags and laptop, rushing through the door.
She, however, was allowed no further step as something solid blocked her path. Soap's chest.
The petite woman's heart seemed to skip a few beat before pumping again like crazy; this guy in front of her is at least 10 inches taller than her if not a whole feet. With her 99 lbs she barely holds a candle to his athletic build. His palm was not in a chocking position, in fact it barely touches her lips, but it was his eyes just like when she first saw him holding his UMP she knew this guy kills on regular basis. Even without a gun, she knew he can kill her with ease, she thought.
"I'm sorry; I just need you to stop." He leveled himself with her height, "You clearly had no better chance with Makarov out there. At least here, with us, we will try to keep you safe."
Soap clasped her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
He pushed the girl until she was back on the verge of the small bed and he motioned her to lay down. "Dark circles under your eyes. Go get some shut eye; I'll finish whatever you're doing.".
The smell of lavender mixed with natural musk of the previous man, strangely brought her to the thought of a distant home in her past. Safe and secured. Home, and she closed her eyes.
A/N : Review is always appreciated :)
