Vladimir Makarov was a man of resourcefulness. From a small-time politician, he had rose high into the ranks of the Ultranationalist party to become the greatest terrorist the world has ever seen, and he had to thank his late mentor, Imran Zakhaev for it. And now, he would be heading for the ultimate prize of all…
His plans had succeeded, Shepherd had been killed by his very own lackeys whom he had betrayed, and the old fool had thought that he could bring him down… Shepherd was wrong. Now, the surviving members of the Task Force 141 were scattered, and rumor had it that one of them, was waiting for the Captains Price and Mactavish in Dushanbe. What kind of multinational terrorist would he be, if he did not have spies planted everywhere?
"The one that you are looking for, she is nothing as she seems to be," said the head of the orphanage that he himself had built in the Tajik capital city. "She is armed with only a Japanese sword, but she has been constantly listening for American military news… One could say that she is a lovesick youth who ran away to search for her lover…"
A lovesick youth, eh? Makarov knew better than that. The children of the Algren family were all soldiers one way or the other. When he had been a child, the exploits of her father in the first Iraq war as a high-ranking Marine had been almost legendary to anyone who had studied modern American military history. This girl, this Ryuka Algren, she was such a soldier that even the Emperor of Japan has her on his honor-roll, and was held on "indefinite loan" to this Task Force 141 from the Japanese government. She could not be taken lightly.
"Thank you, my friend," Makarov told the old man, giving him a bag of money containing British Pounds Sterling, for now, the currency of America would no longer be of use. "Please tell me if there is anything that we should know about. She is a highly dangerous person, and I fear for the safety of your children, Mr. Carlson." The man quickly thanked Makarov and left the scene as quickly as he could, not knowing that he had already been followed, this much, Makarov knew even before the old man had come to see him. "You can come out now, my dear," he said towards the shadow hiding behind the ancient tree not far from them.
Immediately, a throwing knife was flung towards him, and he quickly evaded it. "Ah, Lieutenant Algren, you were more beautiful than I expected," he told Ryuka, who was now right before him, standing in her full height. In the Russian's eyes, the light of the stars that clear night did nothing to her beauty. White skin, flowing red hair and those dark, fiery eyes, if she had not been the enemy, he was sure that he would be utterly drawn to her. "Or, should I call you 'Ryuka' instead?"
She said nothing, but unsheathed her katana and started to attack him, and Makarov knew, if not for his quick reflexes, he would have been dead in seconds. This one, he had watched for a long time, when the Task Force 141 had come into light, the unofficial third in command, and a highly formidable sniper. Ryuka… he had done quite a lot of research, and he knew that her name meant the "Dragon-flower" in Japanese, an elegant name, but not something that befitted her at all. She was fierce as she had been strong, that young American that Shepherd had thought to deceive him with could never compare to her, a woman, nonetheless.
Soon, he got tired of that one-sided battle, and signaled his men that hid in the shadows. One bullet to her calf had been enough to get her down, leaving her using her katana thrust into the ground for support. "Monster!" she shouted, throwing another dagger that lodged itself on the same place on his body where she had been shot. "Have you no honor?"
Slightly cursing in Russian, Makarov pulled out the dagger and threw it away. "Not at all, my dear," he replied, and held her hair tightly in his hand, jerking her head back. "But I have many things besides that… Including you, as of now…" Ryuka's eyes widened, and she grabbed yet another one of her daggers and aimed it towards his own heart. With his great reflexes, Makarov took the dagger from her hands, taking advantage of her weakened state. "Please, do not do anything so stupid," he whispered into her ear, caressing her fair face. "I need you alive…"
Ryuka raised her katana and lunged towards Makarov, but she heard another gunshot, which felled her immediately. "Makarov…" she groaned, her black eyes filled with anger and hatred. Her M4A1 had been left in the orphanage, along with her other weapons… Wait, her earpiece…
"Now, let us see what other treasures do you have," Makarov said, slowly positioning her to lie flat on the ground. She might be the enemy, but there was no reason for him to treat her like one. A woman like her, was rare, and had to be cherished with the utmost care. Gently, he searched her body, every second more in the process made her skin crawl. "Ah, there…" he found her ear-piece and her microphone… "Price, I have a very precious flower in my hands. If you wish to have her, follow this signal, and you shall find her."
How the hell did Makarov find Ryuka? Soap listened to Makarov's words, broadcast through Ryuka's communication systems, and quickly tried to sit up. He could not leave her to the madman's clutches… "Soap, calm down!" Price said, pushing him down. "Makarov knows that we'll go save her, he won't kill her in a whim."
"How can I calm down if Ryuka is in Makarov's hands?" Soap shouted at Price. He did not care if Price would know of his and Ryuka's relationship, nor did it matter ever now… He should have known that Makarov could have planted spies in Dushanbe.
At this, Price raised his voice as well. "I have watched Ryuka grow up, Soap, don't you ever dare tell me that you would care more about her than I do!" For a single, childless old man, Ryuka had been the closest anyone could get to being his own child, for he had been great comrades with her father despite their age gap. "If you really love her, I suggest that you get back down and recover before we go and save her." Anyone who did not notice that Soap and Ryuka were an item, were either downright blind, or totally stupid, in his opinion, but then again, none in the 141 knew the two of them as well as he had.
This time, even Nickolai was at Price's side. "Da, Reddie would try her best to survive in these hard times, my friend," the Russian told Soap, "There is nothing to fear for her."
"I hope you're both right," Soap muttered under his breath as the effects of the painkillers started kicking in, along with the morphine.
Ryuka did not like the situation she was in at all. Given the fact that she had been enemy hands, she would have preferred if she was severely beaten, chained and left in a cold, dark room. The fact that she was not, highly disturbed her. She was in a plush hotel room in Shanghai, dressed in a wine-red gown with sapphires on her earrings and on the diamond necklace that rested elegantly on her décolletage. Her katana was nowhere to be found, nor were her communication devices… What made things worse was that Makarov was right beside her, admiring her image from the full-length mirror.
"You look absolutely beautiful," he told her, slowly walking towards her. "I knew that a dress suits you more than that leather suit of yours. A woman of your beauty cannot be wasted amongst mere soldiers…" Ryuka glared at him at those words, black eyes fixed upon his eyes, one colored blue, and the other, green, due to a rare condition known as Heterochromia Iridium, and looked down. Her wounds had been quickly tended to by his doctors when they made the journey from Dushanbe to Shanghai, with only one small dot to remind her where his men had shot her.
With all gentleness, Makarov placed each hand on her shoulders and inhaled the scent of her hair. "Get away from me," she hissed, bringing her hand up to slap him. However, he managed to hold her wrist in mid-strike, and kissed her knuckles before he forcefully put it down to her side.
"Ryuka, Ryuka, Ryuka," he clicked his tongue. "When will you see that being so stubborn would not improve the situation you are in?" This woman was a fiery one, and the more he spent time with her, the more he was intrigued by her. "Have you ever considered the possibility that I know where your precious captains are, and that I can have my men kill them at any one time?"
Those words were enough to draw her gaze back onto him. "You're lying," she spat, knowing that if he was able to plant spies in Dushanbe, he would be able to trace Price and Soap, especially since he had everything that she had been captured with… "Leave them out of this; they have nothing to do with you,"
"Do you even know why Captain John Price was kept in the Gulag, my dear?" he asked her, grazing his lips where her neck and shoulder met. "There have been reports that state that he was the one of the team of SAS members who killed my mentor, Imran Zakhaev, the martyr-hero of Mother Russia. And now, I know that the claim is true, because it is Captain John Mactavish who did it, but with Price's pistol… Do you think that you can take me for a fool?" No wonder… No wonder Makarov had so much hatred for Price, so much so that he would have him inhumanely imprisoned in the Gulag for five years. It was a wonder that Price survived… "However, you were all lucky that your comrades managed to save him before we could even kill him. Now, if you do not cooperate, I would not hesitate to place the order…"
"You will do no such thing!" Ryuka exclaimed, turning towards him. Fear… it was not existent in her dark eyes. It never had been so, and it never will be. Knowing that if this was hellfire, and that she would have to go through it no matter what, she gulped and placed her arms around Makarov's neck. Slowly, she steeled her own nerves, and managed to turn her anger and hatred for the man into something else. "I am yours now," she told him, purposely making her voice sound as though she was shaken with fear. "Please, have mercy… They have nothing now, unlike you."
If there was anything that she had learnt from her experience in handling covert operations, she knew that all men were highly affected by beautiful women, and she knew that Makarov would not be an exception. "If you prove yourself to be a good girl, I can ensure their survival," he whispered into her ear, while he moved his hands to the sides of her waist… She was utterly bewitching to him, and he did not know why. Could it be the fact that she was a born redhead, while being so evidently Asian, or was it the fact that she was an enemy, captured, and in his grasp?
They were alone, his men stationed outside the hotel-room, and in the soft lights above them, she looked divine, and was unarmed, he had taken the pleasure to make sure of that. "Makarov…" she murmured, but he placed a finger upon her lips, silencing her. Slowly, he inched closer towards her and pressed his lips against hers, in a kiss that she did not want, nor did she expect. She had no choice, even if she knew that she could not be sure whether or not Makarov was lying to her about Soap and Price… She had to work to his demands, for the hope that the two of them would be safe.
John… Uncle Price… Wherever you are, please, be safe…
