Chapter Four: Dance
'Crash!' The water didn't flow around him like jelly, but instead stayed as firm as a brick, shattering Snake's body as he broke through the surface, like a layer of ice separating winter from an underwater kingdom. He moved this way and that, trying to stabilize himself and begin swimming, but a wave of bullets, each coming only seconds apart, washed around him, his arms working fervently to move him away, but he realized that moving with the boat would do him no good, for as soon as he popped up, he'd be dead. 'Down,' he thought, and quickly situated himself, forcing the water around his body as he swam deeper.
The gunfire didn't stop, at least for a minute or two, and as time went by, they became less and less accurate, their paths steeper than before – indicating they were moving further away. Snake was relieved when it all stopped, and he opened his eyes trying to pick out the underbelly of the ferry from the rest of the blurry images he saw, but there was none. They were gone.
He beat his legs like mad, churning the water between them as fast as possible. A path of winding water was left behind him, and by the time he could see the sun shining on the surface of the water his eyes stung too badly to keep them open, his arms were too sore, and his legs were too battered. But he kept swimming. Snake didn't quit. Ever.
"Pwah!" he gasped, his body bobbing up and down with the help of his lightly paddling legs. His arms waved back and forth in the water, sending a ripple across the lake as he did. He threw his hands over his face, wiped it, and then stuck them back in the water, wading his arms in it. He gasped, trying hard to catch his breath, and shot a gaze up to the coast. Nearly a mile away was the harbor, boats quickly filing into the terminals as passengers were unloaded and taken to more secure locations, arranged by their captors.
"Snake?" Jack breathed, his voice breaking into Snake's short moment of silence.
"Hey, Jack," Snake replied.
"I spotted a couple guys, but they have control of the ship. They are keeping us in our seats, and pacing back and forth. Just…if I don't answer, it's because they're near. Got it?"
"Yea," Snake nodded and then began to move toward the harbor, gliding through the water elegantly. "I got off the ferry."
"You're all ready on Manhattan Island?" Jack questioned.
"No. Water." Then, there was silence. It lasted a few minutes, and Snake took that time to strip down to his infiltration gear. Flinging off his black jacket and his undershirt, he exposed the top of his dark blue body suit, straps running from his shoulders to his waist, holsters and other compartments running down it. After shedding his khakis, the lower part of his suit was visible, but besides a knife strapped to his thigh with a nylon band, there were no surprises.
"Snake?" Jack's voice returned, this time more hurriedly than before. "Sorry about that."
"They were around," Snake insisted. "It's all right."
"So your in the bay? How's the water?"
"Warm," Snake snickered.
"So, what's the plan?" Jack asked, his tone normal again.
"I just changed into my infiltration gear. I'm going to swim to the harbor. Describe your boat," Snake requested, and there was a moment's hesitation as Jack tried to examine what he could from his sitting position…everything that would be helpful was worth the risk.
"It's a tour boat. Seats about thirty. Fast. No rooms. Red side." Jack peered over the edge of the ship, being on the edge of a row, and analyzed the licks of yellow paint that splashed the ship's side, creating interesting designs that glistened with the reflection of the sun off the water. "Some yellow indications on the side. That's about it, though."
Snake took a moment to run the description over in his head, and nodded to himself. "Good. I'll be watching for you."
"Okay, Snake."
"Jack?"
There was silence. The enemies were near.
"I know you're hearing this. Just, be ready for anything," Snake said, and then ended the transmission and turned in the water to face Manhattan, it's brilliant shine leaving a mark in his mind. "Swim fast," he said aloud, and dropped his face into the water, thrusting forward with his arms his arms, and churning the water furiously with his legs.
Snake's body was tough enough. His arms ached and his legs burned, but he didn't stop. 'Only a half-a-mile away,' he told himself. 'Only a fourth…almost there.' He swam until he had reached the Slow Zone around the harbor, where a few boats still lingered, waiting to find a home in the filled slots of Manhattan's harbor. He kept on the outskirts of the Slow Zone to avoid being seen, and swam west along the barrier to an area that had not yet been polluted by the presence of the enemy.
It was between Battery Park and the harbor, and there was a small rusted ladder that stretched to the top of the concrete coast. He swam to it as quietly as possible and climbed it quickly, trying to avoid being under a pair of crosshairs too long. 'Quick' he told himself, bolting onto the concrete walkway above, and bounding behind the hedges that grew against a concrete wall across the path.
Captives and captors were up and down the path, as Snake came to realize, and the most peculiar part was that as soon as the captives were let off of the boats, they were free to go anywhere they liked.
"Otacon?" Snake accessed his Codec, and waited for Otacon to return an answer.
"Snake? Still on the ferry?" he questioned. Snake shook his head.
"Sorry, I didn't get in touch with you. I'm off the ferry. Swam to the coast," he answered, and could sense Otacon's disapproval, but he wasn't lectured. Otacon left it aside, and continued, seeing as survival was more important than in-depth understanding. Lectures wouldn't save him on the battlefield.
"Well, what are things looking like?" Otacon asked, pulling forth a slab of paper to record Snake's observations.
"Besides the choppers, and how full the harbor is," Snake looked through the gaps in the hedges as he spoke, "everything seems pretty normal."
"Normal?"
"Yea. Everyone that was held aboard the incoming ferries and boats…as soon as they step foot on Manhattan, the suspects let them go on their way."
"Hmm…all of Manhattan must be locked in, then. Like a giant quarantine situation, only the enemy is an army of soldiers, not a virus. They shouldn't care WHERE they are as long as they're on the island."
"Well, did you find any information on the enemy?" Snake asked. Otacon thumbed through the newspaper and sighed, it's title: The Manhattan Resident.
"Well, all I have managed to get my hands on has been The Manhattan Resident, but it doesn't say anything in particular. It was printed and released long before the siege took place. But, it does have some information regarding the warehouse southwest of One New York Plaza. It has a section set aside for the July 4th festivities and such, also."
"That doesn't help," Snake mumbled.
"Actually, I scanned through it, and found a small article on the last page of the front page section. It talks about a military stockpile somewhere in the Middle East. It seems, a number of helicopters and other military equipment were nabbed about three weeks ago, and the UN thought they had found a trail leading to Haiti. Haiti government officials denied the UN's request to search the island, but it says here that just last night they found traces of what the UN was after in an abandoned warehouse on the northern coast. Looks like we might have found our connection."
Snake's eye caught a shimmering red torpedo-like object in the distance, skimming across the water as it entered the harbor. "Good work, Otacon." He watched the red boat for a few more moments before noticing his blonde- haired partner sitting on the end of a row, his eyes searching the path for Snake. "I've found Jack."
The shadow suffocated the light and warmth out of the coffee house, its tables vacant, and its walls pale and empty. There were no frightened men, women, or children running up and down the street, but the traffic continued as if it were any other day. The choppers that had entered the city had landed in other areas of the city, and even when they did, people couldn't always run. Everyone must realize that even when a gun is pointed to your head, as long as no one will pull the trigger, there's no reason to fret. It didn't seem as if the enemy had any intentions of killing the people, for the prime objective was to find the Patriot. There was nothing spoken regarding a massacre or a nuclear weapon. They were showing everything hey had, and they'd not killed anyone yet. There was no reason to fear them at all, as long as that was true.
From the restroom skulked The Customer. He subtly shut the door behind him, making sure that no one heard it, and then walked steadily out of the resting hall and back into the coffee house where he found his laptop as it had been before. Nothing had changed, but he had turned the brightness of the monitor on as low as possible, in order to disguise everything in case an employee were to stumble over it.
"Hmm," he muttered, peering through the glass wall that faced the city streets. "Nothing," he said in disappointment and pulled out his chair, took a seat, and turned the brightness back to its normal state. Cracking his knuckles, one hand at a time, he set his fingers to the keyboard and began to run through everything in silence.
The first window in sight was the Chat Window, but nothing had been altered there. Seeing it useless for the moment, he deleted it and moved onto the next window in the jumble of colors. He closed it also, and did the same with almost everyone before reaching the final window. His eyes scanned over the title bar, and his mouth acted out his emotions. He smiled.
"Good," he said slyly, his eyes following red dots over a map of Manhattan Island. They were the choppers, the boats, the people…his minions. All working under him. All working for something that only he truly understood. He had control. He had power. Immense power.
Suddenly, a voice sounded in his ear. "Sir?" the voice questioned. The Customer touched his ear lightly, and looked to the service counter, seeing two women behind it, conversing amongst themselves. Figuring it was safe to answer, he turned away from them, tilting his laptop as he did to himself.
"Yes?" The Customer asked.
"Everything is moving smoothly, sir." He was confident, but there was a weak but apparent nervousness in his tone that The Customer could sense. Sighing, he took the role of the interrogator.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Well…we've suffered a casualty. Apparently, there was a radical aboard one of the ferries that docked at the harbor. While they were en route, he started a firefight with three of our men. One was killed, but the radical managed to get off the boat before anyone got a clear shot," the Colonel answered, apologetically.
"Do we know who this 'radical' is?"
"He did a quick background on him. The name is David…works for Philanthropy by the name of Solid Snake. We traced his recent Codec transmissions and found two men. One is 'Jack,' a captive on another boat, and the other is an 'Otacon,' currently stationed somewhere in the Bronx."
"Solid Snake…?" The Customer questioned. "Didn't he die a few years back?"
"That's what I thought, but there's no doubt. It's him."
The Customer pondered this revelation, his chin rested on his clenched fist. "Continue the operation. Contact the 2nd Officers. I want them involved."
"Not the 1st, sir?"
"Not the 1st, Colonel," The Customer assured him.
"As you wish, sir," the Colonel returned, hurriedly before the transmission ended. The Customer turned back to the table and slid his laptop to its normal position, resting his hands on the keys and searching the Manhattan map, his eyes frenzied.
Double-clicking on the harbor, a message box appeared, a large white space available for him to type. He did.
'All operatives, be on guard. A "Solid Snake" is in the area.'
He waited, his finger an inch above the 'Enter' key. About to push it, he pulled away, deleted the message, and closed the window. "On the other hand," he paused, contemplating his statement to no audience, "maybe it will be more fun to see what happens…go on, my children…
…Dance."
'Crash!' The water didn't flow around him like jelly, but instead stayed as firm as a brick, shattering Snake's body as he broke through the surface, like a layer of ice separating winter from an underwater kingdom. He moved this way and that, trying to stabilize himself and begin swimming, but a wave of bullets, each coming only seconds apart, washed around him, his arms working fervently to move him away, but he realized that moving with the boat would do him no good, for as soon as he popped up, he'd be dead. 'Down,' he thought, and quickly situated himself, forcing the water around his body as he swam deeper.
The gunfire didn't stop, at least for a minute or two, and as time went by, they became less and less accurate, their paths steeper than before – indicating they were moving further away. Snake was relieved when it all stopped, and he opened his eyes trying to pick out the underbelly of the ferry from the rest of the blurry images he saw, but there was none. They were gone.
He beat his legs like mad, churning the water between them as fast as possible. A path of winding water was left behind him, and by the time he could see the sun shining on the surface of the water his eyes stung too badly to keep them open, his arms were too sore, and his legs were too battered. But he kept swimming. Snake didn't quit. Ever.
"Pwah!" he gasped, his body bobbing up and down with the help of his lightly paddling legs. His arms waved back and forth in the water, sending a ripple across the lake as he did. He threw his hands over his face, wiped it, and then stuck them back in the water, wading his arms in it. He gasped, trying hard to catch his breath, and shot a gaze up to the coast. Nearly a mile away was the harbor, boats quickly filing into the terminals as passengers were unloaded and taken to more secure locations, arranged by their captors.
"Snake?" Jack breathed, his voice breaking into Snake's short moment of silence.
"Hey, Jack," Snake replied.
"I spotted a couple guys, but they have control of the ship. They are keeping us in our seats, and pacing back and forth. Just…if I don't answer, it's because they're near. Got it?"
"Yea," Snake nodded and then began to move toward the harbor, gliding through the water elegantly. "I got off the ferry."
"You're all ready on Manhattan Island?" Jack questioned.
"No. Water." Then, there was silence. It lasted a few minutes, and Snake took that time to strip down to his infiltration gear. Flinging off his black jacket and his undershirt, he exposed the top of his dark blue body suit, straps running from his shoulders to his waist, holsters and other compartments running down it. After shedding his khakis, the lower part of his suit was visible, but besides a knife strapped to his thigh with a nylon band, there were no surprises.
"Snake?" Jack's voice returned, this time more hurriedly than before. "Sorry about that."
"They were around," Snake insisted. "It's all right."
"So your in the bay? How's the water?"
"Warm," Snake snickered.
"So, what's the plan?" Jack asked, his tone normal again.
"I just changed into my infiltration gear. I'm going to swim to the harbor. Describe your boat," Snake requested, and there was a moment's hesitation as Jack tried to examine what he could from his sitting position…everything that would be helpful was worth the risk.
"It's a tour boat. Seats about thirty. Fast. No rooms. Red side." Jack peered over the edge of the ship, being on the edge of a row, and analyzed the licks of yellow paint that splashed the ship's side, creating interesting designs that glistened with the reflection of the sun off the water. "Some yellow indications on the side. That's about it, though."
Snake took a moment to run the description over in his head, and nodded to himself. "Good. I'll be watching for you."
"Okay, Snake."
"Jack?"
There was silence. The enemies were near.
"I know you're hearing this. Just, be ready for anything," Snake said, and then ended the transmission and turned in the water to face Manhattan, it's brilliant shine leaving a mark in his mind. "Swim fast," he said aloud, and dropped his face into the water, thrusting forward with his arms his arms, and churning the water furiously with his legs.
Snake's body was tough enough. His arms ached and his legs burned, but he didn't stop. 'Only a half-a-mile away,' he told himself. 'Only a fourth…almost there.' He swam until he had reached the Slow Zone around the harbor, where a few boats still lingered, waiting to find a home in the filled slots of Manhattan's harbor. He kept on the outskirts of the Slow Zone to avoid being seen, and swam west along the barrier to an area that had not yet been polluted by the presence of the enemy.
It was between Battery Park and the harbor, and there was a small rusted ladder that stretched to the top of the concrete coast. He swam to it as quietly as possible and climbed it quickly, trying to avoid being under a pair of crosshairs too long. 'Quick' he told himself, bolting onto the concrete walkway above, and bounding behind the hedges that grew against a concrete wall across the path.
Captives and captors were up and down the path, as Snake came to realize, and the most peculiar part was that as soon as the captives were let off of the boats, they were free to go anywhere they liked.
"Otacon?" Snake accessed his Codec, and waited for Otacon to return an answer.
"Snake? Still on the ferry?" he questioned. Snake shook his head.
"Sorry, I didn't get in touch with you. I'm off the ferry. Swam to the coast," he answered, and could sense Otacon's disapproval, but he wasn't lectured. Otacon left it aside, and continued, seeing as survival was more important than in-depth understanding. Lectures wouldn't save him on the battlefield.
"Well, what are things looking like?" Otacon asked, pulling forth a slab of paper to record Snake's observations.
"Besides the choppers, and how full the harbor is," Snake looked through the gaps in the hedges as he spoke, "everything seems pretty normal."
"Normal?"
"Yea. Everyone that was held aboard the incoming ferries and boats…as soon as they step foot on Manhattan, the suspects let them go on their way."
"Hmm…all of Manhattan must be locked in, then. Like a giant quarantine situation, only the enemy is an army of soldiers, not a virus. They shouldn't care WHERE they are as long as they're on the island."
"Well, did you find any information on the enemy?" Snake asked. Otacon thumbed through the newspaper and sighed, it's title: The Manhattan Resident.
"Well, all I have managed to get my hands on has been The Manhattan Resident, but it doesn't say anything in particular. It was printed and released long before the siege took place. But, it does have some information regarding the warehouse southwest of One New York Plaza. It has a section set aside for the July 4th festivities and such, also."
"That doesn't help," Snake mumbled.
"Actually, I scanned through it, and found a small article on the last page of the front page section. It talks about a military stockpile somewhere in the Middle East. It seems, a number of helicopters and other military equipment were nabbed about three weeks ago, and the UN thought they had found a trail leading to Haiti. Haiti government officials denied the UN's request to search the island, but it says here that just last night they found traces of what the UN was after in an abandoned warehouse on the northern coast. Looks like we might have found our connection."
Snake's eye caught a shimmering red torpedo-like object in the distance, skimming across the water as it entered the harbor. "Good work, Otacon." He watched the red boat for a few more moments before noticing his blonde- haired partner sitting on the end of a row, his eyes searching the path for Snake. "I've found Jack."
The shadow suffocated the light and warmth out of the coffee house, its tables vacant, and its walls pale and empty. There were no frightened men, women, or children running up and down the street, but the traffic continued as if it were any other day. The choppers that had entered the city had landed in other areas of the city, and even when they did, people couldn't always run. Everyone must realize that even when a gun is pointed to your head, as long as no one will pull the trigger, there's no reason to fret. It didn't seem as if the enemy had any intentions of killing the people, for the prime objective was to find the Patriot. There was nothing spoken regarding a massacre or a nuclear weapon. They were showing everything hey had, and they'd not killed anyone yet. There was no reason to fear them at all, as long as that was true.
From the restroom skulked The Customer. He subtly shut the door behind him, making sure that no one heard it, and then walked steadily out of the resting hall and back into the coffee house where he found his laptop as it had been before. Nothing had changed, but he had turned the brightness of the monitor on as low as possible, in order to disguise everything in case an employee were to stumble over it.
"Hmm," he muttered, peering through the glass wall that faced the city streets. "Nothing," he said in disappointment and pulled out his chair, took a seat, and turned the brightness back to its normal state. Cracking his knuckles, one hand at a time, he set his fingers to the keyboard and began to run through everything in silence.
The first window in sight was the Chat Window, but nothing had been altered there. Seeing it useless for the moment, he deleted it and moved onto the next window in the jumble of colors. He closed it also, and did the same with almost everyone before reaching the final window. His eyes scanned over the title bar, and his mouth acted out his emotions. He smiled.
"Good," he said slyly, his eyes following red dots over a map of Manhattan Island. They were the choppers, the boats, the people…his minions. All working under him. All working for something that only he truly understood. He had control. He had power. Immense power.
Suddenly, a voice sounded in his ear. "Sir?" the voice questioned. The Customer touched his ear lightly, and looked to the service counter, seeing two women behind it, conversing amongst themselves. Figuring it was safe to answer, he turned away from them, tilting his laptop as he did to himself.
"Yes?" The Customer asked.
"Everything is moving smoothly, sir." He was confident, but there was a weak but apparent nervousness in his tone that The Customer could sense. Sighing, he took the role of the interrogator.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Well…we've suffered a casualty. Apparently, there was a radical aboard one of the ferries that docked at the harbor. While they were en route, he started a firefight with three of our men. One was killed, but the radical managed to get off the boat before anyone got a clear shot," the Colonel answered, apologetically.
"Do we know who this 'radical' is?"
"He did a quick background on him. The name is David…works for Philanthropy by the name of Solid Snake. We traced his recent Codec transmissions and found two men. One is 'Jack,' a captive on another boat, and the other is an 'Otacon,' currently stationed somewhere in the Bronx."
"Solid Snake…?" The Customer questioned. "Didn't he die a few years back?"
"That's what I thought, but there's no doubt. It's him."
The Customer pondered this revelation, his chin rested on his clenched fist. "Continue the operation. Contact the 2nd Officers. I want them involved."
"Not the 1st, sir?"
"Not the 1st, Colonel," The Customer assured him.
"As you wish, sir," the Colonel returned, hurriedly before the transmission ended. The Customer turned back to the table and slid his laptop to its normal position, resting his hands on the keys and searching the Manhattan map, his eyes frenzied.
Double-clicking on the harbor, a message box appeared, a large white space available for him to type. He did.
'All operatives, be on guard. A "Solid Snake" is in the area.'
He waited, his finger an inch above the 'Enter' key. About to push it, he pulled away, deleted the message, and closed the window. "On the other hand," he paused, contemplating his statement to no audience, "maybe it will be more fun to see what happens…go on, my children…
…Dance."