Chapter Five: El Arteigo
"Move along!" one of the suspects yelled, his arms waving as he stood at the head of the speedboat. Jack looked up, watching him closely. "Come on! Give us room!" the man cried. Boats had flooded the Manhattan Harbor, and there was hardly any land free for docking. It was chaos in the water, and seeing the number of boats made Jack's stomach lurch. 'At least one operative for every boat'…scanning the water, he saw over one hundred. 'More than one hundred troops on-site? This is crazy.'
"Damn," the suspect muttered, too quiet for Jack to hear near the back of the boat. "Parallel parking…" the man grunted, and Jack's eyes fell over an empty gap between two yachts. A thin smile spread across Jack's face as he took notice to their predicament, and he watched as the suspects aboard his boat passed back and forth, the third trying to steer them into the space he'd discovered.
Jack looked down in his lap as the suspects made another pass down the aisle, their penetrating glares looking into his soul, it seemed. 'I wonder if they know,' he thought, 'that I am who I am.' Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, the boat jerked, and he looked up, as did everyone else. Skidding alongside the two yachts, the boat shifted the water, churning it and pushing the other boats out of its way as it moved into the space, slowing and then coming to a complete halt.
The man at the bow of the boat turned back to them and nodded to the two others that looked to him for approval. "All right," the man began, "let's unload 'em!" Slowly, the two other suspects moved to the front of the boat, and began dismissing the passengers, row by row. They hurried by, afraid for their lives, and hurdled the gap between the bow and the actual harbor. Jack watched as they reached the land and started along the path, up and around the concrete wall, and deeper into Manhattan. What surprised him the most was their freedom. The suspects pursued none of them. "Come on!" one of them cried in his ear, and he blinked, realizing he was the only passenger left on the boat.
Looking up, Jack saw the man towering over him, sun glasses set on the arch of his nose, and a long black coat grabbing at his shoulders. The man seemed exhausted…sweat dripping onto the floor of the boat, as the sun appeared to burn inches from his face. Jack stood, waited for the man to step aside, and then turned into the main aisle and slowly made his way to the bow, his arms swaying and his legs stepping with a rhythmic perfection.
"Stop," a man stepped in front of him. Jack stopped, bumping into the man's chest only lightly before taking a step back to look over him. "Hmm," the man grumbled, his eyes looking over Jack who did the same to him. "What's the best place to eat around here? I've heard of an 'El Artaigo,' but I'm not all for Italian." Jack shook his head.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't live here." The man looked back at him, quizzically.
"Didn't pack any bags?" he asked. Jack swallowed hard, seeing the confusion and curiosity lingering heavily in the suspect's eyes.
"I'm…a reporter," he said. "I had heard of a biological scare. Seemed like the story of a lifetime to me." The man still looked at him, his neck bent and his head cocked to the side. Then, a smile broke.
"Heh! Well, sorry you had to show up on a day like this." He looked past Jack, trying to find Ellis Island. "You just keep doin' your job, and you'll be fine. 'Kay?" Jack nodded, uncomfortably, and the man stepped aside. "Enjoy your stay," he joked, and Jack stepped over the gap between the harbor and the boat, taking a few steps up the concrete path before hearing something rustling in the hedges to his right.
He stopped and turned as Snake emerged from the greens, brushing leaves from his suit. "Snake?" Jack questioned and he nodded in return. "It's good to see you," Jack complimented, stepping closer to him and setting a hand on his shoulder. Snake smiled, lightly.
"Yea," he said, his eyes moving to the ships docked only feet away. "Have you noticed? They're letting everyone go."
"Yea," Jack nodded, "they must have all the possible exits closed up. Otherwise, they would be a little more cautious with their hostages."
"They've got a thousand others, anyway. Losing a boatload in a crowd would make anything but a significant mark in the death toll." Then, there was a ring. Both of them heard it, and answered the call, quickly, putting their hands to their ears.
"Snake? Jack?" Otacon's voice called. Snake and Jack looked to each other and nodded before answering. "Yea, Otacon," Snake answered. "We hear you."
"How're things on the island?" he asked.
"Just peachy," Jack answered. Snake looked at him, sighed, and then returned to the conversation without Jack noticing his disapproval.
"So you're both on solid ground?" he asked.
"Yea," Snake replied. "Dig up anything new?"
"Not really," Otacon shook his head. "But, you have made the news. The tube is swamped with unplanned programs."
"Hmph…interrupting the soaps, eh?" Jack joked. "Better than Frasier reruns…"
"Well, they're talking of a Special Report edition of The Manhattan Resident. They're expecting it to be sent out within the next half hour. Apparently, they're printing them off right now."
"Funny," Snake interrupted. "The local paper is readier than the National Guard." Otacon laughed.
"Now, Snake, I haven't received any other information regarding the actual offensive, but I contacted representatives of the UFAC."
"And…?" Jack questioned.
"In light of the invasion, the UFAC has stressed for you to meet with one of their agents on location. I explained that we might take a new direction, but they aren't very pleased with the idea. Today is the last day they have to act. Once the warehouse is down, the Compilation will be gone for good."
"So, they're more concerned about the Compilation than the safety of thousands of American civilians?" Snake groaned.
"They aren't responsible for the invasion, Snake, and they are certainly not responsible for taking care of it. They're goal is to eliminate the Patriot government, not to protect the United States." Otacon claimed.
"Right…so where are we supposed to meet with them?" Snake asked. There was a rustle of papers from Otacon's end of the transmission, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he returned.
"El Arteigo. It's an Italian restaurant on the corner of Beach and Collister. You'll most likely need to hitch a ride, unless you want to walk about thirty blocks." Jack grinned when he heard the name of the restaurant, remembering the suspect's question before he'd stepped off the boat.
"We'll find a ride," Jack assured him, and Snake sighed.
"Anything else, Otacon?" he asked.
"Not really…just…keep safe." Otacon ended.
"We will," Snake replied, and the transmission was cut.
Music…old music was playing. Like from the Baroque period. High ceiling lights gave the room a faint glow, but the frightening atmosphere was effective only through the lights that shone from the floor, creating two- point shadows from ceiling to floor. There sat a man, his eyes closed, in a chair before a bulky object.
There were footsteps echoing from the distance, nearing the man slowly. The absence of all other sound amplified those footsteps beyond imagination…their beat growing rapid and hurried as time went on. Slowly, from the shadows that existed only at the ends of the room, came a soldier. He wore camouflage of brown and gray, and in his hand was a fat slab of light-gray paper.
"Sir?" he stopped before the man, and stretched out his arm. "They've released the first Special Report of The Manhattan Resident," the soldier called as the man in the chair pulled the paper close and spun in his seat, analyzing the first story on the page.
"'Bio-Terror Downtown…'" a voice slipped from the lips of the man in the chair. He gripped the paper tight, and looked on. "'From a threat of biological chaos has spawned a full-armed assault on Manhattan,'" the voice recited. "'Around 3:30 this morning, City Hall received a tip on a possible biological diffusion throughout the city. At nearly 10:00, helicopters were spotted with radar, scanning the coast, and at 10:30 those helicopters invaded Downtown Manhattan. With the help of a City-wide Lockdown, issued a mere 15 minutes earlier, the seizing of strategic locations throughout Manhattan has taken the police out of control, and has put our invaders in control. Now, at 11:13 on July Fourth, the world stands still again, petrified by the unexpected arrival of a new enemy.'" The man stopped, his voice so familiar. "'God help us all…'" he concluded, folding the paper neatly and setting it on the tabletop before him, which was base to a computer.
"So what do we do?" The soldier asked. The man pondered.
"We wait," he replied, and the soldier nodded, saluted him, and then smiled.
"As you wish…
…Shalashaska."
"Move along!" one of the suspects yelled, his arms waving as he stood at the head of the speedboat. Jack looked up, watching him closely. "Come on! Give us room!" the man cried. Boats had flooded the Manhattan Harbor, and there was hardly any land free for docking. It was chaos in the water, and seeing the number of boats made Jack's stomach lurch. 'At least one operative for every boat'…scanning the water, he saw over one hundred. 'More than one hundred troops on-site? This is crazy.'
"Damn," the suspect muttered, too quiet for Jack to hear near the back of the boat. "Parallel parking…" the man grunted, and Jack's eyes fell over an empty gap between two yachts. A thin smile spread across Jack's face as he took notice to their predicament, and he watched as the suspects aboard his boat passed back and forth, the third trying to steer them into the space he'd discovered.
Jack looked down in his lap as the suspects made another pass down the aisle, their penetrating glares looking into his soul, it seemed. 'I wonder if they know,' he thought, 'that I am who I am.' Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, the boat jerked, and he looked up, as did everyone else. Skidding alongside the two yachts, the boat shifted the water, churning it and pushing the other boats out of its way as it moved into the space, slowing and then coming to a complete halt.
The man at the bow of the boat turned back to them and nodded to the two others that looked to him for approval. "All right," the man began, "let's unload 'em!" Slowly, the two other suspects moved to the front of the boat, and began dismissing the passengers, row by row. They hurried by, afraid for their lives, and hurdled the gap between the bow and the actual harbor. Jack watched as they reached the land and started along the path, up and around the concrete wall, and deeper into Manhattan. What surprised him the most was their freedom. The suspects pursued none of them. "Come on!" one of them cried in his ear, and he blinked, realizing he was the only passenger left on the boat.
Looking up, Jack saw the man towering over him, sun glasses set on the arch of his nose, and a long black coat grabbing at his shoulders. The man seemed exhausted…sweat dripping onto the floor of the boat, as the sun appeared to burn inches from his face. Jack stood, waited for the man to step aside, and then turned into the main aisle and slowly made his way to the bow, his arms swaying and his legs stepping with a rhythmic perfection.
"Stop," a man stepped in front of him. Jack stopped, bumping into the man's chest only lightly before taking a step back to look over him. "Hmm," the man grumbled, his eyes looking over Jack who did the same to him. "What's the best place to eat around here? I've heard of an 'El Artaigo,' but I'm not all for Italian." Jack shook his head.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't live here." The man looked back at him, quizzically.
"Didn't pack any bags?" he asked. Jack swallowed hard, seeing the confusion and curiosity lingering heavily in the suspect's eyes.
"I'm…a reporter," he said. "I had heard of a biological scare. Seemed like the story of a lifetime to me." The man still looked at him, his neck bent and his head cocked to the side. Then, a smile broke.
"Heh! Well, sorry you had to show up on a day like this." He looked past Jack, trying to find Ellis Island. "You just keep doin' your job, and you'll be fine. 'Kay?" Jack nodded, uncomfortably, and the man stepped aside. "Enjoy your stay," he joked, and Jack stepped over the gap between the harbor and the boat, taking a few steps up the concrete path before hearing something rustling in the hedges to his right.
He stopped and turned as Snake emerged from the greens, brushing leaves from his suit. "Snake?" Jack questioned and he nodded in return. "It's good to see you," Jack complimented, stepping closer to him and setting a hand on his shoulder. Snake smiled, lightly.
"Yea," he said, his eyes moving to the ships docked only feet away. "Have you noticed? They're letting everyone go."
"Yea," Jack nodded, "they must have all the possible exits closed up. Otherwise, they would be a little more cautious with their hostages."
"They've got a thousand others, anyway. Losing a boatload in a crowd would make anything but a significant mark in the death toll." Then, there was a ring. Both of them heard it, and answered the call, quickly, putting their hands to their ears.
"Snake? Jack?" Otacon's voice called. Snake and Jack looked to each other and nodded before answering. "Yea, Otacon," Snake answered. "We hear you."
"How're things on the island?" he asked.
"Just peachy," Jack answered. Snake looked at him, sighed, and then returned to the conversation without Jack noticing his disapproval.
"So you're both on solid ground?" he asked.
"Yea," Snake replied. "Dig up anything new?"
"Not really," Otacon shook his head. "But, you have made the news. The tube is swamped with unplanned programs."
"Hmph…interrupting the soaps, eh?" Jack joked. "Better than Frasier reruns…"
"Well, they're talking of a Special Report edition of The Manhattan Resident. They're expecting it to be sent out within the next half hour. Apparently, they're printing them off right now."
"Funny," Snake interrupted. "The local paper is readier than the National Guard." Otacon laughed.
"Now, Snake, I haven't received any other information regarding the actual offensive, but I contacted representatives of the UFAC."
"And…?" Jack questioned.
"In light of the invasion, the UFAC has stressed for you to meet with one of their agents on location. I explained that we might take a new direction, but they aren't very pleased with the idea. Today is the last day they have to act. Once the warehouse is down, the Compilation will be gone for good."
"So, they're more concerned about the Compilation than the safety of thousands of American civilians?" Snake groaned.
"They aren't responsible for the invasion, Snake, and they are certainly not responsible for taking care of it. They're goal is to eliminate the Patriot government, not to protect the United States." Otacon claimed.
"Right…so where are we supposed to meet with them?" Snake asked. There was a rustle of papers from Otacon's end of the transmission, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he returned.
"El Arteigo. It's an Italian restaurant on the corner of Beach and Collister. You'll most likely need to hitch a ride, unless you want to walk about thirty blocks." Jack grinned when he heard the name of the restaurant, remembering the suspect's question before he'd stepped off the boat.
"We'll find a ride," Jack assured him, and Snake sighed.
"Anything else, Otacon?" he asked.
"Not really…just…keep safe." Otacon ended.
"We will," Snake replied, and the transmission was cut.
Music…old music was playing. Like from the Baroque period. High ceiling lights gave the room a faint glow, but the frightening atmosphere was effective only through the lights that shone from the floor, creating two- point shadows from ceiling to floor. There sat a man, his eyes closed, in a chair before a bulky object.
There were footsteps echoing from the distance, nearing the man slowly. The absence of all other sound amplified those footsteps beyond imagination…their beat growing rapid and hurried as time went on. Slowly, from the shadows that existed only at the ends of the room, came a soldier. He wore camouflage of brown and gray, and in his hand was a fat slab of light-gray paper.
"Sir?" he stopped before the man, and stretched out his arm. "They've released the first Special Report of The Manhattan Resident," the soldier called as the man in the chair pulled the paper close and spun in his seat, analyzing the first story on the page.
"'Bio-Terror Downtown…'" a voice slipped from the lips of the man in the chair. He gripped the paper tight, and looked on. "'From a threat of biological chaos has spawned a full-armed assault on Manhattan,'" the voice recited. "'Around 3:30 this morning, City Hall received a tip on a possible biological diffusion throughout the city. At nearly 10:00, helicopters were spotted with radar, scanning the coast, and at 10:30 those helicopters invaded Downtown Manhattan. With the help of a City-wide Lockdown, issued a mere 15 minutes earlier, the seizing of strategic locations throughout Manhattan has taken the police out of control, and has put our invaders in control. Now, at 11:13 on July Fourth, the world stands still again, petrified by the unexpected arrival of a new enemy.'" The man stopped, his voice so familiar. "'God help us all…'" he concluded, folding the paper neatly and setting it on the tabletop before him, which was base to a computer.
"So what do we do?" The soldier asked. The man pondered.
"We wait," he replied, and the soldier nodded, saluted him, and then smiled.
"As you wish…
…Shalashaska."