chapter FOUR : The Call
'Boss?' Snake thought. 'The guys from the prison arrived with the soldiers. Someone else, then?'
The three went by Snake without a hint of suspicion, passing down the main path and then turning left and going down a passage cloaked by heavy foliage that lead up to a large parking lot, balancing on the brink of the island. Snake was relieved to see their attention drawn elsewhere, and the path opened for him during the relocation of troops.
He shot a look into the sky, as if paying subtle respects, and turned around the side of the crate, starting up the ramp to the tanker. The scene, to him, was eerily familiar. When he reached the deck of the tanker he stopped, his mind flashing back to the incident all those years back – when he "died." The deck was the same as it had been – slightly dirty but mostly clean from the heavy rainfall, in this case from the day before.
He looked left for a moment, his eyes positioned on the bow where a number of men were accumulating, conversing for a moment and then dispersing across the deck. He saw several of them coming down his way, their guns high now, pointed attentively into the air – the butts settled in their shoulders.
Snake shot another look to his right, and, seeing no danger in the direction, went hastily down to the stern – his walk both urgent and cautious with his back slightly hunched and his toes just nipping at the deck, pattering incessantly along.
The structure of the upper floors was built much like he'd remembered the old Discovery. When he came to its end he turned around it and flattened himself against it, looking over the stern at the calm, drifting waters. He listened for the soldiers, their steps coming rapidly, their guns rattling in their hands, their hearts vibrating through the deck.
When they turned the corner they watched across the deck for another number of soldiers who'd come up the other side. They nodded and then touched their radios: "Side decks clear. Proceeding to search the stern area." Then, they went off to the stern where the spotlight went around on programmed orders, searching the black waters below. Snake's lips went up in amusement as he watched them go to the stern without noticing him at all, their smoky figures passing by beyond the window through which he watched.
He stepped back from the porthole that was mounted in the heavy door and turned around to survey the room. It wasn't much different from when he'd seen it those years back. It was the bridge.
Control decks were scattered about the place, the tile wet and slippery. Monitors that were suspended in the corners of the room blipped from image to image of security cameras and voyage trajectories. At the time, the ship was still, but that would change. Snake stepped closer to one of the monitors and watched, waiting for it to switch from security displays to images of voyage data.
But, there was a ringing in his ear before the screen came up and a hustle of footsteps coming from the stairwell in the back of the room. Snake abandoned the monitors and found a nook beside the stairwell to hide in, the shadows laying conveniently over him, but slight highlights stretching across his face.
"Proceeding to Bridge," a voice called from the stairwell, a short burst of static following.
"Roger that," another voice came, answering over the radio.
"All clear on stern," came another, as a group of soldiers stepped cautiously into the area from the stairwell, and continued to check the room. "Deck Team, report to access ramp."
"We're on our way," the leader replied, and Snake could see those smoky figures passing away from the stern and heading toward the access ramp. Another search team was still searching the bridge, squinting al around the room and making sure they missed nothing. Snake stood motionless, his eyes, cold as steel, biting through the dark and watching the passing guards without the slightest bit of fear.
And then, two shining eyes came staring back at him. A guard, his face cold with shock and terror, stood there with his gun gripped firmly, but still pointed to the tiled floor. Snake put his index finger to his lips and grinned behind it as the guard's eyes moved down to see his other hand positioned on the butt of a gun still holstered at his waist.
The guard couldn't move. Couldn't shout. Couldn't walk away. He was too full of freight to react at all.
"Clear," he blurted, jumping at the sound of his own voice. Turning back to the rest of the men in his detachment, he nodded to the leader – as did the rest of them – and went cautiously away from where Snake hid, his legs quivering awkwardly with each step.
"Bridge is clear," the leader reported, tilting the receiver to his lips and looking around for the OK from all of his men. He hesitated, his hand still on the receiver, watching the guard who stood before the shaded Snake.
"We've got a problem with the access ramp," came another voice – the leader of Deck Team. "There appears to be some sort of lock. Requesting technical assistance."
The Bridge search team leader looked to one of his men, who quickly saluted him, and tilted his receiver again to add: "This is Bridge Team. We're on our way."
"You have an engineer?"
"Yea," the leader answered. "We'll be there in a minute."
"All right - standing by." The radio connection was cut and the team quickly left the bridge, leaving Snake in silence – all but the ringing that had come and gone for the past minute as the bridge was swept. He went down on his knee, still in shadow, and touched his hand to his ear.
"You called?" he said.
"You were expecting me?" It wasn't Otacon. The voice was lower, much lower, and scratchy. It was neither young nor old, but carried an edge that could belong only to one who had experienced many things – endured many pains and struggles.
"Who is this?" Snake said, his words coming out in a grunt.
"I'm your wild card," he said.
"Brant," Snake grinned, "the FBI insider."
"Bingo," he said, coughing a little. "How's the infiltration going?"
"Nothing unusual so far," Snake said.
"That's the best kind. I always prayed for something exciting, but there was always that inkling of apprehension." He laughed. "From what I hear, you've had a good deal of surprises during your career."
"That's an understatement," Snake said.
"Sense of humor – good. Well, Solid Snake, where are you now?"
"What does that matter?"
"Aggressive – even better."
"I'm not here to play a game. I'm here to save your life and make sure whoever's coming here doesn't get out of New York harbor with this thing in tow."
"Tell me where you are or you lose my help."
"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Brant."
"There's one guard assigned to my area," Brant added, keeping Snake glued. "I'm being held in the second cargo hold. I'm not sure what's going on elsewhere, but I'll put my money on there being no more than two assigned to the first hold. The third will be with one guard as well."
"You seem pretty certain?"
"Thirty years in every military unit in the world. That long and you should hope you learn a little something."
"Right," Snake said.
"I know this place like the back of my hand."
"So do I."
"You go on memories, and we'll all be dead by this time tomorrow – your mission will have failed," Brant said. "I've been all across this tanker more than a dozen times in the past 24 hours. Don't make the mistake of blowing me off."
"I'll call you if I need anything."
"Good luck," Brant answered, and Snake cut the transmission. But, before he stood, he switched to another transmission and waited a moment.
"Yea, Snake. What's happening?" It was Otacon.
"I just spoke with Brant," he said. "A little more spirited than I'd expected."
"He's a lot like you, Snake. He wasn't born for a job at the FBI – he was born a soldier." There was a moment of quiet as Snake's mind wandered. "So, what did he tell you?"
"Not much. He's in the second hold."
"That it?" Otacon asked, surprised.
"Yea, I cut him off."
"You did what? Why?"
"He wasn't helping. He threw a few numbers at me off the top of his head and then went on to ask me my position."
"And you didn't tell him? Snake, he checked out! He's All American - loyal accessory to the United States."
"Do most All Americans end up in Spetsnaz?" There was a pause. "I don't need his help. I'm handling this one alone."
"Snake, you need all the help you can get. Spetsnaz or not, he's an asset, a valuable asset. He has information – reliable information – that we can't pass up." This earned Otacon a grunt. "Just get back with him. He can help. He's not bad."
"I'll handle it later," Snake said plainly. "Any news from the outside?"
"Nothing conclusive. I came across a few minutes of tape from the prison. It watches the main entrance – no real help. All you see is them entering and then leaving about a quarter of an hour later."
"I overheard an enemy conversation," Snake said. "They mentioned another team – Aerial team – and 'the boss.'"
"The boss?" Otacon repeated. "Someone else involved?"
"I haven't got a clue," Snake admitted. "I guess we can't really think that the security advisor at a rural prison would have had funding for an army bold enough to sweep up the most valuable ship in the world, right in front of everyone's eyes."
"Snake?" Otacon asked. Snake was reluctant to answer. He knew what would be asked of him.
"Yea, Otacon…I'll talk with Brant."
And then, as the transmission was cut, Snake stood again, light etching its way across his body in strange patterns, and stepped out of the shadow and into the open. He saw the stern abandoned through the wide windows.
And then: "They're here!" The cry was loud – loud enough for him to hear, even from within the bridge.
Suddenly, the sound of propellers rose, and in the distance he saw a figure highlighted by what little light the night had left to offer. It came over the city, shining like a jet black snake and slithering up upon him. Faster and faster it came, the propellers no longer seeming to spin at all.
He went to the wide window that looked over the stern and watched as the parking lot just beyond the docks exploded with red, blue, and white lights. Policemen jumped out of their cruisers and scattered about the area, one of them holding a giant megaphone to his lips and yelling out orders to the pilot of the helicopter – the helicopter that flew right on as three enemy troops, the ones that had earlier patrolled the docks, began firing into the mass of police forces.
"Damn!" Snake said aloud as the helicopter came overhead, hovering in a circle high above the tanker.
"We're still having trouble with the ramp!" Snake heard a voice cry, cracking and muffled – on a radio. He backed against the wall again, hiding in the nook like before, and waited as an enemy soldier came down the stairwell – alone. Snake watched as the man fumbled with his radio – not attached above his collar bone like with the leaders. He eyed the soldier, noted the spare M9 that was buckled at his waist and the heavy AK that was slung over his shoulder. 'Do it,' Snake said to himself.
And he was out of the shadows, his arms wrapped about the soldier's neck. The enemy seemed to be trying to say something as his arms flailed about, reaching blindly for his AK, but he was quickly silenced with the sickening crunch of bone and the wet thump his body made when it slumped to the tile.
Snake bent down and took the M9 in his hand, searching the man's uniform for extra ammo only to find there was none. He touched his hand to his ear and quickly began.
"Otacon, I've acquired an M9."
"Good, Snake. What's going on there?" There was another yell on the radio – the pad was clear and the helicopter was coming down.
"'The boss' is here," Snake said, hurried. "The Feds and the cops are held up in a firefight and the enemy's working on detaching the access ramp. They're getting ready to hit the seas."
"Snake, you're in the bridge," Otacon realized, finally. "Get out of there, now!"
Before Otacon had finished Snake was off. He slid the lifeless body into the shadow where he'd hidden twice before and went to the heavy door. Looking through the porthole, he saw no one. As fast as he could, after holstering his new M9, throwing the dummy in the dead soldier's lap, and taking the soldier's radio, he spun the wheel of the door and hurried out of the bridge.
The helicopter was descending and soldiers were running up and down the deck, waving at the chopper and making last-minute preparations. From where he stood he could see the Deck Team working at the access ramp and with the radio in hand he could hear of their progress: "We're working on the lock, still! Give us two minutes!"
Snake hurried along the deck, watching as the helicopter neared the pad. The pad was new – not a part of the old Discovery tanker. It was roughly in the center of the tanker, positioned at the highest point of the ship, not including the smoke stacks of course. Snake could see the tail still descending as he snuck along the walls, his M9 in hand.
Then, just as the Deck Team radioed in with news of the ramp's detachment, the helicopter landed on the pad. "This is Aerial Team. Is it clear?"
"Access ramp is disabled," the Deck Team reported as they pushed the ramp away from the edge of the tanker and let it dangle into the waters. "Aerial Team, the coast is clear. We have you covered."
Suddenly, as the Deck Team moved away from the ramp, some of them coming his way, he heard another voice on the radio: "All navigational units, report to the bridge immediately." Snake's eyes shot wide, and he turned quickly, running – sprinting – as fast as possible, his feet beating at the deck with loud clanks. Grabbing onto a railing, he bounded up a number of steps and reached the second level of the tanker.
He went along the path and found a ladder mounted along the wall – its bottom rung too high for him to reach. Without hesitation he got up on the railing opposite the wall one which the ladder was, and jumped straight for it, his hands hardly catching the second rung but his grip never failing.
There were voices above, calling from the helicopter – going back and forth. Snake pulled his body up the ladder and started taking the rungs two at a time until he fell over on the next level. He was there, then. Just ahead of him was a set of stairs that landed on the helipad just one level higher. Lights were flashing from there, and he looked over at the parking lot too, surveying the firefight that still raged. The three wee concealed behind foliage – the cops had no idea of knowing where they were, exactly.
"Is he here?!" A voice called.
"Yes, sir!" Came another. "He was spotted in the bridge!"
Snake's heart almost stopped, waiting for his mind to process what he'd heard. 'Snake, they're talking about you.' He was up the next set of stairs before he could overhear another thing, and there he saw the helicopter resting, the propellers still spinning wildly. Two men were stepping out of the helicopter, their identities shrouded in darkness and distance, but as he raised his M9 – they, still, having not noticed him – something else pressed into the back of his neck, and someone said aloud: "Click."
Snake didn't turn. He stood there, motionless, until he was forced down the stairs again by his predator and turned to face the seas. "You 'the boss'?"
No answer.
"Well? Who are you here with?"
Still nothing.
"You come in the chopper? Or are you just another soldier?"
Silence. Snake thought to turn around, suspecting it was another soldier – someone he could overpower – but he didn't want to take the chance. His M9 was at his side, now, and as he fixed his grip on it again, the someone behind him grabbed it out of his hand and threw it aside.
"Snake," the someone said, and all of a sudden he knew who it was, "Snake…please forgive me for this."
And then, as Snake made an attempt at ducking and twisting around to face the someone, two shots rang out and his legs failed him, crumpled under him, and bled across the stingy deck. Trying to look up, but being unable, he watched the deck as his breath was swallowed up on it by the cold.
"Forgive me." And, with a quick swipe of a gun to the face, Snake's head whipped back and he turned over on the deck. He grabbed a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a series of numbers before lifting it to his ear. He stepped up the stairs and waved to the men at the chopper, who conversed with each other for a moment, and then started coming over.
"Hello?" A woman answered the phone.
"We have Solid," the man said, plainly, and slapped the cell phone shut, dropping it back in his pocket. That's when the others went past him, pushed down the stairs, and inspected Snake's injuries. They looked up to him once and he sensed their eyes on his back. "I made the call," he said, and turned on the stairs, looking down on Snake for a moment, before turning around again and taking the last step up to the pad.