chapter SIX: Once Again
"Three days ago it showed signs of activity," the man said, his voice heavy but youthful. "We got the go-ahead from the President, who's assuming control of the situation. This one's a little different than usual. For one reason or another, the President finds it to be a subject of national priority, but the Vice hasn't been taking particular interest, so the President has taken operational command. A bit of a twist on their part but nothing drastic."
"Same rules?"
"You're going in without weapons, without food – same as usual," the man said. "This is new for me, though. It's an honor to be a part of the experience. Your name floats around a lot in the field."
"Heh…and I always thought I was a well-kept secret."
"Of course, but the legend is well known…of course, legends aren't always what they're made out to be, are they Snake?"
"No, Brant," Snake snickered. "Not always."
Brant smiled to himself and then jumped the track with conversation. "I've assembled a team for this mission, Snake. Some of them are FOX-HOUND, and some aren't. I managed to snag one who carries the world's phonebook in her back pocket – she'll get us whoever we need."
"Whoever we need?" Snake seemed to disapprove, a bit of disgust lingering after he'd spoken. "FOX-HOUND operates in the dark. Why would we have need to contact anyone from the outside?"
"Snake, there is a lot of information we can get on Trinket. It was a big deal back in the Cold War, so there are loads and loads of files pertaining to it, but they could be anywhere. Still, they could save us hours, maybe give us a heads up on what we should expect from the place. The architectural plans, materials on site, history – we need all we can get, and in this case we can get a whole lot if we know the right people."
"Right," Snake shrugged. "So, who's the international telemarketer?"
"Heh, she's no telemarketer, Snake," Brant laughed. "I think you'll recognize the name. I started looking for her about a year back when she came up in a famous field report."
"So? Who is she?"
"Mei…Ling, is it?"
"Mei Ling?" Snake asked, almost weary, almost excited.
"That's the one. One of the better geniuses of the new generation," Brant said. "She had a whole lot of experience after you two worked together at Shadow Moses and in Manhattan. She worked with the NSA for a time, tweaking decryption devices and testing hardware on field missions. She's a bright character."
"What frequency is she running on?" Snake asked, hoping to speak with her soon.
"I'll check up on it for you, but you'll have to give me a little while. I have an appointment to catch in a half an hour with the director of the NSA. They have some information."
"Where are you stationed out of?"
"I'm staying in South Carolina. Charleston."
"Well then, you're certainly seeing the better side of nature," Snake joked, but sounded grim, unfortunate.
"It's not too nice here, Snake. It's all ready November. The skies are getting pretty gray."
"That's right…November," Snake said, pondering something.
"START 3," Brant said. "You remembered. The United States and Russia will be meeting in Moscow tomorrow around noon to pass the treaty with a formal ceremony."
"Not a good time for all of this then, is it?"
"Not at all," Brant smirked. "Both the US and Russia are counting heavily on the treaty. Tension between the two countries has been greater than ever throughout the past year. Nothing like the Cold War, but we're all counting on the reduction to settle the political and militaristic fronts."
"Why would the President be taking priority with this mission if he had something like that on his mind?"
"Who knows, Snake? This one's a bit of a rebel. You knew that when he helped bring down the Patriot during the whole FACtion fiasco those years back. Whatever his reason is, it shouldn't affect the mission at all."
"Right," Snake grunted, "then what exactly is my mission?"
"Your first objective is to find out what kind of activity is going on there. Are nuclear weapons involved? Chemical? Biological? What?"
"And then?"
"Then you eliminate the threat, if one exists," Brant said. "It's the same as usual, but be on your guard and make sure you stay hidden. This is a sneaking mission, Snake – just what you're used to. And we certainly could do without any unnecessary retaliation on the day of the START 3 signing."
"I got it, Brant." Snake went to end the transmission.
"Snake," Brant added quickly. He stopped.
"Yea?" Snake said, almost annoyed.
"I love the hair."
Snake grinned and stood. Through the doorway of the helicopter, opened to the brisk night air, there was a slant of crisp moonlight that with the chopper's movement glided slowly up Snake's body. His legs were thinner than they'd been, but his muscle was still there. The pants he wore were shaded a dark blue and as the light rose it revealed the bareness of his beltline where two holsters were left empty. Up his chest and over his arms, the moonlight held witness to his slimness but even more to the clearness of his muscles that cut through the fabric of his sneaking suit and etched out his figure. Then, as the light fell over his face it was found bare and clean, shaven and shiny. His hair was cut to the length he knew it before Philanthropy came to life, and his suit, as the light had uncovered it, was one more memorable than any – the Shadow Moses sneaking suit; a memento of the famous mission.
And then, as the helicopter turned and as a building rose out from behind the ice structures, poised on a cliff of white and overlooking the lake that was frozen at its feet, Snake ended the transmission and, without another glance at his surroundings, at the helicopter that had been his home for the past several hours, he stepped forward and let the wind take hold of his arms, his legs, his body.
The biting cold swam around him, spun its wisps about his body and held him gracefully but momentarily in the air. Then, as gravity began to pull down upon him, the wind ran up his back and stretched out into wings that he used to steer to the ground.
And when he closed his eyes, they having been frozen through by the cold, the wind beating against him in ferocious torrents, something that resembled a smile stretched across his face and the world was his playground once again.