chapter TEN: The Country

"Desperado," Springfield began, hastily but playfully still, sustaining an air of amusement. Desperado seemed unaffected by the voice, but he was far from happy to hear it. Springfield and he hadn't worked since the incident in the Manhattan Harbor – when he nailed Snake and brought him in under the orders of the President. And even then, he had been reluctant to partner with Springfield. Their history was far from unscarred. "I have a favor to ask."

"Strange," Desperado said, flatly, trying to make his voice completely devoid of emotion. He knew how Springfield was. He had promise as a criminal, but it seemed his intentions were good. He had been a part of the US government for some time and had never given anyone reason to suspect treachery. "I was just about to call you. I, too, have a favor to ask."

"You know the drill, Despie," he said, grinning to himself. "You help me, I help you." Desperado nodded, seemed to recall a memory of some sort, and then went on.

"What's the problem?" Desperado said.

"I need you to get some information for me," he said. "You've heard about Trinket by now, I'm sure. I need you to dig up what the President put away, what the NSA had shown to him back around the time of the Manhattan deal." Desperado's brow wrinkled a bit. He and Brant had just been discussing the very same thing. "You have the clearance, I don't."

"I have the clearance, yes, but you're not giving me enough reason to look into matters without the President's knowledge." His loyalty to the President never seemed to end. "You understand, I have clearance to the files, but I don't know the location."

It took some time for Springfield to respond. He didn't see any way to persuade Desperado. Not while he was loyal to protocol and to the 'States.' "Why were you going to call me?" he asked, thinking that the change of conversation may open room for negotiation.

"I spoke with the Vice President," Desperado admitted, "in a secure room. Sublevel security." Springfield smiled wide, a twinkle growing in his eyes.

"It's about the President, isn't it?" Springfield guessed. Desperado made no attempt to answer the question. "You remember the Harbor deal, right?" How could he forget? He had nabbed Snake, betrayed his most trustful comrade, one who would never think to betray him. Never. Springfield assumed he did, assumed the silence meant 'yes,' and went on. "Of course you do. I knew you were a little heated by it – me getting operational command. The only reason I got you was because the President recommended you to the job." Springfield paused, knew he was bringing back a coldness in Desperado's heart – one that had lain dormant for a time. "You never did learn what that was all about – why we needed Snake?"

"No," Desperado said with contempt. That was what had bothered him. It wasn't so much Springfield, though he did despise his cockiness. It was the fact that he had been completely left outside of the loop. He had been forced into fooling his friend, but was never given anything in return. He had hurt Snake, but didn't know why.

~*~

He'd found his way to the building. It was no longer in the distance, no longer made invisible by the snow. It was before him, standing like a warehouse, eyeing him closely, wondering why he had come, hoping that maybe he had come to stop whatever evil thing had bored inside it. Trinket sat on the very edge of the cliff, the cliff that fell straight into the frozen lake Snake had seen from the helicopter.

Kneeling, he touched his hand, again, to his ear and waited. This time, Brant answered as he'd hoped he would.

"Snake," Brant said, smiling to himself. He was back inside his truck and was going through town, aimlessly. He had been waiting, though only a few minutes, to hear Snake. For some reason, though, he'd been hesitant to contact him, himself.

"I'm right in front of the place," he said. "And I overheard that men on patrol," he added, pausing a moment so as to make sure he had all his facts straight. "They say a man by the name if Phillip Harte is here."

"Phillip Harte?" Brant asked, somewhat surprised, but somewhat confused. "What would he be doing there?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you could start out by telling me who he is," Snake said, his voice as full of enthusiasm, and also grimness, as ever.

"He's the chairman of Present Future," he said. Snake's silence told him it was necessary to continue. "Present Future is a rival supplier of technology devices to NewTech, your contact in the industry from your Philanthropy days." Snake knew NewTech. He and Otacon had been in touch with them for quite some time over the course of Philanthropy's engagements, but he'd never heard of Present Future. "They were run out of Russia back in the days of the Cold War, I think. Back then they were known as 'Khirshnoff.' Same name as a Russian politician of this time."

"So, it's a Russian supplier?"

"I don't know, but if it is actually Russian, that doesn't very much matter. Where it deals out of means nothing. Harte, though…he's an American." Brant seemed to ponder something else for a moment, then said again: "Give me some time. I'll talk to my sources and get you what I can. In the meantime, get into that building. So far, we know nothing – nothing about hostages, unless we can assume Harte is there against his own will."

"So I get inside and just waltz around?" Snake seemed a little upset by Brant's instructions. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Brant thought for a time and then: "Get inside Trinket and start looking for any sign of nuclear weaponry. If there's anything, contact me. And remember, I can help you with navigating the interior. We've got the same system running in your suit now as you had at Hell's Outpost. There are a few tweaks, but nothing significant."

"What about Harte? What do you want me to do about him?" Snake asked.

"Nothing, for now. He's not part of the mission. If there's a later notice – if there's word from Trinket about a hostage situation – anything – then we can discuss changes in objectives. For now, we stick to the original directives."

"Right," Snake said, annoyed. "Maybe I'll try the smokes…see if they provide any…heat." Brant laughed a little to himself, not aloud but internally, and turned onto another street, ending the communication with that.

~*~

"There's quite a bit that you don't know yet, old friend." Desperado looked cruelly at the phone in his hand. 'Old friend,' he thought. The memory of Ocelot returned, stung in his head like a dagger. And, the memory of something else – one of the past, of many years past, long before the Harbor deal or the FACtion incident, or the situation at Hell's Outpost – "Do what the Vice asks of you. He knows best."

Desperado waited. For something, anything that could pull him away from the moment, from the whole thing that was happening, culminating into a horrifying form before his eyes. His trust was being torn between the ranks, his loyalty being questioned, his morals being tested. In a matter of hours he had been told to disobey his most trusted partner – the President – and silence a number of supposed terrorists. And, though hardly distracting, he had been told to call on Springfield and tear open a memory he had long hoped would be forgotten.

He moved his thumb over the power button to end the call.

"And get me those files," Springfield said at last, just before they were disconnected. Desperado dropped the phone into his jacket pocket and looked around, admiring all of Washington D.C. and naming the buildings as they flashed past his eyes, his feet moving under him, spinning him around. 'White House…Washington Monument…National Archives…White House…Washington Monument…National Archives…White House..Washington Monument..National Archives.

And then, he stopped and watched forward, his vision spinning, his stomach rolling, his face pale and cold in the morning air. When he collapsed in the grass he found himself staring out over the mall, his eyes fixed on the very peak of the Washington Monument, a symbol of hope, of liberty, of the country.

And it was then that he decided, his stomach churning but his mind sharp and clear. With his back to the White House, he made the decision: His loyalty was to the country.