Chapter TWENTY-THREE: The Race Was On

"With Snake out of commission, everything seemed to change. In the next hour Fox and Brant would leave Norman Keys' apartment and go to meet with Will Beck a second time. Desperado would prepare to take a life and grab hold of far more than he'd bargained. The President would make an urgent phone call to a man he'd soon find hard to trust. Some would change sides, truths would join lies. And all the while, only one of Snake's company had any idea he was dead, had seen the murder right before his eyes – the only one who could do anything to help him now.

"Raiden."

~*~

He had seen it take place, had watched Tintern aim her gun to Snake's forehead, heard the ghostly image of May yell out in protest. He was standing around the next corner, eyes prying through the dark hall, feeling unable to move out of the darkness, feeling glued to where he stood. Daves had been beside him, had even suggested acting in opposition, but they both knew that they would only be murdered if they showed their faces. They couldn't take the chance.

And so, they didn't. Raiden and Daves watched Snake die before them, his consciousness returning just moments before he took the bullet. As soon as it happened Raiden spun back behind the wall and shut his eyes tight. Daves looked at him, not sadly, but with a trace of pity in his eyes. They could hear the enemies conversing around the bend, heard Tintern mentioning bringing Snake back, heard May cursing and disappearing again into the air, heard the other two – Crais and Turkish – talking loudly to each other before lifting Snake and walking out of there in a hurry.

Tintern waited behind for a moment, looked in the direction of Raiden and Daves, thinking – or maybe even knowing – they were there around the corner, and then turned on her heel and walked off.

Raiden wanted to do something, wanted to turn around the corner and hail her with bullets, but he knew she had done them a favor. She had known they were there, but had not struck. Why?

Shaking this thought from his mind, he put his finger to his ear and waited for a voice to fill his head. "It happened," he said, faltering. "Snake is dead. Give word to the President." And then the communication ended. Daves just looked at him, confused.

"Give word to the President?" he said, almost accusingly.

~*~

"That was him," a man said after setting a phone to its cradle. He wore a suit and tie and his hair was receding along his forehead. Lines were etched across his face, but he was no older than forty. He looked across a small cabin area, chairs and windows along the walls, clouds and blue skies spinning by, to another man who was seated there. "The Snake is dead, but it was not done as it was meant to be done. Spectral did not deal the blow."

There was a heavy silence and then the other man spoke. The President. "He will be returned, though?" The first man nodded.

"In accordance with the old man's plan, yes," he confirmed. "But, I think it would be wise to contact the Russian President. It seems things are getting out of hand, and it will look wrong if you don't address the issue…even if it means jeopardizing our mission."

The President considered this and then stood. He walked a short distance to another room, leaving the first man in the cabin behind. There was a desk sitting against the far wall, a television installed in the nearest, and a single phone sitting on a small end table. A single red phone. Going over to it, the President sat down and thought quietly to himself. Then, lifting the receiver, the call was initiated automatically.

~*~

The office door swung open and Desperado was standing before a man wearing a blue suit, tie loosened about his neck, and a look of fear painted across his face. Desperado was carrying the Five Seven in his hand – three bullets had all ready been used, three dead bodies all ready lying bloodied a few miles apart in three small broom closets. The Vice President would have people out there to clean it up right away. That was the plan.

"What is this?" the man said, dropping his briefcase to his feet. His eyes were huge, legs shaking, arms slightly held in the air, as if ready to be robbed. "What's going on?" he cried as Desperado shut the door behind him.

And then he did something a little odd, something he hadn't done those three times before. After putting the man down on his knees and checking his gun to make sure everything was a-okay, he looked into the man's frightened eyes and asked him. "You've been working closely with the President lately?" There was a strange and unusual savageness in Desperado's voice as he spoke.

"Of course I have!" he said, hastily. "I worked on the START 3 modifications with him for a number of months. I was meeting with him nearly every day. What? Why do you have that gun?"

Desperado looked at him, cocked his head to the left, and examined the man as he knelt there. Something strange was resting on the tip of his tongue, Desperado could tell. And just as he readied his gun, the man muttered quickly: "You're with the Vice, aren't you?"

Desperado stopped.

~*~

"Mr. President, I will not allow this treaty to be hindered further. If we mean to value its message, you must act now. No doubt, you all ready know about the situation at Trinket?" The President was saying this with confidence as he waited in the small room, red receiver to his lips and ear. The Russian president was quiet.

"Of course I do," he said, almost as if he'd been offended. "It is a delicate matter, but it will be ending soon, I assure you."

"It must end now," the President said firmly. "We have done what we can to handle it, to end it, but it doesn't look as if our efforts will show successful."

"You have been operating within the borders of my country?! Do not attempt to do my job, Mr. President! Trinket will be handled soon enough, and whatever men you have there now…remove them. It will be taken care of, don't you worry."

"I don't intend to remove any of my men," the President answered. "Listen to me – send a team in. If you don't act now…the signing won't happen." He seemed almost nervous having said this, but with renewed confidence, he continued. "I refuse to sign anything unless you acknowledge this threat. You are acting unwisely."

The Russian President waited for a moment, as if speaking silently with someone else, and then answered swiftly. "It is being taken care of now."

~*~

"They went to the second wing, we have to get there now," Raiden said as they ran down the hall to the 'Primary' room. Daves stopped him, wrangling his arm and wrenching him backwards. There was a loud squeak as his boots slid along the cement floor. Raiden looked angrily at Daves.

"What were you consorting with the President for?" he asked, a sharpness in his voice. Like an interrogator. Raiden watched him closely, then shook him off and turned his back. "That doesn't matter," he said. "Right now, all we need to do is find Snake. We have to make sure he comes back." Comes back?

"No," Daves said, raising his gun to Raiden's forehead and pressing it against his skin, "you need to tell me right now what you're doing, dealing with the President."

Raiden didn't move, didn't breathe. He just stared, shocked, at Daves. And just then, something clicked. "You're with the Vice, aren't you?"

~*~

"What do you mean, 'with the Vice'?" Desperado questioned fiercely. But now, there was a n uneasiness in his voice. He wasn't quite sure about anything, it seemed.

"Go ahead, kill me," the man said, finally. "You're all gonna get fucked eventually. Just you watch. And once they nab you, you'll get the worst treatment they've got. You know how they deal with traitors."

Desperado couldn't understand. This man was the traitor – what was he trying to pull? "You've been dealing with the President to sabotage the signing!" He waited for the man to answer, but he just looked back at him in mock horror.

"You're all screwy! What are you babbling about?! Don't try placing blame on me! You're the one's who're trying to smudge out the President!"

"What?"

~*~

"He's had it coming to him!" Daves sneered. "Especially when he started dabbling with the Patriot! He was digging his own damn grave!" Raiden was shaking his head the whole time, disgusted with this 'Daves' fellow. "The Vice has the connections. He's best friends with the directors of every government agency we've got! Your 'great President' doesn't pay any attention to them. He gained office and gave up on being kind, gave up on sustaining a suitable 'business partnership'. He uses the resources but gives nothing in return. He doesn't gratify the people who work their asses off for him. He gives them nothing." Daves was absolutely enraged. "So tell me – what're you doing for him here?"

Raiden stared him in the face and said boldly: "Nothing." Daves laughed raucously in his face and grabbed him viciously by the arm, taking Raiden's gun and fixing it under his belt.

"Well, then, let's go pay the KING a visit," Daves said slyly, tugging Raiden forward. "I've got a Metal Gear to buy."

~*~

"The Vice President has been plotting against the President since the FACtion incident. He was in league with the Patriot, had worked a number of deals with him and had followed each and every one of his orders. When the President started to rebel, he turned his back on him. From that point on, he spent each and every day winning over the big names in the political playing field. He made friends with the people that the President was too busy for and started pulling favors."

The air was still.

"I'm one of the prime representatives for the President, one of the only men who stands truly loyal by his side. No wonder the Vice wanted me taken out. I've been helping the President since his election campaign. I'd do anything for him." And then Desperado got an idea. Something struck him. Anything, he thought. Interesting.

Then, breaking, he put away his Five Seven. The other man looked at him crazily. "Come on," he said, lifting the man onto his feet, "I might need your help. You're…Dennis Cray, right?" Desperado asked, checking the list of names he'd been given, a heavy weight falling in his stomach as he looked at the three names he'd all ready crossed out – the three men he'd all ready killed.

"Yea," the man answered warily, wondering why he hadn't been shot yet. Desperado, though, was having trouble understanding it all. He'd never liked the Vice, but he'd never seriously thought him to be plotting anything. He'd made him kill three men – and it could have been seven if he hadn't heard what Cray had to say. Damn it. He would pay for this.

"Do you know these names?" Desperado let Cray look over the names. He nodded. "Of course," he said, "they're the closest friends of the President. We're…kind of a tight-nit group."

"Good," Desperado said, his face finally taking on a very light smile, warmth returning to his heart. "We'll need their help. Now, come on. There's a lot to be done, and very little time to do it." And with that, the two set out of the office and hurried down the hall to the elevator, Dennis lagging behind, mind racing just like Desperado's.

~*~

Brant and Fox turned into the parking lot for the second time, the rotting office building glooming ahead, and a big black suburban sitting near the awning Brant had stood under earlier that morning to escape the rain. Seeing it now, behind the dashboard of his truck again, was like entering a whole new world. So much had happened all ready. It was now day, the sun shining though palely amongst a bed of clouds, Fox was in his company, Mei Ling and the rest of his people had been killed, he had met the man called Norman Keys, had learned to hate the man called Lexus, and, though he had yet to find out, Snake was lying in a room furnished and arranged for an operation with a bullet in his forehead.

The truck sputtered and died as Fox pulled the keys from the ignition. Brant looked up, though wearily, and peered over the dashboard. Opening his door and stepping cautiously out, he and Fox walked under the awning where Will Beck, director of the NSA, sat on a small rusting bench. He had a smile on his face, but it was not real. Brant and Fox both knew that.

"Good day, boys," he said, standing and shaking each of their hands in turn. Neither of them shook very firmly. "How is your day going? They weather is just disgusting, isn't it? I wish we could have at least one nice day. It's been 'partly cloudy' every day this month!" He sort of laughed, but Brant stopped him.

"What do you have for us?" he asked. Will looked at him, eyebrows now raised in surprise. "Well, Joseph, I would be much happier if you'd please humor me. You've grown sharp over the years, but you've lost your charm altogether." Will walked away with a smile and took a seat on the rusting bench again, crossing his legs. "You'd be good to answer my questions. I hold the information you want." He waited, then said again: "Are you enjoying your day?"

"It's actually been pretty shitty," Brant said, exaggeratedly. "I was hoping this meeting might shine some light on everything."

Will shook his finger and clicked his tongue. "The language, Joseph! Watch the language!" He laughed and stood, then walked over to him and got as close as he could, speaking very quietly in his ear now. "You should really try to control that temper," he whispered. Brant shoved him away, but he grabbed him by the collar and looked furiously back at him. Brant looked at him, slightly frightened. "You listen, you fuck – you've been making too much trouble and now it's time to pay the piper!" He backed away and raised his left arm, the door of the Suburban swinging open and a five men filing out, four of which carries standard side arms and one of which stepped nearer than the rest, taking his place beside Will.

"I'm afraid I can't provide those files which you so desire, but it's been fun doing business," Will proclaimed and the man beside him grinned wide. Brant and Fox both knew him.

"But, Lexus and the boys will take good care of you."

There he was – Lexus – grin flashing bright and cruel, angry jagged eyes piercing Brant's chest. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to see him suffer. He wanted to spring forward and wring his neck, beat him until he had no more blood to bleed. But, before he could do anything, Fox had grabbed him, pulled forth his sword, and pulled him toward the truck, bullets whizzing past them – each and every one spiraling wildly off the blade.

He fell into the passenger seat, head down, and Fox started the car. He put it in reverse, screeched back into the parking lot, and turned sharply for the exit. Brant sat up and could see Beck's men hurrying back into the Suburban, Lexus turning quickly into the driver's seat and putting it in gear.

Both vehicles sped out of the lot, swinging wildly onto the road and changing lanes at a furious pace, pedals to the floor, speedometers reaching speeds they never knew they could, and dodging oncoming traffic.

And that was the beginning – of their chase and of everything else. The gears were turning, the truths were appearing, and the tables were turning. To what end, no one was quite sure, but it would be Armageddon. It would be chaos. The second half of the final chapter.

~*~

When Daves and Raiden walked into the room, they were taken swiftly by Crais and Turkish and held off to the side. KING and Sears ignored them, talking in hushed voices, and Dr. Kelmar worked his way down a long line of shiny silver instruments, examining each and every one as he passed. Lying on a bed in the center of the room was Snake, bullet still wedged in his skull, eyes shut and face grim as always, and in a bed beside him was another body covered with a plain white sheet. Daves seemed to be enjoying all of this, even seemed likely to fit in with the enemy, but Raiden was watching around the room nervously. And watching Snake especially. Sad that he'd let him be sprawled out on that stiff bed, dead and cold. But, when he saw KING nod to Kelmar and saw him uncover something at the end of the long line of shiny silver instruments, he was mesmerized like he'd been just once before. Being carried over to the two beds, the cage-like frame hovering inches away from the bright white light within, was the Perfect Cell.

~*~

And that would be it – the turning point. Now, the end was coming. And at last, the race was on.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, there's another chapter. Sorry, it's going slowly, but I need more reviews. I mean I really really really need more reviews. I'll keep writing, but the pace isn't going to get any quicker if I don't have anything to look forward to. And right now it doesn't seem as if anyone is reading at all. But onto more important things – this chapter jumped around a lot, but I hope that helped make it more exciting, more dramatic. Things are coming together now and eventually you'll have the whole truth and nothing but! Thanks again for reading this much! And I hope you're all enjoying it!! I'm trying me hardest to write me best J Ciao! *tips his hat*