Chapter 8: Central Intelligence Agency

"Can you chew with your mouth SHUT!" I yelled, frustrated, watching Ghost eat his lunch. He cackled mischievously and went back to his food.

I wasn't allowed to eat proper solid food yet, since my small intestine had been nicked. I was just thanking my lucky stars that Shepherd had been stupid enough to have used a full metal jacket bullet. A hollow tip would have ripped out half my guts and Ghost would be dead from losing half his heart and his most of his right lung. Full metal jacket bullets however, pass right through.

But what I wanted more than anything right now was to be able to eat the big juicy steak and golden, crispy potatoes that Soap and Ghost had. Instead I had a pulverized mash of yellow and green… stuff. Was it food? I prodded the gooey lump with my finger, moodily. I wasn't sure it was even edible. My mouth watered at the smell of meat and vegetables that wafted over from Ghost's plate. My stomach grumbled loudly and Ghost smirked into his lunch. He was gloating over the fact that he had a far more appetizing lunch than I did. If he had been any closer I was sure I would probably have wrestled the plate out of his hands and downed it in one mouthful in spite and hunger. I sighed in resignation, scooped up a forkful of the sludge on my plate and stuffed it into my mouth. It wasn't bad. But I would rather have had the steak.

Price sat in a rickety metal chair, next to MacTavish's bed flicking through a brown, crinkled newspaper. The American government was hunting Price and MacTavish now. Their names were higher on the most wanted list than Makarov's! Our names were now higher on the wanted list than an airport-massacring psychopath.

From what we understood, it sounded like Shepherd was trying to get some kind of warped revenge for the nuclear bomb explosion in the Iranian city, Ahvaz, 5 years ago. More than 30,000 US marines had died on that day. I had been lucky that day. Instead of joining the Americans, my unit and I were deployed to the Ukraine for a special ops mission. I had worked under the NZSAS back in those days. Before I was head hunted by General Shepherd for the Task Force 141.

Shepherd had hand picked us to carry out high-risk missions. But that was exactly why his actions made no sense. Why would you handpick a team of the best soldiers on the planet, if you were going to slaughter them like livestock one it was over? Maybe we knew something that he didn't want us to know. His last words echoed in my ears. 'That's one less loose end…'

He had started his own war using Makarov as a scapegoat and Pvt. Joseph Allen as a pawn. He wanted America to unite and crush Russia, the country that had assisted in killing 30,000 Americans. He had framed his own Task Force for aiding in starting the war and so named us criminals.

A snort of disgust distracted me from my train of thought. Price was goggling with disbelief at an article in the newspaper.

"What?" asked MacTavish.

Price gave Soap a frightened glance, before he began folding up the large newspaper muttering, "Nothing, nothing."

Soap rolled his eyes and snatched the paper out of Price's hands, unfolding the crumpled paper to the page Price had been looking at.

A cloud of mixed emotions passed over MacTavish's face as he stared at the paper. Ghost abandoned his lunch and gazed intently at the two men. Soap's hands began to shake, the newspaper ruffling slightly.

Price reached out to clasped MacTavish firmly on the shoulder and said, "We knew this was what was going to happen Soap."

Ghost gazed at the two men, curiosity evident in his icy blue eyes. He had known MacTavish for a long time. Long enough to know that if the Captain was shaking he was severely pissed off.

"This. Should. Never. Have. Happened," whispered MacTavish through clenched teeth. The hairs of the back of my neck rose.

"Soap-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP PRICE!" yelled MacTavish suddenly, chucking the newspaper across the room with as much force as he could muster. Price recoiled from the sudden outburst like he had been slapped.

"My entire team is either dead or in hospital," said MacTavish, his voice seething with anger. "And it's because of me." MacTavish's eyes glistened with tears as he fought to keep his anger under control. I slid further under the sheets of my bed, hiding.

"Shut up the hell up Soap," growled Ghost.

MacTavish looked at the lieutenant, stunned. I was mentally measuring the distance between my bed and the door. There was going to be an explosion in here shortly and I didn't want to be caught up in the crossfire.

MacTavish quickly recovered and snarled, "What did you say Riley?"

"I said, shut the hell up!" replied Ghost in a matter-of-fact way, glaring at Soap. "You're a bloody amazing leader but you've got to get a hold of yourself. We all knew the risk. We never forget what we have on the line to do this job! So drop the hysterics John cause it makes you look pathetic."

MacTavish stared at Ghost, flabbergasted. He hadn't been called John in a very long time.

"You don't think we don't know what it's like to loose a team?" asked Ghost. I glanced at Ghost surprised. He didn't often bring up his past. "I was leader of a special ops team in Mexico when I was under the command of Major Vernon. I lost most of my team, when Vernon betrayed us and handed us over to a smuggler called Roba. The men who survived got so mentally fucked up that they went back to the bastard after they escaped. You lost your men in gunfire? I lost mine to sick medical experiments and torture."

Price cleared his throat and murmured, "And I'm sure you remember the bridge."

Soap glanced at Price who was staring intently at his hands.

"You think you're the only one to lose your men to a psychopath?" asked Ghost, glaring at Soap. "Get your head outta your arse and stop being pathetic! It really doesn't suit you."

"M'sorry," muttered Soap, who couldn't bring himself to look into the lieutenant's cold eyes.

An awkward silence blanketed the room, which no one seemed eager to break. I reached down for the newspaper article that Soap had thrown, which had landed with a soft bump, next to my bed. Unfolding it, I recognized the photo instantly. His bug eyes fixed me with a glower, which screamed out superiority. The gray handlebar moustache that hung above his mouth was combed and trimmed neatly until every bristle was in line and neatly arranged. A black beret decorated with a star-spangled blue patch, covered most of his grey hair. A bold headline above the photo wrote 'US General Allen Shepherd given honor burial at Arlington cemetery'. I quickly screwed up the paper and threw in to Ghost who was giving the paper a questioning look.

"Arlington huh?" stated Ghost nonchalantly after glancing at the article.

"Think they'll dig him out and dump him in rubbish bin the truth about him comes out?" I asked hopefully, trying to lighten the atmosphere. I knew that the American government would cover their tracks and Shepherd would still be portrayed as a war hero for public confidence. Everything would be quietly swept under the rug and returned to normal, when we could make them listen… If we could make them listen.

"Alight gents," announced Price, "we need to figure out how we're going to get the Intel to the states without outing ourselves in danger"

"What if Nikolai takes it?" asked Ghost with a shrug, "No one is looking for him."

Price looked at Ghost with surprise, an eyebrow raised. "Aren't we supposed to be nice to people who save us and not send them into a place where they could potentially die?"

"Besides, Nikolai has probably also been named a war criminal for helping us," said John MacTavish.

"Do you have anyone in America we can trust?" I asked quietly. The British SAS had done a lot of joint operations with the Navy Seals before. What we really needed was a member of the CIA. Someone who had access to information that we could use against Shepherd. One of the members of the Task Force 141 had been a part of the CIA. His name had been Pvt. Joseph Allen, the newest member of the Task Force, and the first to die in the war. We had only met a day before his undercover operation was supposed to start, when Captain MacTavish and I had returned from Kazakhstan when we retrieved a downed ACS module from a Russian military base.

A thoughtful silence descended upon the room again.

"I know a guy from the CIA," said Price slowly, measuring out each word as he said it, "I could ask him to have a snoop around the network and see if he can dig any dirt up on Shepherd."

Ghost looked skeptical. "Can he be trusted?" he asked.

"Yes Simon he can," replied Price, looking at Ghost with concern. "We worked together when I was with the SAS. He used to provide a large proportion of the Intel for missions. We were good friends"

"Yeah, 5 years ago," said Ghost giving Price a hard look. "Would you, John Price, be willing to put your life and the lives of your friends on the line to trust him?"

Price stared out the window, pensive. After a while he turned to face Ghost again, his expression certain. "Yes Riley I am."

A brief silence followed his words.

"Alright," I said with finality, glancing at the men in the room. If Price felt he could bet our lives in faith his friend wouldn't betray us, then I would trust him too.

MacTavish stiffly nodded in agreement. If he was anything like me right now, he'd be struggling to come to terms with trusting someone outside the Task Force 141. But it was the best plan we had. If we didn't clear our names we'd be hunted for the better part of our lives. A life on the run. Something about that didn't sound very appealing.

Ghost stayed quiet, glaring at his abandoned lunch. He had trouble trusting anyone now. Ever since he and his team had been betrayed by their Commanding Officer, Major Vernon. Vernon had handed Ghost and his under cover team, over to a smuggler called Roba. In an attempt to get Ghost over to his side, Roba tortured him, ripping his mind to shreds until Ghost barely knew who he was anymore. When Ghost escaped, he went back to England to his family. Shortly after his return to England however, his family was brutally murdered by individuals who had been friends. He had hunted them down and had taken his revenge, killing both of them slowly, letting them feel the agony he had felt. The death of his family had destroyed him. After that he had made an effort of living his life in solitude, away from anyone who could betray him.

That was until he met Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish. They had somehow clicked, a mutual understanding and faith building between the two men. Gradually, Simon 'Ghost' Riley learnt to trust MacTavish with his life. He knew that MacTavish would always have his back, no matter what and he would always have MacTavish's. However, Shepherd's betrayal would have dug up all his insecurities again. Even though friends surrounded him, all he'd see would be potential enemies. He'd always be terrified that we'd turn on him.

"It's the best plan we have Ghost," muttered MacTavish, giving Simon stern look.

Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance. "If it's the best plan we have then we're stuffed," he growled.

"What's your idea then?" asked Price, irritation clear in his voice.

"We go after Makarov, get the information off him and then send it back to the states."

Price raised an eyebrow at the idea. "Do you really think the Americans are going to just believe the Intel we give them? On top of that, it's Intel coming from a well-known terrorist. A Russian terrorist at that."

I had to admit, Price had a point. Shepherd had been given a blank check by the US secretary of defense. This kind of information could topple a government. If Intel revealed Shepherd had double-crossed his own country, American's would loose faith in its leaders. If the US could somehow find an excuse to dismiss the Intel, then they would. Only if the information came out of America, would they listen and wipe our names off the most wanted list.

Ghost looked unconvinced. He exchanged a glance with Soap, his expression softening slightly. He could trust Soap. And if Soap trusted Price's judgment, then Ghost would have to trust Price too. He sighed in resignation and muttered, "You're gonna be the death of me MacTavish."

Price stood up and announced with finality, "I'm gonna get in contact with him. When I get back we should have a better idea of how we're going to do this."

He slipped out of the door, the rubber on his combat boots screeching on the cold stone floor as he walked.

Price has a plan and I may have a story! =D

AH HA! Roach's nationality has been stated! He is from New Zealand according to me! =P

Sorry it's taken so long to write. I've been sick as a dog with the flu! Anyway please review! Reviews make me happy! =D

A HUGE THANK YOU TO ANON who constructively critiqued the story!

First off YES I'm so annoyed that the fact that they're in a field passed my attention. I replayed the level the other day and realized! *Facepalm*

Secondly, I read that Roach probably wears goggles somewhere after I wrote the first chapter. I also noticed that you get the frost accumulation and that petrol sides over his goggles, much to my disgust, since I had said he closed his eyes to keep the petrol out of them.

Thirdly, yeah Roach doing CPR was good point. My thinking at the time was that, when we did a first aid class a few years ago the instructor said its very unlikely to get the person you are giving CPR to revive by restarting their heart and you really need a deliberator to do that. So Roach; thinking he would had been abandoned and that Ghost was dead; may have thought it was pointless. But yes if I had been in his position I probably would have tried CPR on him… or maybe it would just to touch his lips (I'm a girl)…. hmmmmmm… either one sounds pretty good! =P

BUT YES VERY GOOD AND VALID POINTS! I may have to look at changing those details now! I was just disappointed that I couldn't email you to say this! Thankyothankyouthankyou!