Talking Points
25 DEC 2007 – 2042
Farah Karim-Alexeyeva
Civilian (Russian Ground Forces Affiliate)
Moscow, Russian Federation
It was snowing over the capital city, as their car drove through the busy streets.
Everyone in the vehicle wore formal attire: the women in dresses, the men in tuxedos.
The radio was tuned to a Russian FM channel, playing American pop music.
The driver was Igor Alexeyev, Natasha's husband. He was a lanky man with a slim face and a three-day stubble. His generic look was what allowed him to work within the Russian Federal Security Service without anyone suspecting a thing.
In the passenger seat was Natasha herself, wearing a black sleeveless velvet dress. Her arms were exposed, revealing well-defined muscles from years of exercise and training.
Farah didn't understand how the two were married, as they seemed so different from one another.
Farah herself was in a white silk dress, staring out the window from the backseat. She watched as the city and Christmas lights sped by her. In her lap, was her black backpack, with various decals stitched onto it. One such was the logo of the boarding school in Ireland she and her brother had been attending.
Hadir, sitting next to her, was in a tuxedo, albeit disheveled and wrinkled. Even with Igor's help, trying to be a father figure for the boy, Hadir didn't seem to care about his presentation.
"Do we seriously have to go?" He asked, his annoyance as clear as his Irish accent.
"It's mum's birthday," Farah pointed out, embracing her backpack. Her own accent was also obvious. "We should at least go to be supportive."
"How many times do I have to tell you to not call her 'mother'," Hadir hissed at his sister. "She is not our mother! Ours is dead."
"Hadir's right, Farah," Natasha added softly, looking over her shoulder. "You don't need to call me mum if you don't want to."
"But I do, mum," Farah protested, leaning forward from her seat. She then glared at Hadir. "And you have some respect! It's her birthday!"
Hadir only rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat.
No one said anything more as they kept driving. It wasn't long until they reached their destination, a rather luxurious banquet hall not too far from Red Square. Their parking spot was reserved, even going as far as having a well dressed bodyguard standing right there. He quickly stepped aside just before Igor pulled over.
Once parked, everyone silently opened their doors and stepped out into the Russian cold.
Farah felt herself shivering and saw her breath escape her mouth just as Natasha placed her coat over her shoulders.
The two exchanged looks before Natalia smiled and nodded before they all headed for the entrance.
"Here," Igor said quietly to Hadir before stopping him. He adjusted Hadir's tie and collar. "Appearances are important, whether in a formal setting or a normal one."
Hadir gently pushed the man away, shaking his head. "Just stop," he muttered. "I don't want your help."
Igor simply stared at him before taking a deep breath. "Very well, son."
"And I'm not your son," Hadir hissed.
Farah grabbed her brother by the arm and pulled him forward. "Let's just go," she said, "we're wasting time."
The banquet hall was exquisite, to say the least. Lavish red rugs covered the floor while the various tables scattered about were prim and tidy. The chandelier was made of true diamond, the iridescence sparkling along the walls and floor. There was a small orchestra at the right end of the hall, playing various Russian takes on Christmas songs. Then there were the guests: A few people in suits and ties or dresses, chatting amongst themselves. Knowing Natasha's history, Farah guessed these were intelligence people, much like that Kate Laswell woman she had met years earlier. They were all just there as a formality, Farah understood, playing nice with one another. Next were both of Natasha's Colonels, in dress uniform, talking amongst themselves on the far end of the hall, their faces were relaxed as they chatted. Other soldiers from her unit were there as well. It only took a few seconds for Farah to find Vladimir Makarov talking with his fellow soldiers.
It did nothing but frustrate her as to why he stayed on with Natasha. His military contract expired at least twice, she learned, and each time he had come back. Was it duty? She wondered. Or was there still resentment towards Urzikstan. A personal vendetta, maybe? The two finally made eye contact, only staring at each other with expresionless faces. Makarov blinked before his expression turned into anger.
Farah suddenly felt chilliness go down her spine. She just wanted the man out of the lives of her, Hadir, and everyone else before he snapped.
"Is that them?" Farah suddenly heard a male voice with a British accent ask someone else.
Ripped from her thoughts, she turned to where the question came from, and saw a familiar face along with one that was not.
Before she could say anything, she saw Natasha smiling at the same person. The latter taking her husband by the hand and led him, Farah and Hadir, to the woman.
"Kate!" Natasha said, her excitement clear.
"Nat!" Kate Laswell returned the favor.
The two shared an embrace before letting go.
"It's so nice to see you again," Natasha said, placing her hands on her hips. "I didn't think you'd accept my invitation. How's everything back in America?"
Laswell playfully rolled her eyes while smiling. "Same shit, different day," she answered.
Natasha smiled, cocking her head. "Is that so?" She asked. "I heard you're moving up in the world of information."
Laswell only shrugged. She then looked over her shoulder to the man who was with her.
"John," she said to him, "this is Natalia Alexeyeva, General in the Russian Army." She turned to Natalia. "General, this is Lieutenant John Price, with the British Special Air Service."
Natasha smiled. "Ah, a British man." She offered her hand.
The man, Price, smiled as he shook hands with the older woman. "That's about right."
"Finally," Natasha looked at Laswell, now grinning, "someone civilized."
She and Price shared a laugh before she turned to her husband.
"This is my better half," she said to the two foreigners. "Igor Alexeyev, FSB."
Igor shook hands with both Kate and Price. "How are you?"
"Feeling like everything is a bit…" Kate trailed off. "Unreal."
Igor nodded. "Not everyday either CIA or FSB gets to meet one another under such, desirable, circumstances."
"Tell me about it, Mister Alexeyev."
"How do you know Miss Laswell, General?" Price asked Natasha before sipping his champagne.
Natasha glanced at Kate. "She was an attaché for the American Embassy in Urzikstan when my army first invaded, a few months before the turn of the millennium."
"Ah yes, Urzikstan." Price nodded. He briefly eyed Farah, who simply held onto her arms, and then Hadir, who had a standoff-ish posture with his arms crossed. "Nasty business, that."
"Too right, my friend." Natalia also looked at the young woman. "Kate made it too easy to pick her out as a spy."
"Officer," Kate muttered, half-smiling, as she looked into her own glass.
Natasha giggled before patting Kate on the shoulder. She then turned to Farah. "Lieutenant, I would like you to meet my children, Farah and Hadir."
Farah and Price shook hands. Hadir was less interested in doing so.
"How do you do," Farah asked, her voice low and Irish accent apparent as she spoke English.
"I'm doing just fine, Miss Farah," Price answered with a nod, "and yourself?"
Farah felt her finger tapping on the glass as she tried to think of something. "Um, doing alright, I guess."
Price nodded again.
"Farah tends to be timid around new people," Natasha explained for her.
Farah hated when she did that. She couldn't help but feel belittled. What made it worse was that Natasha was correct. It was getting harder to trust new people.
"Though she will become a great conversationalist once you get her out of her shell," Natasha added, warmly smiling at her.
From the corner of her eye, Farah saw Makarov approaching them, and felt her breath nearly get caught in her throat.
Natasha turned in the man's direction and Farah saw her smile slightly decay.
"Kate, John," Natasha said to her guests as the man approached, "I would like you both to meet Senior Sergeant Vladimir Romanovich Makarov, one of my most promising NCOs."
Laswell, Price, and Makarov all looked at each other for a few seconds before the Lieutenant smiled and extended his hand.
"A pleasure, Sergeant."
Makarov simply placed his hands behind his back, standing at parade rest, saying nothing.
Natasha smiled as she rolled her eyes. "Come now, Vova," she said to the man. "Them being Westerners might mean bullshit but, I can assure you, there is none on their hands."
Makarov still maintained his stance for a few seconds more before sighing and relaxing his shoulders. "It is nothing personal," he said, finally shaking hands with Price and then Laswell. "Our respective forces have been at odds for a long time."
Price shrugged. "That's fair, Sergeant," he said. "But we're all friends here, even for just a night."
"I suppose so, Lieutenant Price."
Price made a sly expression. "Lieutenant, eh?"
"I overheard your conversation with the General just now."
Price nodded. "You have very good hearing then, Sergeant."
Makarov shrugged, saying nothing more.
Farah, feeling her instincts take over, quickly walked away and towards the table with the food and drinks. Once there, she quickly grabbed a can of soda and opened it. She gulped down half of the can before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She quickly spun around, hearing herself gasp, only for her anxiety to rapidy deflate as she saw the Briton instead of Makarov.
"Sorry," Price quickly said, raising his right hand in defense. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Farah closed her eyes and sighed. "It's alright," she replied, "I guess."
Price seemed to have studied her for a moment before he spoke.
"You seem quite on edge," he observed. "You alright?"
Farah scanned the room for Makarov, finding him back with his fellow soldiers. She noticed Price looking at the man's direction as well.
"Yeah," Price concured, "he is a bit off."
"I'm certain he wants to kill me," Farah muttered, taking another sip of her drink.
"What makes you say that?"
Farah gulped. She debated on whether or not to tell him the story. After a moment, she decided to tell him another time, should they meet again.
"Just the way he looks at me and my brother." Farah grabbed another can, opened it, and began drinking.
"I'd go easy on those fizzy drinks if I were you," Price politely remarked. "Not good for your health."
Farah snorted. "Tell you the truth, Lieutneant Price," she began as they started walking.
"Please, call me John," Price interjected.
Farah nodded. "John," she said before sighing. "To tell you the truth, I'd rather have a good shot of whiskey, it'd calm my nerves."
Price raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a bit young to be drinking? Especially hard liquor?"
Farah shrugged. "I'm sure you can imagine a bunch of bored kids at a boarding school sneaking in some good gargle for the rest us to get plastered with, especially Hadir." She sniffed. "Just please don't tell Natasha, she doesn't know."
Price let out a subdued laugh. "Yeah, I've done something like that in my youth." He smiled. "And don't worry, mum's the word."
"Thanks."
"Speaking of which, you don't seem to have the familiy resemblence," Price noted, "if you don't mind my saying."
"Adopted," Farah explained, taking a sip of her drink, "Natasha took me and my brother under her wing when our parents died in one of the Russian incursions."
Price nodded. "I see," he said, "my condolences."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Price."
Price grinned. "Still John."
The two continued walking in silence across the banquet hall.
"Is the General treating you well?" Price asked.
Farah could tell his concern was genuine. Before answering, she shrugged. "She's not abusive, in the physical sense."
"Emotional?"
"Only during training," Farah remarked. She then leaned closer to Price. "And when she has one of her 'episodes'."
Price raised an eyebrow.
"Mum's desperately trying to get her men out of my country."
"I want to believe you, Farah," Price countered, "but from what I'm hearing, she's actually more entrenched than since the invasion."
Farah nodded before gulping down the remainder of her soda. "She's training me and my brother, Hadir, to take lead of a local militia that would take over once she's gone." While not a lie, she wasn't sure if she believed her own words.
Price pursed his lips. "Well, look at the Americans in Iraq and Afghanistan," he commented. "They trained local police and militaries, and they're still there."
Farah nodded.
"And you mentioned 'episodes'?"
"She wasn't always a General, Captain," Farah explained. "She told me she used to be Soviet Spetsnaz, dealt with both the British and Americans throughout her career. It took a lot out of her."
Price sighed. "So, not a big fan of either."
"Quite the opposite." Farah glanced at her foster-mother. "She loves David Bowie. Even has a cassette or two of Elvis Presley."
Price snorted a laugh as he looked into his glass. "Yeah, that's something."
Farah smiled to herself. "Indeed," she said. "It was what got me and my brother into starting a band back in Ireland."
Price raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Farah nodded. "We only do covers of songs." She quietly giggled to herself. "We're better musicians and singers than writers."
"Still counts for something," Price remarked. "What kind of music do you two sing?" He asked as he sipped his drink.
Farah's eyes widened, hesitating to answer. "Heavy rock and metal," she muttered. "Lots of screaming on my part." She noticed Price nearly choking on the champagne.
Farah playfully rolled her eyes just as the two heard a commotion near the bar.
The two turned to see what was going on, only to find a man, clearly drunk, making a ruckus.
As they watched, Natasha, Igor, Hadir and Kate approached them.
Price glanced at Natalia before back to the bar.
"Who the bloody hell is that?" he asked.
Natalia frowned. "The man I replaced," she said before approaching the table.
Farah and Price followed closely behind her, along with the others.
The man was completely dishevled, from his hair to his uniform. He held onto a large bottle of what Farah assumed to be vodka.
The guests closest to him slowly backed away from his belligerent antics.
It wasn't long before he saw Natasha and the others walking up to him.
"Well, if it isn't the bitch that took my job," the man slurred, waving his hand that held the bottle.
"General Roman Dimitrievich Barkov," Natasha retorted, her tone neutral as was were her expression. "I'm not even going to ask how you got into this venue."
The man, Barkov, gritted his teeth as he tried to regain his balance.
He was clearly angrily drunk, Farah noticed, poor guy.
"I got sick and tired of babysitting a bunch of lousy incompetents at Kamchatka, getting into pissing matches with the Japanese over those damned islands!"
Natasha's face kept it's stoic expression. "And you decided to take a holiday to visit your former best friend, and the only person who would stand up to you after what you did in Chechnya?"
Barkov took a long swig of his drink. "Still the cold-hearted, patronizing, high and mighty, know-it-all," he blurted. "Still living up to that stupid title of 'Mother Winter'."
Farah, from the corner of her eye, saw Natasha's fists clench to the point her veins were visible.
Barkov then looked at both Farah and Hadir, making a perverted grin.
"I see you already replaced your daughter," he remarked.
"Why you –" Igor took a step forward before Natasha stopped him.
"You always needed a plaything didn–"
In a blink of an eye, Natasha struck Barakov's face with her fist, and everyone watched the man stumble backwards into bar itself. He hit his head on the table and collapsed onto the floor. Farah could see the pain in her foster mother's closed eyes as the latter shook her hand to brush off the shock.
Security quickly arrived soon after.
"Make sure he's alright," Natasha ordered, "then get him out of my sight."
The security men began to check for the man's vitals before picking him up.
"Wonder how he got here," Igor asked. "We'd probably want to get a taxi for him."
"I can drive him, General," Makarov spoke up. He stepped forward. "I could use the air anyway."
Natasha nodded. "Very well, Sergeant," she replied.
Farah and the others watched as Makarov and security helped Barkov out of the room. As tense as it was, she was just glad Makarov was gone now.
Looking around, she quickly saw Natasha stalk away to the washroom.
…
Natalia splashed her face one more time before staring at her own reflection in the women's washroom. Drops of water slid down her expressionless face as if tears of greif. Or was it regret?
The General took a deep breath as she leaned over the sink and looked down into it. She then moved her right hand into view, the brusing starting to form on her knuckles and fingers.
"What's the point to any of this?" She muttered, seemingly to no one.
"The point to what?" An eerily familiar voice spoke from behind her.
Natalia shot up her head to see her in the mirror.
Helen Park.
The former MI6 operative who, as far as Natalia knew, was now a senior intelligence officer who worked behind a desk, slowly approached her, the footsteps echoing through the empty washroom.
Natalia felt her heart racing and her head getting lighter. Breathing became difficult. Even after breaking the brainwashing, she could still recall the false memories of Vietnam, merging with real ones from her actual, yet brief, deployment to the region on behalf of the KGB in the early 70's. It was why she was so easy to manipulate.
Helen cocked her head to the side, eyebrow raised with a gentle smile. "You look well, all things considered."
Natalia said nothing at first, almost refusing to believe this was real.
"You're not dressed for the occasion," she finally forced out a soft remark, not daring to look back.
Helen shrugged. "I wasn't invited," she pointed out.
"No," Natalia muttered, "you weren't." She slowly stuck her hand into her purse.
"You're going to shoot me here," Helen asked, almost mockingly, "really?"
"Why are you here?" Natalia kept her hand in the purse, her grip holding her sidearm tightly.
"I heard one of our boys from the SAS, accompanying an up-and-coming CIA case officer, was visiting a prominent Russian General, of all people," Helen scratched her nose, "well, it was something I had to see for myself." She made a breif smile. "Imagine my surprise when said General was my dear old friend, Be-"
Natalia, engulfed in rage, quickly spun as she pulled out the pistol and trained it at the British woman, rage etched onto her face, teeth tightly clentched.
"Don't you dare call me that!" She snarled. "I should've left you to die in Cuba instead of Lazar!"
Helen didn't seem intimidated being on the business end of a handgun. "And, yet," she calmly countered, "you did not."
Natalia felt her fingers aching from the tight grip on her weapon.
No one said anything for a moment. The tension in the room was nearly tangible.
Natalia was damn near tempted to pull the trigger. Yet, like everything else, it would never free her from what she has done. Russell Adler was right when he asked her, all those years ago, if her hands were clean, compared to what he did to her. They were not. Not for a long time. Never will be again.
After what felt like an eternity, Natalia, now covered in beads of sweat, slowly lowered her pistol.
"I wish I could've attended his funeral in Tel Aviv," she said, stowing away her sidearm. She turned around to wash her face. "Would've said a few nice words for him." She then looked at Helen again. "More than any of the rest of you deserved."
"We did what we had to do," Helen politely retorted. "You knew what would've happened if we didn't."
"You could've said Perseus was going to wipe out Europe while I was still recovering from Arash's 'pettiness', save everyone the grief."
"None of us knew exactly what he was going to do until after the fact," Helen retorted. "Besides, you could've told us that you were GRU's mole inside Perseus' organization."
Natalia hung her head, feeling defeated. "Then I guess we're all at fault."
Only the white noise filled the void of sound as the two women simply stood where they were.
"We only found out you were alive when you helped Mason rescue Woods in Angola back in '86, and again in Afghanistan when they were left for dead," Helen finally pointed out. "Not to mention what happened in Panama." The woman smiled. "So much for 'we deserved less'."
Natalia kept her glare.
"And perhaps you shouldn't affiliate yourself with ex-IRA members, using them to get those children of yours an enrollment in Irish schools."
Natalia's eye twtiched.
"Oh, and Adler sends his regards," Helen added, "as do Sims and Woods." Helen then headed towards the door. Gripping her hand on the handle, she turned to Natalia. "Happy birthday," she said, with a gentle smile, "Bell."
The MI6 officer then made her exit.
As Natalia's breathing slowed, and the reality of that little 'encounter' settled, she quickly realized that there are just some things she simply could not walk away from. Thinking of Farah and Hadir, she couldn't help but wonder if she would be putting them in the same set of circumstances.
A/N:
Well…this one was a doozy. I probably should try to use this opportunity to actually say something.
First and foremost, thank you everyone for the suppport and feedback and those that came back even after long pauses in between postings. I'm forever grateful. Now on to actually respond to as many comments as possible, since I don't want to inflate the review count and turn it into a chatroom.
Probably the biggest thing to address first is why do I take so long to post. The simplest answer is that I'm lazy, easily get distracted, and good ole writer's block. Then life getting in the way. Then being distracted with writing other works. Now that I think of it: all three remakes of Modern Warfare came out, and I still didn't get to the events of the first one (though the release of both Cold War and Vanguard helped with more context that I hadn't planned on making, so there's that).
In anycase, I'm still kicking and I do hope to actually finish this one. Thanks for sticking around. And I'll see you in the next chapter...in like two years (hopefully not that long).
Cheers!