"So, you are the one Dimitri told me about," he said to the newcomer. She was in the very center of his living-room, standing at full height in a sensible business-suit, armed with nothing but a generic side-arm. But yet, there was an air of purpose about her, telling him, and those around her with him, that she was meant to be there, that she would not accept anything less than his acceptance of her being there.
There was no doubt that this woman could be Russian, she had the fair, golden hair and blue eyes so common of the Slavic races. But her English, it had a distinctive American twang to it, and it could not be due to the "gap year" that she had spent in the United States. Her command of both languages was impeccable, that was what he had to give it to her, and that was what he needed, other than the fact that she was proven to be one of the best in the field.
"You were expecting a man, weren't you?" she asked him, challenging his heterochromic gaze with her own eyes. Those words came with a bit of hurt, but a lot more bite. It came with the experience knowing that she had to put in four time the effort than the men in equal station to her to produce twice the results. It was the cost, of course, whenever a woman entered a man's world. He could tell that she survived all of this.
His lips turned into a little smile, and he walked towards her. She was young, most probably, no more a spring chicken, but already entering the prime of womanhood. There were the cares of years in her eyes, and of course, the guilt and grief of a seasoned soldier. "You came highly recommended," he told her, circling her like a vulture, his eyes never leaving hers. "So naturally…"
She did not give him even the chance to speak. "All men are sexist bigots," she replied, her words meant to be nothing more than a compliant. "They can't take the fact that a girl can do what they do, much less me better at them."
"And my dear, what makes you think that you can perform much better than my men?" he asked her, cocking an eyebrow high into the air. "You have iron in your words, but can you put those words into action, it is another story. However, I have decided that you might still have use for me. Dimitri told me that you have excellent aim."
At those very words, she readied her side-arm and shot at a random spot on the floor. Makarov told Anatoly to inspect it, and the latter held up a disintegrated cockroach before him. "That's good enough for me, Makarov," Anatoly said with a wide smirk, and Makarov nodded before retiring into his room. She just stood there, unknowing of what to do and seemed a little angered. The men around her broke into a controlled bout of laughter. "Anya, relax," Anatoly told her. "That means he approves of you. Welcome to our little family."
"Makarov doesn't easily trust those around him,"
"The easy part's getting in, but the hard part is staying there."
The words of her friends in the 141 sounded in her mind, as well as that of her superior, Shepherd's. All of them reminded her of what she was supposed to do, and she knew that there was more than acting neutral when she knew that she was to continue working by Makarov's side.
"Come on," Anatoly added, helping her carry the bags that she had brought with her. "I'll show you to your room."
Her room was nothing to be talked about. Four walls, a bed, and a vanity. There was nothing special, but when she opened the cupboard, she was shocked to find various kinds of outfits, from Kevlar armor to the slinkiest of gowns, all made to her size. "He really was expecting me, wasn't he?" She asked Anatoly, taking each and every outfit out of the cupboard and placing them back.
"Makarov is a complex person, I'll give you that," the right-hand of Makarov told her. "No one knows what goes on in his mind, but it is a practical gift. You never know when you'll need any of… these," he added, looking with interest when she was trying on the pair of red pumps that was at the foot of her cupboard. "Oh, and you are to dine with Makarov eight o clock tonight. Make sure you look presentable."
And by presentable, Anatoly meant that she had to wear the gown in her cupboard, as he had indicated by taking it out of the hanger with such practiced eased. They may be terrorists, but they were highly cultured as well. How… quaint. "Thanks," she nodded, and began to get ready. It was already fifteen minutes to seven, and she knew that she had to be quick if she wanted to be on time. She had a feeling that Makarov would have a certain disdain for tardiness.
Dinner was an opulent affair. Wagyu beef from Japan, the finest wines from Bordeaux, caviar from the Caspian Sea… Throughout dinner, Makarov was silent, and he knew that she was becoming more and more uneasy by the second. "Tell me about your childhood," he said to her, wiping his mouth after a sip of wine. "How did you get into the armed forces?"
"I was a normal girl, going into University, when I felt as if a normal life cannot give me what I want," she answered.
She had graduated with her Arts degree with a major in linguistics when she decided to join the US armed forces, to see the world from the frontlines, from a point of view where she had never seen before, and by the time she had made it into the Army Rangers, she knew that there was no going back, especially when the state of the Middle East was so chaotic.
"What the hell is a girl doing here?" the Rangers had asked the very first day she landed at Fire Base Phoenix, it was the start of a hard life for her, but she knew that it would be worth it.
Makarov took her answer and nodded, as though he was pleased to hear it. "Right indeed," he replied, and looked across the table onto her. "Dimitri told me that you were from the Spetsnaz, and that you are a sniper and that you can speak all of the United Nations official languages," he told her, "Naturally, I just had to see for myself if what he and your papers claim to be true."
"Makarov had an affiliation with the Russian Spetsnaz," Shepherd told her before she set out to Russia. "We have good cause to think that he was one of them before Vorshevsky kicked him out of the 'inner circle' Imran Zakhaev had with him. One thing is for sure though; Makarov can never go against the wishes of dead men. One of our informants staged his death before Makarov, and told him that he was sending you to him, that's why you can get so close to him so fast."
The informant was one Dimitri Batkin, a man who had served in the Russian Spetsnaz along with Makarov a long time ago. The 141 had tracked down the man, and did not even need torture to reveal every single one of Makarov's current designs. All he wanted was a new life in America and of course, a fat bank account to go along with it. She had been with the team who acquired him, and he had told them personally that no man could go closer to Makarov than a woman would be able to.
"And we are placing all our bets on one guy's words?" she asked Shepherd. "We don't even know if he's lying, sir!"
Shepherd gave a light chuckle, and placed a hand upon her shoulder. "That guy was afraid enough of Makarov that only death could cover his tracks. Sure, he'll find out that it was all a set-up, but I intend for him to find that out when you place him under custody, is that understood? We already have your papers in the Spetsnaz, if that's what you're asking."
She smiled at him, and stirred her soup lightly. "And did you see what you like, sir?" she asked him, eyeing him with great interest. He was looking at her as though one looks at a well-known and loved piece of art, not one bit critical and questioning.
"Quite a bit," he answered rather matter-of-factly. "I would assume that someone with your… abilities, you have been a great commodity to your squad. Dimitri told me before he passed that you encountered this… elite squad of NATO soldiers who has been dogging our footsteps for quite a while now. How did you find them?"
The Task Force 141 was more than just a group of randomly selected elite soldiers, they were her brothers. A soldier would drift from unit to unit until they found their "home" and stuck to it, and she was lucky that she had found it only on her second try. Of course, she had got off into a bumpy start with them, just because of her sex, but when she proved to them that she could perform just as well as any of them in her fourth week in the 141, they had finally welcomed her with open arms.
It took her four weeks of hellish training, and a record of 20 seconds running the training course back at Firebase Phoenix. The record of 18 seconds, regarded as the benchmark for human achievement, had been set by the Captain and his Lieutenant.
"You've done well, lassie," Captain MacTavish told her with a smile the very moment she reached the red line that marked the end of the course. Even her former squadmates in the Army Rangers were surprised. "Welcome to the 141."
It was the second year of the Task Force 141's formation when she had joined. Why did it seem so, so long ago, when it had only been nothing but a year ago?
"Hey, I heard that you got the mole job," Lieutenant Simon Riley said to her just after Shepherd had briefed her upon her assignment. "It's gonna be tough but I know that you'll pull through."
She looked up at Ghost, the name that Riley had preferred to use, seeing only his balaclava and his sunglasses. "And what makes you think that?" she asked him, raising a delicate feminine eyebrow at him. True, his rank was higher than hers, especially as the second in command in the field right after MacTavish, but within the 141, there was no true hierarchy of the military, only people they had fought and survived with through countless numbers of bloody operations.
"Well, no one handles snipers like you do, apart from the Captain," Ghost said as though he was ticking off items in a list he had created in his head. "You speak a total of five languages including Russian, and, you're so good an actress you can actually fool the doctors to let you out of bed."
"They are a formidable enemy," she answered Makarov. "They will never stop until they accomplish their goals, never flinching despite the challenges before them. It was an honor… to have fought them, sir." She had to word her sentences carefully from now on if she was to avoid Makarov's suspicions. "I would like to avenge our brothers that have died fighting them."
At those words, Makarov took her hand in his and kissed the ridge of her knuckles. "Your time will come, my dear," he promised her. "You are still young, and there is much to do. I believe that with the rate that those rats are advancing upon us, it would not be long until that day is upon you."
In her heart, she prayed for that day to be delayed for as long as possible. Although only MacTavish and Ghost knew of her current assignment, she did not know what she would do if she was forced to actually kill members of the 141 right before Makarov and their eyes… She could not even imagine what kind of effects such a deed would have upon her.
The ride back to Makarov's apartment had been a silent one. None of them talked at all for some unknown reason, and she hoped that he attributed her silence as something due to the pain of losing her brothers in arms. It was common among soldiers, death and loss, and he must have had a fair share of that as well.
By the time they set foot into the beautiful, but Spartan apartment that was Makarov's residence, it seemed that the rest of Makarov's men had gone out, including Anatoly. They were quite alone there, and she did nothing but walk towards the balcony through the glass doors for some fresh air. He joined her seconds later. "They have their own apartment not far from here," he told her. "I… do not trust them with a beautiful woman."
She did not know the meaning behind those words, but she received it as a compliment. "Thank you," she whispered, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Living with him also had his disadvantages, he could easily monitor each and every move that she would make, and that made her job well, more difficult than she thought it already was.
"You're welcome," he told her. During situations like this, it would be appropriate if he would kiss her, any kiss would do, and they would retire to their rooms, but nothing of the sort came. "I will see you in the morning. We will have a great day ahead of us." She nodded, and walked towards the room that he had allocated for her. A thought ran through his mind, and he called back towards her. "Forgive me, but I did not seem to have caught your name, my dear."
She smiled. And in that smile, he only noticed the upwards turn of her lips, but not their meaning. It was a cross between one of seduction and one just naturally there without any reason. "It's Anya, sir," she told him before turning back towards her room. "Only Anya… I'm an orphan."
"Anya…" he repeated her name, feeling a certain tingle up his spine. It was strange for him to feel this way, for it was such a generic name, but still, those blue eyes lit up in such a manner when she told him her name… She bade him goodnight one last time and closed the door of her room softly, leaving him to contemplate his latest and first and only female agent.