Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Favela Rochina, Rio de Janeiro

Oftentimes, she wondered if she was actually in some action movie in the 80s. She was a honeypot, a term for a female spy sent to seduce the enemy and feed information back into her country, while the man she was supposed to be spying on was in the heart of the biggest favela in the city of Rio de Janeiro, negotiating a new arms deal with the supplier he had been doing business with for years.

It was just one of those times, she mused, and that life was imitating fiction.

They were in Rio to meet with Alexandro Rojas (whom Makarov had introduced to Anya as "Alex the Red"), a weapons trader whose reach was as far as Makarov's. In fact, the two of them had a deep history together. They had benefitted from one another in more ways than one, and Makarov would always go to Rojas first before considering other providers of illegal arms.

That was the day that she found out that Makarov was actually quite the linguist. He could even speak Spanish and a little Chinese apart from the customary English and Russian. "Alex, this is not a joke," he told the arms dealer rather strictly. "I need that shipment within the year. Do you have it or do you not?"

"That large a number is going to require more work, Vladimir," Rojas replied. "Let me remind you that no other man in this business will be able to do it as quickly as I can and at this price."

Those words intrigued Anya greatly. What was Makarov going to do? Start a war? Why did he need that many weapons?

"How much more time do you need?" Makarov asked, his voice seemingly calmer after several mental calculations that he did while he was circling Rojas' makeshift office like a vulture. There was a world map right there on the wall, and Anya saw that it had numerous holes in it although there were no pins, no markers or even writing. No evidence could be left on it at all. Makarov stared at the map for a long, long while, and in his contemplation there was a great silence. Every eye was trained upon him, their owners trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. Those that knew him well tried to do so after a few minutes had passed, but Anya; she was more intent to finish what she endeavored to do.

Rojas grimaced, and started to tap on his calculator. "For a shipment this big… one year, and you'll have to pay extra," he offered. "I'm going have to stop taking all other orders if I want to meet the deadline."

"The price is not a problem," Makarov countered. "All I want is for what I want to get where I want on time." Anya practically rolled her eyes at his response. It was evident that Makarov had already contacted Rojas privately about the matter, but why did he need them around to negotiate the deadline? What was there for them to know?

A smile cross Rojas' face, a smile that graced the face of a businessman when he knew that he had hit the jackpot when he heard Makarov's words that price was not an issue altogether; in fact, it was one of the reasons why Makarov was one of his favorite customers. In South America, whatever Rojas charged and Makarov paid was the market price, and Rojas was a fair man, he only charged the market price. Rojas could just remember the time when the Zakhaevs were still alive. Old Man Zakhaev himself was an arms trader, but decided to work with him from time to time, particularly after he started to have political interests in Russia. Makarov just inherited a very, very reliable supplier.

"I won't stop until the work is done, Vladimir," Rojas assured with his arms akimbo. "A guy like you is a godsend to a businessman like me. You don't know how many people's jobs you have saved for a year. Brazil thanks you."

Makarov smirked. "With your talent in dealing with the local politicians, I think that this will be a lucrative venture for the both of us," he added. With a nod, he signaled Anya to retrieve the bottle of Bordeaux that they had brought with them. She went to the back of the office with Viktor and did as she was told. Oh, she knew that there was more to the mere act of getting some wine for her employer. Makarov was intentionally displaying her before Rojas, for a reason that she would rather not discover. It was a common tactic, using a woman's image, and it was rather… ironic, that this whole notion, that no man could ever be free from the wiles of a beautiful woman, was the essence of her mission. By that time, she had already taken her task as a compliment to herself and to her parents who gave her the good lucks she had come to rely on. It might even help her save the world, so to speak.

She was silent when she handed Rojas the wine, only flashing a polite, but bright smile towards the arms dealer.

"Makarov, you wound me," Rojas said when Anya resumed her original place, standing next to Viktor. "Where have you found such a lovely woman, and why didn't you tell me?"

"She is not just any girl I found," Makarov explained. "Anya is my new agent from the Spetsnaz. She came highly recommended." Somehow, Anya had honestly hoped that she could find the source of his words, his motives on saying them, but sadly she failed. However, one thing was for sure, that there was an implicit meaning behind what he said. Makarov had inadvertently told Rojas that his former military power had been regained since he was kicked out of the inner circle, that he was able to move a soldier from the Spetsnaz without any difficulty, that she was only the first one in many.

There was no doubt that Rojas understood those words despite his silence. In fact, it was evident that he was trying hard not to conceal the sudden feeling of fear that one feels when one hears those words. The only person, who would not feel a sudden pang of panic at a proclamation of this nature, would be Makarov himself.

Anya could see that Rojas was used to dealing with power-hungry despots like Makarov. However, his reactions betrayed him, and that gave Makarov the satisfaction he wanted. Perhaps she was lucky in the sense that she already knew that Makarov would expect such a reaction from everyone, and thus, her facial expressions remained still.

"Well, to our future then," Rojas uttered after a great moment of hesitation once his men had opened the wine and poured it out into the glasses that Makarov provided. They toasted one another and emptied each of their glasses.

There was no more talk of what was to come after that, only Makarov and Rojas engaging in the banter of businessman. However, it was that banter that gave Anya the greatest insight of Makarov's reach in the activities in the underworld. Apparently, he has dealt with almost every single player in the game over the past 20 years that he was active, from the crime lords of Mainland China, to the warlords of Africa, and was considered somewhat as an industry stalwart. The only direction that he could move was upwards, closer to the chain of command.

Anya could only hope that what she could discover that afternoon would be useful to the boys back home.

(Five hours later)

Yuri

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

JW Marriott Hotel, Rio de Janeiro

He had been watching the girl ever since she joined them on Batkin's dying wish, unseen by her at all times, and the more he watched her, the more… dubious the Anya seemed.

Now that the negotiations of Makarov's new deal with Rojas was done, they were all free to roam about the city for two days. It was about this time that Anya decided to hit the beach, and he was there to observe her every move from a room three floors from hers.

The girl had a book in her hand, along with whatever females brought to the beach, and she seemed to do nothing but just read while soaking the sun's rays in the glorious Brazilian afternoon.

"One would think that you half expected her to hide a pistol in her swimsuit," Anatoly joked, looking over at the beach, filled with people as always. "Yuri, when Makarov told you to watch her, he didn't mean it literally, no?"

"This girl is more than what she seems," Yuri replied. "No woman has ever piqued Makarov's interest, and something tells me that it is all planned. For example, no one in their right mind would be able to absorb the truth that Makarov has already great military power back home. It is unacceptable and highly illogical to the common masses, and yet Anya joins us so freely."

Anatoly furrowed his brow. "Surely Batkin must've…"

Yuri did not let his friend finish the sentence. "Batkin may be part of the deception itself," he interjected. Makarov might have had his doubts regarding Batkin's death but Yuri was adamant in his theory that it was all a lie. "The girl might be…" The girl was now talking to a black man at a casual distance, and well, there was nothing else about it. Frustrated, he handed the binoculars over to Anatoly and ran his hand over his shaven head.

"The girl is young and attractive," Anatoly finished his sentence for him. "The both of us won't ever know what Makarov sees in her, but we have to give her some credit thus far. After all, no one is guilty until proven innocent."

When faced with Anatoly's logic, Yuri could only let the matter rest for now.

"Chemo"

Task Force 141

Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro

"Makarov is planning something big in a year's time and he means to execute it," Anya told Chemo, who had been tasked to retrieve whatever Intel she had this time. In fact, they were lucky this time in the manner that there was no one of Makarov's men around them. "Tourists" heavily covered in Russian tattoos could be spotted a mile away, and it was no use to Makarov if he continued to display his distrust of her in such an open manner, not after she confronted him back in Moscow. "He contacted a huge arms dealer, one 'Alex the Red' to provide him a shipment so huge that this Alex has to stop all other operations until it is completed."

Chemo's expression remained unchanged. He was supposed to be trying to flirt with her. Although there were none of Makarov's men close by, it did not mean that they would not be watched from afar. "Any more specifics?" he asked Anya. "Dates, numbers?"

"None at all," Anya replied. "It was shared only between Makarov and Alex the Red. I'll try to figure out as much as I can."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Anya, we know that you're doing your best already. Take it slow, girl, it's gonna be real hard on you if you force everything down."

A bitter smile emerged on her face. "Hey, if I could stomach having sex with that psychopath, I can do anything," she told him. In truth, she was only trying to reassure herself that she would be able to survive the entire mission.

"You don't know how happy the old man was after he knew that you managed to get into Makarov's pants," Chemo rolled his eyes. "He thinks that in a few more nights you'll have Makarov wrapped up around your finger."

Anya frowned. What did Shepherd think she was? "I… don't want to talk about him right now, Chemo," she said through gritted teeth. Shepherd was… downright merciless in his attitude towards his subordinates. She was in this mission because it was her job, her responsibility, because there was no other way that the 141 could get as close to Makarov as she was now… Not because Shepherd thinks that Makarov could be so easily deceived by the mere act of sex with her…

"I understand," Chemo said. He knew that it must have been hard to be someone in her position. "Heck, if I were a chick, I sure as hell would've kicked his ass when he proposed this shit-ass operation to me. You've got a lotta guts, Anya. We're all rootin' for ya."

Finally, a genuine smile graced her features. "Thanks," she replied. "Tell the boys back home that I miss them."

"Sure thing," Chemo said and rose from the sand. "Meanwhile, we still got a show to put on for them Ultranationalists. Care for an ice cream with a handsome stranger?"

Anya chuckled. "No thanks," she rejected him, shaking her head. "I'm a terrorist's paramour now, apparently. I might as well act like one."