Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"
Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell
Anatoly's bar – Downtown Moscow
In the year when Anya had been with those men, she had never once known that Lev was able to hack into computers. With his skills, he had obtained a full layout of the Zakhaev International Airport, and even the flight schedules, work rosters, down to the airport management's monthly office budget for stationary… Every piece of that information, in the form of maps, printed pictures and other paraphilia were laid out on a large table in the basement office of the bar owned by Anatoly, gained from the money that he had made from his escapades with Makarov.
"Firstly, I would like to thank Lev for obtaining all this material," Makarov pronounced. "They are absolutely crucial for our next operation."
They were to attack Zakhaev International Airport, one of the many structures that the Ultranationalist regime had constructed following their victory during the Second Russian Civil war. It was now one of the world's busiest airports, because Moscow was more than just the capital city of the Russian Federation, it was an economic hub in Europe, an important market. After all the wars that it had survived, its people was now ready to embrace what the world had to offer and to partake in the progress other countries in the Eurozone had achieved. Makarov had specifically chosen that venue because of the high volumes of people there.
"You are going to kill more than just foreigners there, Makarov," Anya suggested, looking at Makarov in the eye. "Our people will be there." All eyes were fixated onto her. They had done operations in Russia before, but those were days even before the time of the Second Russian Civil War, during her college days, even before she knew that she was going to be a soldier.
It was not the first time that those concerns were voiced to Makarov. He had already heard them from Yuri's mouth, and although he did not reveal his distaste for those words from the woman who did know what sort of fate was laid before her, Makarov let it pass on the count that she was still young in the eyes of his men, still tied onto the concepts of what was black or white. "Much must be risked to achieve our goals," he told her. "One day you will learn that a little evil has to be done to achieve a greater good."
There was no point for her to even continue the argument. Keeping her silence, she watched on as Makarov gave them the specifics of their next mission. "This is not the penultimate attack," Makarov continued. "In fact, this operation is the precursor to what we have all slaved after for the past year. War will be declared upon Europe and the United States of America, when the government discovers that it is the NATO countries who have supplied this attack."
Makarov opened the smallest crate from Alex the Red's shipment, the first part of many thousands. Each of them quickly went around him to inspect its contents. All of them were NATO weapons, most of them guns manufactured from the US, weapons that she had used during her days in the Task Force 141, as well as a US Army Ranger.
"This is not our attack," Anya said. "It is the American's." Now that Makarov knew that she was a spy, he would make the operation look like an American one. She knew that even if any one of them was killed before she was, the Russians would still declare war against America because it would seem like her country supported Makarov in his cause… She knew that she had little chance to survive this mission, and she would die becoming one of those responsible to incite a Russo-American war. It was a sin that she knew was already written for her soul…
"We will bring the war to their soil then," Anatoly added. "But how would you attack the Americans? Their military intelligence rivals that of our own. They will shoot down any aircraft that even tries to get into their airspace."
That was when Makarov smirked, and showed them the photographs of a downed satellite. "This satellite was part of the US' Attack Characterization System. It is a web of satellites designed to form a protective network to trace any incoming threat. We have been able to copy the ACS module within this satellite in our airbase in Kazakhstan, and now we are able to get into the system without any difficulty."
It was at that point of time when he saw Anya's first natural reaction towards anything he had told them. Her eyes were filled with awe, the shock of the realization at the first glance, but at the second, it was pure fear. There was no doubt that she was struggling whether or not to burst out in whatever she was feeling at that time, or to kill him at that precise moment, or, to act along as if nothing had happened.
"War on the United States will come quickly then," she uttered, choosing the third route as he expected that she would. "And not even the President can decide against this."
Makarov nodded. "Anya, for the past year you have aided us in the best ways possible," he suddenly turned his attention towards her, as well as that of the other men as well. "I am not blind to the fact that without you, our successes throughout the past year would not be possible. If we succeed, you will have my full trust in all our future undertakings."
Those words were that of those she had striven for ever since she was planted in Russia. However, they came too late. She knew that it was a hoax, and she also knew that he was challenging her to act any way different than she was supposed to. She had no choice, and she knew that he had to win this round.
"Thank you," she mouthed almost silently, feigning reverence and relief. She had no choice but to say those words, to play along with him in order to live as long as she could, no matter how futile it seemed to be.
The rest of Makarov's men were all silent. They did not know Anya's true nature as Yuri did, but in their hearts, they knew and thought that partially, the other reason that Makarov would invest so much hope and trust in her was that he almost spent every night with her, and thus he knew her very well. The feeds from the surveillance cameras throughout his apartment (save for his bedroom and study) could be retrieved directly from the receivers located in their own apartment a few floors down the complex, and they could see that most of the time, that Makarov was the one who initiated whatever physical contact between them. It was a sign to them that Makarov, not Anya, was the one who pursued whatever existed between them both, and thus, they had no reason to doubt her at all.
"I promise all of you, this mission will be the one that would mark our places once again in this chaotic world," Makarov proclaimed. "You are all dismissed. We have a lot of work tomorrow morning."
In the greatest efficiency, the maps were stowed away, and the cigarette stubs in the ashtray were quickly disposed of. One by one, they filed out of the office and in the end, only Makarov and Anya were left. It was not a situation that she wanted to be in, and it was already evident by the way she made to follow Kiril, who was the last one out.
However, Makarov stopped her by grabbing her by her upper arm. "Where are you going to?" he asked her, causing her to look into his eyes. They were empty to her, but he, on the other hand, he could see that she was getting tired of all the chasing and guessing, particularly when there was a chance that she already knew that she was revealed as a spy. Her replies and retorts were no longer as sharp as they were before, although they still carried their usual bite.
She sighed. "You dismissed us, Makarov," she answered him after avoiding his gaze the moment she realized that his mismatched eyes were as keen as ever. She remembered that look on those eyes; she saw them when she first came to Russia. It was the look of intrigue, of curiosity. He was judging her in that precise moment, asking questions about her although he would be the only one who would have the answers.
"You will stay here with me for the time being," he told her, and gently pulled her into his arms. As if her body-language was not enough to deter him from continuing any advances towards her, he gently moved her chin upwards to force her to look at him once again. "Anya, you cannot lie to me," he added, words that made her heart stop. Was he going to reveal her then and there that she was a spy? "You have been out of sorts lately, and I want to know why."
Why was Makarov torturing her in that manner? Why would he want to continue that charade even though he already knew that she was a spy? Of course, she knew the answer to those questions: If her death had come earlier, he would have to find another American scapegoat, and it would be… very troublesome for him to say the least.
"I'm just tired," she told him. "I've had a long day…" As gently as he had coaxed her into his arms, she snaked herself to freedom, but not after placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I'll wait for you upstairs."
However, Makarov, as always, was not easily placated. "Anya," his chiding voice entered her ear as a whisper that only she could hear. It brought chills down her spine, and she could not tell if it was a good or bad feeling as a dark sense of foreboding crept into her mind, followed by a spark of… excitement. Now, more than ever, she feared that she was losing herself to her own act. "I know what's in your mind, my dear." Once again, he snaked his arms around her, this time from behind her, so close that she could smell his cologne. "You are thinking about your true existence here, are you not?"
"Why did Batkin send me here?" she asked him, turning towards him, only to have him back her onto the nearest wall. At least, for one moment, she could stop herself from giving away too much, by pressing an issue that was almost nonexistent, but still relevant to her situation. "I am a soldier, Makarov, I can't kill anyone randomly just because you ordered me to… Unarmed civilians, children… What you're doing doesn't fit my mandate at all."
"He sent you here because I told him that I needed his best fighter, one that he could see having a long military career," he answered, caressing the arch of her neck. "Dimitri sang your praises and I obliged him. It was a bold move, putting you here with us, even for myself, but without your talents… we would never have gone this far."
Anya feigned skepticism. "If you needed a butcher, you could have hired another man to do it," she rebuked. He looked at her with wonderment. He was not used to being questioned by his subordinates, but she could see a certain amount of amusement in his eyes. He knew that she was toying with him, and this time, he played along with her.
"You cannot compare to any man I have in my arsenal," he suggested. His hand was around her neck, but it was not an aggressive gesture, not at all, because as his fingers rested there, his thumb stretched out to gently stroke her lips. "It is true, if I wanted another… butcher as you put it, I could have hired another man, but I need someone with your sight on things Anya. It's like you could read my mind at times…"
"You're just highly predictable," she said, throwing her thoughts of him right towards him. "Everything you do is for Russia…" She was about to continue her sentence, but was stopped by him kissing her. It was like nothing she had ever shared with him, not even in the height of their greatest pleasure. When the kiss ended, she was left breathless and wordless. Panting, she gave up her false pretense and just stayed there, leaning on the wall, her arms wound around his neck.
After an eternity of silence, he whispered once more into her ear, "Dimitri told me that you were his most beautiful creation, he is wrong. You are mine."