Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Zakhaev International Airport

To avoid undue suspicion and to ensure the secrecy of what they were about to do, they were to enter the airport in different ways before meeting at one of the airport's many basement levels, one used by the staff of the airport, so that they would enter the departure hall together and start the attack.

If things had went smoothly the previous night, this would be the day that Anya would meet Yuri for the first time, but sadly, it was not to happen at all. His spies within the Kremlin had confirmed that Yuri had gone straight to the commander of the FSO to inform the government of their operation, a form of betrayal that he could not tolerate, not even from an old friend. In fact, it stung him to know that of all people to have done such a dastardly deed, it would be Yuri, his friend of two decades.

Yuri was supposed to arrive alone from the eastern wing of the complex on the pretext of doing some duty-free shopping just before Anya and Viktor was supposed to meet them at the level above. If they took too much time waiting for Yuri, then they would have to kill him in front of Anya. Somehow, he sensed that doing so would complicate matters in the future, and thus, hoped that Yuri would at least be on time for his own death.

Soon enough, the man of the hour arrived. To avoid his escape, Lev and Kiril quickly restrained him the moment he arrived at the parking area. "What are you doing?" Yuri asked, struggling against the two men who held him in a vice. Strong footsteps could be heard walking towards him, and within seconds, Makarov revealed himself to the man who had been his friend.

"I know what you have done," he said to Yuri, concealing the Desert Eagle he was holding from Yuri's view. There was an absolute possibility that Yuri knew that this would befall him, and yet he had still chosen to go on with his decision. If it was death that Yuri had sought, then it would be death that he would give him. "My friend… my alley… my betrayer…" He slowly counted his relationship with Yuri. Twenty years… they had known each other for such a long period of time, and quite frankly, he could not fathom that Yuri would actually have the courage to do such a thing…

Yuri said nothing, and only looked up into his mismatched eyes. He had already done his part, his conscience was clear. For twenty years now as Makarov's friend and subordinate, this one act would be the best that he had ever done, if it was indeed his fate to die at that exact moment, then, he would have no regrets whatsoever.

"What happens here today will change the world forever," Makarov announced. "Nothing can stop this, not even you."

He shot Yuri in the abdomen and left him there to die in the forming pool of his own blood. It would be impossible for Yuri to survive the wound he gave him, he thought, and went into the elevator to meet with Viktor and Anya.

The sight of her engulfed his vision when the doors of the elevator parted, and he could not stop but lamenting the fact that like Yuri, her days with him would end soon. Dressed like the rest of them, albeit in a feminine fashion. "You look stunning," he whispered into her ear as Kiril, Lev and Viktor started to move the bags of their equipment into another elevator, with his hand wrapped around her waist for the slightest moment.

She blushed, a reaction that he had not seen from her in a long, long time. It would always be that coy, seductive smile that she would respond with, whenever he slipped those inconsequential compliments, but this time, he really did catch her unawares. "Thank you," she mouthed almost wordlessly, looking around her with caution.

He could sense her distress, but she hid it well. Her sapphire eyes flitted from wall to wall, person to person, but only so often that she looked as if she was just on a lookout, observing if there was anything that would work against them in that moment of time.

They casually filed into the elevator that would bring them up about three levels up. "S nami bog," he prayed, as was custom, and then, he turned around to face all of them, addressing them sternly. "Remember, no Russian."

Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen / Ultranationalist Codename "Anya"

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Zakhaev International Airport, Moscow

The first casualty was a woman about her age. She was walking hand-in-hand with her sweetheart, a man with auburn hair… She knew that they were together, deeply in love, because of the way they smiled at each other. She knew that feeling once, but she had not felt it for a long, long time already. The one who shot them was not her, but Viktor. She shot the immigration officers right next to the metal detectors.

They were all expressionless, just going on their business, killing everyone in sight. Many a time did Makarov enter her crosshairs, but she could not kill him. If she did, his men would just kill her, and his plans would be done under the stewardship of his other advisors and subordinates. She was meant for death, and thus, she chose the task to kill only the ones who could oppose them, those with weapons and uniforms.

It seemed that Makarov did not seem to mind at her sudden change of tactics.

"Up the stairs, move," he ordered, and they immediately went up the cascade of stairs. To her right and left, she could see bodies pummeling down onto the level they ascended from, their blood almost forming a red fountain. It was carnage that she had never seen before, and she had been a soldier for almost three years now…

She followed Makarov in every step he took. Gesturing to the shops at the right and left, he told Lev and Kiril to clear them all of anyone taking refuge within them. He was relentless; ever moving forwards, never stopping his footsteps, save only to reload his weapons. When they passed the glass elevators leading to the level below, Makarov threw a grenade into one of them, shattering it completely, killing two of the guards inside almost instantly.

This man was a monster, despite whatever she had thought of him throughout the past year she had been with him. It was not the first time that she had voiced such thoughts of him to herself in all honesty, but it certainly would not be the last. She knew that this was only one side of his, one part that made the man walking in front of her. His intelligence, his charisma, the seductive deepening of his voice when they are alone… It all melted down, and in her eyes, the suited military genius was no different than any devil that ought to be put down.

He knew that her eyes were upon him, and even as he walked forwards, he wondered if she would shoot him then and there. There was no doubt that she was trying to preserve her life, and her soul, by selecting her targets: those who could fight back, but it made little difference. She had ventured into his trap even before she ever thought of trying to make one of her on own him.

"Let's go, move up," he rushed them, after seeing hostile helicopters trying to land on the tarmac not far from them. There was no doubt that Yuri's information had been validated, and the Government was reacting to their attack. However, it was too late. Most of the civilians in the area were already dead, and they still had much to do.

He glanced at Anya, and as always, her face was revealed little. She was always looking downwards as they descended the stairs, looking at the blood-stained corpses, walking a bit faster as they reached the departure hall. How ironic it was to see the flight notices changing their statuses to being "delayed"… No one said anything about it, but it was certain that each of them had paused ever so slightly, to actually look at those notices, in one way or the other.

They went through a glass door, and arrived at a small room, which exit would lead them onto the tarmac. "Check your weapons and ammo," he told them, looking out at the window. As he was speaking, the government's forces were already roping down the helicopters that he had seen.

"I've waited a long time for this," Viktor commented as he reloaded his gun, and the others smirked with his words, even Makarov.

"Haven't we all?" was his response, and as he regarded Anya, she only smiled ever so slightly. He knew that like all her mannerisms in the past year were staged, artificial, save only when they were alone. That may be so, but she would always have this sort of half-smile upon her face that she used as her own shield, the true mask that she hid in when she did not know what to say, or to throw him off balance. It was the smile that he was currently seeing, and he knew that deep in his heart, he would do everything to unlock the secrets of that smile. For now, he would just have to settle with going on with the plan. After that mission, she would be his to decipher, and only his.

When they were all ready, he kicked open the door and said, "This way, let's go!" Within seconds, they were in a gate servicing area, which would lead them directly to the tarmac, where their opposition had already formed clean, straight lines, hiding behind riot shields. Makarov was amused indeed. Yuri had informed the FSO, but the Government decided to send another faction in their place. What an irony indeed. If only his friend had been there to see it…

They too, formed another line. The five of them against perhaps at least ten times their own number. "Good luck, boys," Anya said, more or less her first words since the attack started. Out of sight of his men, Makarov slightly squeezed her forearm and nodded to her. It was meant to be reassuring, but he was sure that she did not try to register it at all. He knew that she did not want her mood to be… affected by such a seemingly neutral gesture.

"For Zakhaev," he announced, and they all ran towards the surface. "FSB, take them out," he told them. Riot shields were difficult to deal with, of course, but any seasoned combatant could tell you that the best way to take them out was to use a grenade launcher, or, to flank them. Every single one of them knew what to do.

"Makarov, look up," Anya warned, taking aim with the M4AI in her hands, handling it with the finesse of an old hand. Of course, she was an American soldier; there was no excuse for her not to. His eyes went to where she had directed them, and he found them: FSB on the second floor that formed the base of some sort of office, and the others were still wondering who was shooting them from the very top…

"Contact, second floor windows," he yelled, making sure that he was heard. They quickly disposed of their aerial threat, and continued to focus on those who were on the ground. By that time, more had turned up, through the many vans that sped onto the screen.

They warned one another of the presence of their enemy whenever new ones popped out, and although they killed many, more still came. It was with Yuri's word that caused this, but it was only a small issue to be solved.

"Lev!" Anya shouted when a particularly loud gunshot was heard near them. Lev fell flat upon his face, not moving an inch. He had been shot right through the middle of his eyes, and in their confusion, Kiril was killed as well.

"Man down!" Viktor warned, but Makarov knew that there was no time.

"They're dead, leave them," he replied. He pushed the two of them forwards, and they continued to fight. Their sacrifice would be duly remembered, and there was no time to mourn the dead. Although he was not as close to them as they thought he was, they had still been fearless comrades to him. They deserved to be remembered.

As the seconds passed into minutes, the numbers of the FSB gradually lessened. One by one, they were killed off, their bodies littering the tarmac, as though it had been an utter warzone. It was a mere taste of what he could unleash, no, what he would unleash in the near future.

Soon, the tarmac was quiet. They had already expected that. It would take half a minute before more would come. They had to make their exit quick. "Thirty seconds, go," he said, and they all ran towards the next gate service area. "This way," he signaled, and opened a door, which lead to a hallway. "Hallway clear," he added, and they all entered it after he did. There was an ambulance van there, and by the looks of it, whoever was manning the vehicle was waiting for them. "Hold your fire…"

The ambulance doors banged open. It was Anatoly, who had resourcefully hijacked the vehicle. It was a clever move on his part. "Move," he told them, and Viktor and Makarov got into the van, one by one. "Good, get in," he continued before turning to Makarov. "We sent a strong message with this attack, Makarov…"

Makarov nodded, but said, "That was no message," and helped Anya to get into the van. He could hear the sirens of the enemy approaching, and knew that he had to act fast. He pulled her up and enveloped her in his arms, kissing her, even as they were standing before his men.

Anya's eyes widened. She did not expect this to come, but certainly, she had expected death. She felt the cold steel of an M9 emerging from his jacket pocket, but the pain she had felt was not that of a gunshot, but of a syringe, slight, but cold. She felt the contents of the syringe empty through the miniscule puncture in her arm, and fell from the edge of the van. Only then, did she hear him fire at her, but she felt nothing at all…

"This was a message," she heard Makarov say, just moments before her vision whited out. "The American thought that she could deceive us, when they find her, all of Russia will cry for war…"

She had failed… The realization had sunk into her, and now, she was the one responsible for the lives of thousands that would be lost…