Cpt. John "Soap" MacTavish
Task Force 141 – Disavowed
Cairo, Egypt – Loyalist Safe-house
They were in nothing more but a closet, but they paid little heed. All Soap cared about was Anya, in his arms, her lips against his. They knew that the moment they set out for Prague, whatever the mission would look like, it could very well be their last.
"I love you," he whispered into her ear, nuzzling her earlobe as she reached out to push his pants down. Such simple words that held such meaning. As a soldier, Anya would die for her captain, to honor even the memory of their service together, but as a person, Anya swore to herself that she would burn the seas for him. Just for those three words.
Anya raised his chin and looked into his eyes. She smiled, and kissed him, gently stroking his manhood, causing him to groan. "Shh," she hushed teasingly, and proceeded to lower herself to her knees and enveloped his manhood in her mouth, making sure that she grazed her tongue along his shaft. She felt him shudder and continued to pleasure him all while keeping his eyes fixed upon hers.
That gaze was electrifying. Having his member in her mouth and having her look at him with such ravenous hunger. He never thought that it was possible to want her more. He picked her up and lifted her onto the nearby table, having to restrain himself from tearing her clothes off. He yearned to feel the touch of her skin upon his. He put his arms around her, and just held her, taking every inch of physical contact in, so that he could burn it in his memory.
"John," she pleaded, removing his hand from her waist, and to her left breast. It was just one of things that endeared him so much to her. Even in the height of passion, all he wanted to do would be to just hold her. He traced his thumb on her nipple and took the other one in his mouth. Her sapphire eyes seemed to glow in response, and they widened even more when he inserted a finger into her depths. She wound her legs around his waist, and instinctively started to ride his finger. "Please…"
Soap acquiesced. He thrust into her, causing her to moan, but she bit into his shoulder to silence herself. When they joined, every single movement was fluid, natural. From the arch of her back to the pressure of his fingers upon her thigh. It was as though they were meant to be there, within one another. The previous times they had been intimate had all been about discovery, where they sought learn about one another's bodies, but now, they had already found that rhythm, every sensation that would push another towards the edge. Now, they felt that they belonged to no another, and no one else.
After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Soap climaxed within her, throwing all caution to the wind. It had felt right, and it was all that mattered. Hers came just after his, an explosion of sensations that reduced her to nothing but muted pants, a sheen of sweat covering her neck and forehead.
"Maria, I need you to know this," Soap said, placing her hand where his heart was. "If anything happens, I want you to live. Choose whatever way you can to survive." He looked into her sapphire eyes watched her reaction to his words.
Anya blinked. She did not want to hear such proclamations, feeling as though they were really going to their deaths. "You will be coming with me, John," she returned, cupping his face in her hand, her eyes still focused on his. "We still have to go on that vacation…"
"I'm serious, love," Soap pleaded, once again enveloping her in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. "None of us knows what will happen out there. If anything happens to me…" He wanted her to live. He knew that she would follow him to the death, but he wanted so much for her than that. There was nothing after death, no love or even hatred. As long as either one of them was alive, at least their memory could be kept in the world, even for just a moment longer.
Anya started to tear up. She never feared dying. They had faced death many times before. What she feared the most was to have to face a world without Soap, to not have him hold her like how he was doing now. It was the thought of possibly losing him that brought her emotions to the surface.
Soap kissed every single tear away. "Shh, shh…" he hushed. Sweet nothings were useless now. Actions spoke louder, and he knew that she understood every word he said. "You mean the world to me, love. I thought I lost you once, but I will fight every single man, every day, to keep you by my side."
When news that Anya had been assumed KIA in Moscow came, Soap had no time to react. War between Russia and America had broken out, and they needed to track Rojas down to prove that the attack on the airport had been a Russian one. In truth, his mind had been racing. When he saw her in the gulag with Price, he would have held her in his arms if they had not been running for their lives to escape the building before the Sixth Fleet bombarded it into a fine powder. In those days, he had cursed himself for even allowing Shepherd to bully Anya into accepting her deep cover mission.
Those days were behind them now.
"I love you," she proclaimed, and he swore that he would kill any person that dare stood in their way.
"Caller, please authenticate."
"Access code: Black Viking. Get me a secure line to asset Metal 0-1," Price said.
"Price," greeted the caller on the other end of the line. It was Sandman. "Thanks for the tip on Kingfish. You should know that Uncle Sam has got a Kill/Capture order on your head."
Price harrumphed. "Tell them to join the bloody queue," he replied. "Makarov's bomb-maker, Volk, is in Paris. We need to act before he bolts, and I can't make the window. You're the only one I trust with this."
Sandman agreed. "I'm on it."
"The bastard used Fregata Industries as a front to distribute the WMDs, I'm en route to their European HQ."
"Thank you, Price. Say 'Hi' to Soap for me."
Soap was relieved that Sandman embraced the information with open arms. "Well, that was easy," he commented. However, he did realize that no one in their right state of mind would ever have the capacity to go after a few dissident soldiers, even though they did kill General Shepherd in the middle of war.
"This means that Shepherd didn't have enough time to revoke our accesses," Price mused.
Meanwhile, in another part of the plane that Nikolai was flying, were Kamarov and Anya. Price had introduced them just before their flight. "The city has been heavily guarded since its occupation," Kamarov said, looking at a map of Prague with Anya. "We are currently working with the Czech Resistance to free the city."
Anya nodded. "Do you know if the other cities have the same amount of security?" she asked him.
Kamarov shook his head. "All of Europe is in chaos," he answered. "I was called to Prague because the Americans are engaged in France and Germany, no one could come to their aid."
"I should have just shot him and be done with it," Anya said weakly. News of the chemical attacks had turned her stomach. She could not fathom the depths of Makarov's hatred, his disregard for life. All that talk of lofty ideals and restoring the glory of their Russia turned to ash. If there had ever been a risk that she would have chosen to remain by his side, now was the time that every single notion had faded away.
"If you killed Makarov then, more would take up his mantle," Kamarov replied. "I have fought Ultranationalists half of my life; I know a thing or two about them. He is but the face of the darkness in the hearts of those in his party. The cumulation of all their desire to see a twisted form of Russia, standing on the ashes and bones of the rest of the world. The fact that the entire country called for war after that fiasco at the airport is proof of this. Did they know that Makarov was Russian and killed Russians? They did. They were only looking for an excuse for violence."
Anya thanked Kamarov for his insight. "I've never thought of it this way before," she said. "I... was consumed by guilt when Captain MacTavish sprung me out of the gulag in Petropavlovsk. I..."
She was then called by Nikolai to have a look at the sunset, a view only afforded to the top financier, which cut the conversation with Kamarov short.
"So, this is the girl that Makarov almost risked exposing his plans for. She is beautiful indeed." Kamarov said to Price when the latter came to him, handing out the reports about the diamonds that they had Nikolai send to a lab for verification. "Those diamonds came from a mine in Siberia. It has been an old Ultranationalist asset, but we cannot verify that the President is there yet. The chances of it being a positive are high, though."
"It looks like Anya is onto something here," Price said. "When she came back to us, she said that Makarov was planning a full-scale invasion, but had no way of proving it. We couldn't do anything."
"There is more. Our men went to the crash site of Vorshevsky's plane," Kamarov continued. "We saw this very same report in his office."
"What do you mean by that?" Price asked.
"We can't tell what Vorshevsky intended to do with that information," Kamarov said. "However, we found this as well." It was a photograph of Makarov and Anya, taken from CCTV footage at the jeweller that they got Anya's necklace from. "But we know that the President was already keeping tabs on her before he was kidnapped." If the Russian President could prove that Anya had been framed by Makarov as the instigator of war, then all of Shepherd's lies would come to light.
Anya sold the diamonds as a calculated risk to save Soap's life. They knew that it was a possibility that Makarov would be alerted of their sale, but they had no other choice. It was a miracle that the reports were generated to Vorshevsky at all.
"That's very good news," Price thanked Kamarov. "Anya will be pleased to hear this."
Vladimir Makarov
The Inner Circle
Karlštejn Castle – Ultranationalist fortress
"Sir, we have information that Waraabe broke, and was killed in his office." Alexi reported to Makarov. "It is likely that Volk will be compromised if we don't extract him from Paris."
Makarov's expression was unreadable as ever. "Leave him," he instructed. "Our soldiers in Paris will protect him. If he is captured, then we will have no further use for him."
Alexi was still concerned. "He will talk, sir," he pressed. "Once he does, there is nothing that will stop Price and his dogs coming here."
"That is precisely why we must ensure that Volk remains in Paris," Makarov returned. The Americans had pushed through Europe from the western side, leaving the Czech Republic unguarded and unassisted. There was no doubt that Price would leave the persecution of Volk to the Americans, while he would enter the Czech Republic by himself with MacTavish, Anya, and Yuri.
Makarov looked over at the projection of the Old Square in Prague. "This church, ensure that it is rigged explosives, particularly in the bell tower," he instructed. He could see that the church was in the direct line of sight of the Hotel Lustig, where he would meet his advisers. It was most evident that if there should be any attempt on his life, snipers would dig themselves a nest there. He will not have a repeat of the British assassination of Zakhaev in Pripyat. "Ensure that it is discreet."
Setting a trap for his would-be killers was easy, and knowing how Price operated, he guessed that MacTavish, his prized pupil would take the sniper position. They would not stand a chance. That left only Anya. Which position would she take? Would she face him head on? He looked at the photograph that Yuri had taken that still was in his wallet of that afternoon in Paris. She had been radiant like the sun.
It had been three months since they last met in Kandahar, and he had anticipated their meeting. With the preparations that he had done, he was certain that she would return to him willingly. He remembered well that night when he had asked her if she had any suitors, any sweethearts that she had left before joining him, and she had described John MacTavish to him. He knew it when he saw them fighting side by side in Kandahar. That was why the church had to be rigged.
In truth, Makarov never desired Anya's heart. He wanted all of her. Her beauty, her intellect, and her unwavering courage. He did not need her to be his lover, although she could fill that role well. He wanted her to be his queen in every sense of the word, a partner, an equal. He had taken a gamble when he worked with Batkin to ensnare Shepherd into initiating Operation Honeypot, but the moment he met Anya, he knew that it would pay off well.
Throughout the past year he bided his time with her, handing her titbits of information, seeing what she could do with them. He had been most impressed that she was able to set up a jamming tower in their Siberian weapons cache so that she could communicate to Task Force 141 by her voice, that he let her send the weapons there on a silver platter to her brothers when they came to raid the cache.
It could not be denied that he had a moment of weakness, though. He had brought her to Dubai for the sole reason of showering her with a lavish gift. Knowing that she would not accept such a gift, he had approached it as a matter of survival. He passed her bank accounts that amounted to the millions of Euros, but to his knowledge, she did not spend a single cent. Of course, it could have been her strategic instincts that guided her, but he knew that Anya was incorruptible to a degree. She stood fast to her ideals and held them. Even more reason for her to remain by his side.
After allowing himself a moment of nostalgia, Makarov went back to work.
In one of the rooms in the sprawling castle, was Boris Vorshevsky. There had not been a need to torture the President. The fact that his daughter was alone where all of Europe was burning in flames had already been torture enough for him.
"Mr. President," Makarov said. "I do not want to ask you again."
Vorshevsky was silent.
"The sooner you give the launch codes to me, the sooner your daughter will be safe."
Still, there was only silence.
"Very well," Makarov said, knowing that there was not a chance to sway the President. "I will visit you again soon."
Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen
Task Force 141 – Disavowed
Countryside, Czech Republic
Price, Anya and Kamarov were running possible strategies when Price received a call from Sandman.
"Did our man talk?" Price asked.
"They always talk," Sandman replied. "We got names, dates, locations. Volk even gave us Fregata and Corporal Allen, who's still alive. Apparently, he was the one who made the serum to look like she was KIA at the airport so the Russians could blame her for attacking the airport."
Price chuckled. "Girl's right next to me."
"It seems that your hunch is right, Captain," Sandman continued.
"It looks like Makarov is already making friends."
"He's meeting his top advisors six hours from now," Sandman added. "Location is Hotel Lustig, it's in the center of the city, near the old square." As he spoke, Anya made markings on the map that she had been looking at for days. She would have been able to commit the lay of the city into her mind by then. "We have Tier One groups assigned to handle this, but I don't think that they'll make it in time… but you're close."
"Very," Price replied. "I'll contact you when it's done."
"Oh, and I'm on loudspeaker, right?"
"Affirmative."
"Corporal Allen, good luck kid. Everyone's been rooting for you since they found out that you're still alive."
Anya smiled. "Thank you, Sandman," she thanked over the phone.
"Now, where were we?" Price said, going back to the map. "I think we can use the church as a sniper nest. Soap and Yuri can take the position there."
"No, Captain, that's the worst thing you can do," Anya replied, drawing a straight line from the hotel to the church with a pencil as opposed the red markers that Price had been using. "On paper, this would be an excellent position. But Makarov won't let it go so lightly. Not after how you blew off Zakhaev's arm, sir." If there was anything that she had learned from her year by Makarov's side, it was that the man learned from his mistakes. She was certain that he would have known that the meeting-room of the hotel would have been in the line of sight of the church.
Makarov was not seen in any of the cities that were attacked. This meant that he could have been in Prague the whole time they were chasing him in Africa. It also meant that he would have had ample time to set up any traps that he could think of.
Price looked at Anya. "What do you propose we do then?" he encouraged, giving her the marker. "Go ahead, sweetheart."
Anya took the marker, and said, "We'll face him head on. Kamarov, we'll get you and your men to soften up his defences from the inside. Yuri and Captain MacTavish will seal off the exit and you and I, Captain Price, will attack from the front."
Soap harrumphed. "'The best defence is the best offense', eh? I like it." He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Good job, lassie."