Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen
Task Force 141
Al Dhafra Air Base, Abu Dhabi, UAE
"Captain Price, Captain MacTavish, this is Major Hassan," Anya introduced Major Hassan to Price and Soap. "He will provide us with support at the hotel." Anya had spoken with Major Hassan when she was planning the operation at Hotel Oasis in neighbouring Dubai. Major Hassan had been a bright-eyed Emirati man who was tall and tanned. Anya noted that he was particularly fond of his aviator sunglasses, even wearing them indoors.
"I am honoured to meet the team that ended World War III," Major Hassan said, shaking the hands of Price, Soap, Yuri, Nikolai and then Anya. "We have our work cut out for us. We believe that Makarov has now made the Hotel Oasis another one of his fortresses. Of course, he has paid handsomely for the privilege of using it as his new safe house, however, the situation has become rather… delicate."
Price nodded. "The royal family of Dubai wants to kick him out, but they don't want to get on Makarov's bad side," he said, clearly spelling out what Major Hassan had meant.
"We have reason to believe that a minor prince who had links to Makarov planned to shelter him there in secrecy for huge sums of money," Major Hassan continued. "However, when Corporal Allen contacted us via the CIA that Makarov was hiding here, the elders of the royal family knew that their guest couldn't stay for long. They are businessmen above all, but harboring a terrorist is never good business."
"Do you know if he had contact with anyone else?" Yuri asked Major Hassan.
"No one has seen him leave the property," came Major Hassan's reply. "However, we can see that he's had several visitors. The Hong Kong triad boss that recently died was one of them. We believe that Frankie Chan provided the arms for Makarov's mercenaries and to get rid of the evidence, he blasted Frankie Chan to pieces in his own bar."
Major Hassan's information had corroborated with Anya's guess that Makarov did not know that she and Yuri had threatened Frankie Chan for his location. She was relieved, to say the least. It meant that they still had the element of surprise.
"How long has he been here for?" Soap asked.
"He checked into the hotel shortly after the peace treaty that ended the war was signed," Major Hassan answered. "However, he has been in Dubai longer than that." He showed the 141 an image of Makarov at a café in Dubai. However, it was not just some random CCTV footage. Anya recognized the location of the photograph. She glared at the photograph and squeezed Soap's hand so hard that it had started to hurt him once she saw the date that was printed on it.
"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Price asked.
"No, Captain," Anya replied, her voice trembling. She pointed to the photograph, indicating the location and the date. "This café was exactly opposite the jewelry store that he got me the diamond necklace from." From the photograph, it was evident that Makarov was looking towards the jewelry store. "It was taken the day he killed my parents." Makarov had the audacity to revisit a memory that he had of her the day he took her parents' lives. That act alone reviled Anya to no end.
Major Hassan sighed. "My condolences, Corporal Allen," he offered. Anya thanked him and apologized for interrupting the briefing. "We have received the brief of the mission that you have prepared. We agree that this mission must be done with utter stealth. If we make any sudden moves, there will be a large possibility that Makarov will use the hotel as a tomb, not only for himself, but all the civilians there."
"How will you provide us support if we need it?" Price asked. "You can't exactly march tanks or fly jets into the neighborhood."
"As it stands, there will be a parade celebrating the Sheikh's birthday," Major Hassan said. "We have designed the parade's route to pass by the hotel. If anything goes amiss, we'll be able to respond. Of course, the Sheikh will be at a safe distance away."
Nikolai grimaced. "So, the Sheikh is using himself as bait?" he asked bluntly.
"The Sheikh is merely basking himself in the love of his people," Major Hassan corrected. "He has worked tirelessly for the development of the city of Dubai." Everyone knew that Major Hassan meant what Nikolai had already said. "Unfortunately, this is the only chance that we will have in killing Makarov." Capture was not an option.
"How are you feeling, love?" Soap asked Anya when they retired to the barracks in the American section of the airbase after their meeting with Major Hassan.
"Better," Anya replied, having a sip of coffee. "I'm sorry about your hand."
Soap took her hand in his. "Don't worry about it," he said. He looked at her and knew that she was retreating into her mind again. "What were you thinking about?"
Anya sighed. "I can't believe that he would actually revisit the place that we went to before, the same day he killed my parents," she huffed. She could not forget that pensive look that Makarov had in the photograph that Major Hassan had shown them. It was as though he was almost human.
Her stomach turned just even thinking about it. She had been open about all her interactions with Makarov with Soap. It had been the nature of her work. She remembered the sexual tension between herself and Makarov that evening when he bought her the necklace. He even went so far as to mask the purchase as a lifeline for her, should she ever need it. She also remembered being so confused by his actions that she did not know how to act, because she was unsure if he was going to declare anything to her, or if it had all been a test. Deep down inside, if he had told her how he truly felt about her, she knew that she would have faltered.
It was at that moment that every single trace of memory of Makarov had turned into a burning distaste towards him in Anya's mind. He had been consumed in his own lies that he thought himself to have been wronged by others, but it had never been his own doing.
Soap cradled her in his arms. "You can't let him get into your head, love," he advised. "If you do, he's already won."
At that moment, the fury in Anya's veins started to slowly dissipate. Soap was right. If she had allowed hatred to course through her, then how different was she to Makarov? She had been angry because she had associated the experience at the jeweler's with one of fear mixed with wonder, a crossroads during her mission. It was that night when she realized that Makarov's desire for her went deeper than that of the flesh. Yet, seeing him revisiting that memory the same day he took her parents from her brought her anger to the surface. Anger that boiled from her still-bleeding heart right to her fingertips. She would have been consumed by it if Soap had not reminded her that she had a choice to let it bother her, or to let it go.
Once again, her stalwart captain had saved her. He had pulled her from her most poisonous thoughts and showed her that there was an alternative path. It made her realize even more that warfare was not only physical, but also psychological, even for individual combatants.
"I know how personal this has been for you," Soap soothed. "You, more than all of us have been a victim of this war. You would not be able to walk out of this if you hold on to things like that in your mind."
Anya gave him a kiss and brought her arms around him. It was his head on her chest now, instead of hers on his. He could hear her heartbeat slow down gradually. "I don't know where I'd end up if it weren't for you, John," she told him. Step by step, he had guided her back into the light, and she could see the darkness that awaited her without him. Fear would rule her, and hatred would have consumed her.
"Probably in another castle somewhere in Europe," Soap joked, causing her to chuckle.
In truth, he could guide her from the demons in her mind because he too, experienced PTSD at the end of the Second Russian Civil War. He and Price had lost their entire squad trying to prevent nuclear fallout, and even though he had killed Imran Zakhaev, the entire operation had to be covered up as a military exercise to prevent the spread of war. He had asked himself many times why it had been him that survived, and not the others, but he never found the answer, other than the fact that he knew that he had to live.
"I am afraid for tomorrow," Anya admitted once her mind had quieted. "Whenever I close my eyes, I see everything going wrong. I..."
Soap hushed her with a finger to her lips. "You have done all that you can, love," he told her in earnest. "We will kill Makarov. We will end this." It was not fear that posed the greatest danger, but doubt.
Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish
Task Force 141
Hotel Oasis, Dubai, United Arab Emirates
The operation started at sunrise. Soap and Yuri had entered the hotel through one of the vans that sent fresh linens to the hotel after they had been cleaned. They were accompanied with a few of Major Hassan's men, all of them dressed in the uniforms of the staff in the hotel.
"We are in position," Yuri announced once they got out of the van.
"Makarov's pilots are currently changing shifts," Nikolai returned through the comms.
"We'll head to the quarters and take the first pair out," Soap added.
Quickly, they hid their weapons in the carts that the hotel's workers used and went directly to the rooms that the pilots had been assigned to. The first pilot was on the thirteenth floor. They knocked on the door, and the pilot responded. Soap easily killed him with a suppressed shot through the head. Together with Yuri and the UAE soldiers that came with them, they made it look like the pilot had been fast asleep.
The second pilot was on the twentieth floor. Yuri rang the doorbell but received no response. They used a keycard to gain access to the room. The pilot had been in the bathroom and was having a bath while listening to death metal music. Yuri acknowledged his taste in music and shot him in the lungs.
"Both pilots are out," Soap announced.
"Good job, Captain," Anya replied. "Nikolai, I have arrived at the lobby. Assign me a room."
"On it, Anya," Nikolai returned. "Your room is 3635."
"Copy, moving to 3635 now." Yuri said.
Ten minutes later, Anya appeared at the door of room 3635. She was dressed in a crisp pantsuit, her hair set in a bun. "I've got to get out of these damned heels," Anya commented, taking a duffel bag from Soap and Yuri's cart, and rushing into the bathroom to change.
"Any sign of Makarov?" Soap asked her from outside the bathroom.
"Negative, Captain," Anya replied. "I would know if he is here." If Makarov had seen Anya, he would have made a beeline towards her to kill her. The fact that Anya was there meant they had not been compromised yet.
Soap put a hand on Anya's shoulder once she emerged from the bathroom. It was the only reassuring gesture he could spare her for the time being. "Good," he told her. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and she gave him a playful wink.
"I'm in position too," Price added. "I'm coming to 3635 now."
"You're gonna miss the party, old man," Soap joked.
Price harrumphed. Within seconds, he was already knocking at the door. "Right, team. This is it," he said. "Once we head out of this door, there's no turning back. Soap, Yuri, get the rest of the pilots. Anya, you're with me to destroy the choppers. After that, Makarov and his men will find out what has happened and start the bloodbath. No one fights alone."
Just before they left the room, Soap was able to give Anya a quick kiss to her forehead. Anya responded with a small smile and left with Price. "If you want Anya to be safe, we'll have to kill Makarov before he gets to her," Yuri told him.
Soap nodded. From how Makarov killed Anya's parents, to how he sent mercenaries to try to kill Anya in her childhood home, Anya was now the target of Makarov's fury. He had vowed to protect her, and he would. He saw how Makarov had looked at Anya in Prague with a cold hunger, as though he would consume her.
"Nikolai, we need an elevator to the helipad," Price announced through the comms. "We are in the eastern wing of the hotel."
"I'm sending one to you now."
The last pilots were stationed at the level beneath the revolving restaurant. Once they were done, they could easily regroup with Price and Anya on the helipad. They used a service elevator to reach their destination. But when they opened the door to the third pilot's room, they did not find him, but there were boxes that bore the logo of Fregata Industries.
Seeing those boxes brought a chill to Soap, his heart sinking to depths that he could not even fathom. It meant that Makarov had been prepared for their operation and had set a trap for them.
"Price, Anya, come in!" Soap shouted, upon realizing that they were in danger. "We found Makarov's chemical weapons in the third pilot's room! Check the choppers before-"
They could hear a blast from above them, but there was only silence.
"Price, Anya!"
There was no response from either of them, only silence.
"Soap, we have to get to the fourth room," Yuri warned. He had been equally alarmed, but their mission carried precedence.
Soap nodded. They only had one way forward.
"Soap, I have a visual of Makarov's birds already destroyed, but I can't see Price or Anya!" Nikolai said. "There's green smoke everywhere!"
Before Soap could take another step, he saw Makarov before him. "I am amazed, Captain MacTavish. Anya has once again spread her wings and protected you from certain death," Makarov said cooly.
Soap aimed his rifle at Makarov. "What did you do to them?" he demanded.
Makarov looked towards the nearby window; there the remnants of the chemical gas could be seen floating down to their level. "The same thing that they would have done to me."
"You're lying," Yuri said. There was no possibility that Makarov could have known that they were there. From the conversation that he had with Frankie Chan, Makarov had not known that he and Anya were in Hong Kong.
"This is where you have always been weak, Yuri," Makarov spat. "Come."
Soap and Yuri were brought to the revolving restaurant, filled to the brim with Makarov's mercenaries, where they saw Anya and Price lying on the floor, motionless. They were not dead yet, but they were at death's door. Soap did not react. He knew that something was up. Price and Anya would never give up without a fight. He knew that he had to trust them.
"How does it feel, to see your greatest friend and your beloved before you, dying?" Makarov asked. "I have saved this pain for you. You were the one who killed Zakhaev, after all."
"Why didn't you go after me then?" Soap asked. "Anya had nothing to do with Zakhaev's death." He could feel his blood boil, and he knew that Makarov had observed it too. Whatever Price and Anya were planning, they had to do it quickly. Soap did not know how much of the gas they had been exposed to, but he knew that the longer they waited, the closer they were to dying.
Makarov harrumphed and walked towards Anya to caress her cheek. "It is a waste, that someone so beautiful has to die such a slow death," he said. Soap could see that he still looked at Anya the same way as he did in Prague. "She could have been a queen by my side."
"I've never wanted to be a queen."
Soap watched as Anya punched Makarov square in the stomach, rose to her feet and held him in a vice. At the same time, Price got up and stabbed the mercenary closest to him in the chest with a knife and took the fallen man's rifle. "It's over, Makarov," Price said. "Stand down."
Anya pushed her sidearm into Makarov's temple. "One wrong move, and I will blast your head open."
"My dear, you are not in a position to do that," Makarov replied. His men were still around them. Even if they had him, they were outnumbered in an enclosed space. "My men will finish you off if anything happens to me." At those words, Makarov's mercenaries aimed their weapons at Price, Yuri and Soap. "The decision is yours, Anya. My life or theirs."
"This is Major Hassan to Task Force 141, do you copy?" By then, only Soap and Yuri had access to the comms. Yet, they could not respond. All eyes were on Anya, who was still making her decision. "We have reinforcements coming your way from the helipad once the gas subsides. Do you copy?"
"Anya," Soap called towards Anya. He then pushed a button that changed the frequency on the comms to that of Major Hassan's discreetly. "Do it."
From where she stood, Anya could see Major Hassan's men in gas masks coming down to their location from the helipad. However, before she was able to shoot, Makarov had elbowed her in the stomach, taking her pistol when she dropped it. "You could never kill me, my dear," Makarov told Anya as she tried to stand. The effects of the gas had weakened her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she started to cough. She could not stand.
"No, I couldn't," Anya wheezed. "But they can."
As she spoke, Yuri shot Makarov in the shoulder the instant Major Hassan's men stormed into the revolving restaurant, immediately engaging the mercenaries. Enraged, Makarov lunged towards Yuri, firing shot after shot. His injury skewed his aim, Yuri was able to remove himself from the line of fire.
They could not stop. While Makarov's attention was still focused on Yuri, Soap took aim. He had a clear shot, and he could not waste it. Like how he had killed Imran Zakhaev, Soap pulled the trigger, and fired the round that penetrated the back of Makarov's head and exited through his forehead.
Makarov's body fell into a heap.
Soap did not even bother to look at his handiwork. The only thing in his mind was Anya, who had collapsed again. "Maria!" He called her, gathering her in his arms, heaving a sigh of relief when he discovered that she was still conscious.
"You did it, John," Anya coughed, barely managing to smile.
"Aye," Soap said. "Couldn't have done that without Yuri."
"Anya bought me enough time," Yuri said.
"Well done, team," Price said to all of them.
HAN: Holy crap, I did not actually know that this fic would end this way, haha! I always thought that Anya would end up with Makarov, and they'd die together somehow. But Soap killing Makarov too? Having said that, I hope you guys liked the fic so far. It's been a really long time coming, but I'm glad that I gave it a shot, and that it's on its last legs. Thanks to everyone who gave this fic a shot, love you lots!
