Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen AKA Inner Circle Codename: Anya (CIA Deep Cover Operation: Honeypot)

Task Force 141 / The Inner Circle

Brussels, Belgium

With what little French Anya could manage, she ordered a cup of coffee and some pastries at a cafe near the hotel. She barely slept, kept awake by what Makarov had told her the night before. He had taken one look at her, and he could already see through her. Two years of service in the 141, her struggle to prove herself, and her need to be recognized, summarized in a mere few words.

It was not fear that kept her awake initially, but the fact that she had never felt more seen by anyone, let alone the person that the 141 had lost so much to apprehend. Terror set in when she realized that if Makarov could see her in such depth after a few mere hours, she was at a loss at how she was going to survive the coming days.

Those had been thoughts that she did not even realize that she had.

"Good morning, my dear," Makarov's voice entered her mind. It startled her so much that she jumped. She felt hot liquid on her arm and realized that she had spilled her cup of coffee when she was startled. While still in a daze, she watched as he quickly helped her to clean the mess up. "Apologies, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"I didn't see you coming," she admitted. It was a mistake that would have cost her life. Her guard was not only down, but it had been non-existent. "No, I'm not, thank you."

When she looked up, her eyes met his again. A shared gaze ensued, one that she had both dreaded and could not remove herself from. "You look like you haven't had much sleep," Makarov continued, taking the seat next to her.

"I was thinking about what you told me," Anya answered. There was no point lying to him when he could see right through her. "I don't think I have ever felt so... exposed in my life before."

Makarov took her hand in his, a gesture that shocked her to no end. It was evident that he could feel her fighting against his touch. However, she could feel that it had been genuine. There was a softness in his touch. "I told you, my dear, we are more similar than you know," he told her. "You do not need to fear me, Anya."

She did not fear him. She feared her own reflection in his eyes. She clasped her fingers with his. Was she taking the bait, or was he? She could not answer, but she knew that she had to decide. She could not live through the mission always second-guessing herself. She needed to survive to complete it. Even if it was a trap, she needed to spring it.

She smiled. She knew that he could see the sudden change in her. "You are a mirror," she told him truthfully. "That's why I couldn't sleep last night. I couldn't believe my ears when you told me that I had been fighting all this while to prove myself."

"That day may come even closer than you would think," Makarov answered, releasing her hand from his. "We are meeting a supplier of mine in two hours. Did you want me to wait at the lobby for you, or shall I pick you up at your door?"

"My door, please," she answered. "I will be ready in an hour."

The supplier that Makarov had indicated was known as Alex the Red. He had been a black-market weapons supplier of great renown, but it was said that no one had ever seen his face before.

"Have you received my previous message, Alex?" Makarov asked Alex the Red once they entered a warehouse belonging to the latter at an industrial area not far from Brussels.

Alex the Red nodded. He had prepared a map of the entire northern hemisphere that was projected onto the wall, but there had been no markers, nothing to indicate locations, dates. Anya did not know if it was how they usually operated, or they did not want any details to be leaked.

"For an operation of this magnitude, we would need a year to complete the entire shipment," Alex the Red answered.

Makarov seemed to be deep in thought. "Can it be done sooner?" he asked.

"Yours is a big job, Makarov," Alex the Red reasoned. "There are many things that require... precision."

"Money is not an issue."

"Money isn't the issue, but the materials and the manpower are. This is something that cannot be completed in a normal assembly line. The people that need to work on this project don't grow on trees. They're trained in universities and labs for years before they can even move a screwdriver."

Anya's mind was racing as she watched the meeting in silence. They had spoken so cryptically that she could just have not witness anything at all. However, she refused to believe that there was no purpose for this meeting. Yet, the implications if it were true were catastrophic.

Makarov could have been targeting the entire northern hemisphere, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, if that was why the projection of the map was unmarked. If the shipment could not be completed in an assembly line, this would mean that the weapons would have been atypical. Missiles, instead of guns and ammunition, perhaps.

Her hands were shaking, but she balled her fists. She had to remain calm. Anya knew that she would be of no help to anyone if she had bolted now. She needed more information, and to do that, she needed to remain as long as possible to piece everything together.

"You have two big ones in your own arsenal anyways," Alex the Red said. "Don't spend it all on one place, that's what I always say."

"One," Makarov corrected, but said no further about the subject.

Anya guessed that that the subjects of the last portion of their conversation were nuclear missiles. Zakhaev had launched one in the Middle East for al-Asad, killing 30000 US Marines and an untold number of civilians. Enraged by the death of his son, Imran Zakhaev ordered a nuclear strike on the US that was stopped by the team manned by MacTavish and the legendary Captain Price. This meant that the Inner Circle only had one nuclear missile remaining.

"Let's pray that you never have to use it," Alex the Red returned. He then turned his attention to Anya. "Makarov, you wound me. Who is this beauty that you have brought with you?"

Makarov nodded towards Anya, asking her to approach them. "This is Anya," he said. "She came highly recommended from the Spetsnaz."

"Pleasure to meet you," Anya greeted Alex the Red with a ready handshake.

Alex the Red returned the handshake. "The pleasure is all mine," he replied with a glint in his eye. "Please, if you need anything, let me know and I'll bill Makarov for it."

Anya chuckled. "I am well provided for," she replied, glancing at Makarov. "Thank you."

"Don't stand on ceremony, Anya," Makarov continued the banter. "Alex can find you anything you want or need, for a price."

When the meeting ended, Makarov and Anya returned to the hotel in the car that he had rented. "You seem to have questions," Makarov said. "You may ask, if you wish."

Anya did not know where to start, or even how to start. "What operation are you planning?" she asked, for a start.

"One that will bring the world to its knees," Makarov answered simply.

"What part will I play in this?"

"That is for you to discover," Makarov replied. "You wanted to chart your own course. I have the means to assist you to do so. I only ask that you trust me, as Dimitri has entrusted you to me."

Anya nodded and kept her silence the whole car ride back to the hotel. She had much to think about. She could still feel Makarov's eyes on her, but it was something that she knew she had to get used to.

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Brussels, Belgium

A week after Anya had left, they received a call on a secure line from the NATO HQ in Brussels. She was already providing them with the first information drop. MacTavish had personally volunteered to accept the information. He needed to see her with his own eyes, because she did not sound very well from the call.

She had requested to meet at the park near the palace at noon. He found her, sitting on a bench. Even in the week she had been away, her countenance had changed. The Anya he knew had a ready smile; her sapphire eyes filled with a glimmer of confidence. The woman that took her place was elegantly dressed but held a furrowed brow. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked like she was on the verge of collapse.

"Anya," he called to her when he saw her. He yearned to hold her in his arms as soon as he could, but she held up a hand and subtly shook her head.

He understood what she meant. She might have been watched by Makarov's other agents for all they knew. That was why she had chosen to meet him in the park at noon, where the hustle and bustle around them would have drowned their conversation out.

"He is planning something big," Anya said when he stood within earshot of her. "I don't know the specifics yet, but he is targeting the entire northern hemisphere. It will take place a year from now. The weapons are being supplied by a man known as Alex the Red."

"Good job, lass," MacTavish praised. "You are doing great." They both knew that the information that she had just given him was not as concrete as they would have liked, but she had only been in the operation for a week. She could not be blamed for the quality of the intel when she herself was trying to navigate her surroundings.

"He also has one more ICBM left, but I don't know where it is yet," Anya added. "Captain… I…"

Anya was shaking, like how she had been when Shepherd first told them of the mission. He took advantage of a passing crowd to embrace her from behind her. "Breathe, Maria," he whispered into her ear. "I need you to breathe." He could feel her pounding heartbeat, her shallow breathing. He had never seen her in such a state. His heart sank.

"He sees right through me," Anya said when the crowd passed. "I don't know what Batkin told him, but it's as if he's been inside my head. He knows everything."

"What do you mean?" MacTavish asked her. What had she done? What did Makarov discover from her?

Anya buried her face in her hands. "He told me that the two of us were more alike than I knew," she explained. "He told me that I fight not only because of the bonds of brotherhood, but because I wanted to prove to myself... that I am capable in my own right. Captain… these are thoughts that I had never realized I had until recently…"

MacTavish heaved a sigh of relief. A gaggle of students on a field trip were now passing them. "Look at me, Maria," he told her, lowering himself so that he could look into her eyes. "I want you to know that by just being here, you have done more than you could ever imagined for us. I will report everything that you've told me today." When the students no longer provided them cover, he took the seat next to her once it had been vacated.

He took her hand in his and saw her close her eyes and breathed a deep breath. "I missed you so much, John," she said. MacTavish squeezed her hand.

"I am always here for you, Maria," he replied. He had regretted that he had not put up more resistance against this operation. He could see that the toll on Anya had been great, and it had only been just a week into the mission. Yet he knew that they could not give up just then. She had only been scratching the surface. Anya was fearless on the battlefield; she just needed some time to adjust to her new surroundings.

Anya nodded. "Thank you, Captain," she said. There was so much more that she wanted to tell him, but she could not. They were pressed for time. "I need to go now."

MacTavish squeezed her shoulder. "Don't let him get into your head," he told her. "You always have a choice, Anya. Do what you think is best and you'll be alright." He trusted her, just as he trusted anyone in the 141 implicitly. It was not Anya's first undercover mission, and he knew that she would make them all proud.

Just as Anya was about to leave, she pressed a ball of paper into his hand. When he was out of the vicinity of the park, he read the contents of the paper.

I suspect that I am being followed by Makarov's men. I will call whenever I can, please do not come to see me in person again. I am well, I just look like shit because I need to test if I am being followed.

Whatever I told you just now is genuine. Makarov is looking to expand his operations.

I miss all of you boys.

MacTavish tore the piece of paper into shreds and looked back towards the direction where Anya had left him. Sure enough, he saw a man with clipped hair covered with tattoos pick her up. At that instant, he knew that Anya had purposely tired herself out to gauge the reaction of Makarov's men around her.

Her hunch had been proven right. She was in grave danger.

Yuri

The Inner Circle

Brussels, Belgium

Yuri had followed Anya to the park near the palace. She looked to be in utter distress the moment she left Makarov's company. No doubt, she had been alarmed by whatever was discussed between Alex the Red and Makarov.

The park had been crowded, but he could see a man approaching her. He was tall, strongly built and had a mohawk. Where had he seen that man before? Why did he look so familiar? The man clearly had some emotional attachment for Anya, because he had held her like a lover, even for the briefest moment. Of course, Anya had every right to a private life out of her work with the Inner Circle. He would just have to make note of the man's presence in the future.

From that small interaction alone, he could see that Anya had two faces. One that she wore before Makarov, and the one he had just seen. The one that she wore before Makarov was one of calm calculation. She knew everything to say, how to act. Makarov told her to observe and learn, and she did so diligently. The face that he just saw was conflicted, pained, drenched in fear.

He chose to follow Anya when she left the park, instead of the man that she saw. If Anya really was a spy, and he was her handler, the man would appear again. However, when he turned around, he no longer saw Anya in his peripheral vision, it was as if she had disappeared.

He found her collapsed on the sidewalk not far from where he lost her. He knew that he needed to move her before a crowd formed around them to reduce any form of suspicion.

"Our girl's collapsed," Yuri told Makarov over the phone. "Shall I bring her back to the hotel or the hospital?"

"Bring her to the hospital," Makarov answered. "I will join you soon."

Yuri brought Anya to the nearest emergency room, where she was treated for exhaustion.

"She did this to herself," Makarov commented after they managed to arrange a private ward for Anya. "She's trying to determine if she is being followed." There was a hint of intrigue in his voice, but also respect.

Yuri's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"If she was brought to the hotel, it would mean that whoever found her knows her location," Makarov deduced. "If she was brought to a hospital, then anyone could have done it." It was an ingenious move, but one that was also foolish, to gamble on her own health.

Yuri still did not understand how Makarov was able to come to this conclusion. "How did you know that she is exhausted herself to the point of collapse?" Yuri asked.

"When I looked into her eyes when she came with Dimitri, she was determined. She looked as though she could stare a lion down," Makarov answered. "When I told her she and I were more similar than she realized, she panicked, but she decided to stand her ground. The change in her mannerism was in seconds. Whoever Anya is, she is not to be taken lightly."

It was then when Yuri realized that Anya was an even more formidable figure than he had anticipated. Makarov did not view her as just a mere pawn from the start. "Where did Batkin find her from?" Yuri asked.

Makarov harrumphed but did not answer. "Go, Yuri," he instructed. "I'll take over from here. Anya can never know that you brought her here."

Yuri nodded and left Anya to Makarov, staying silent as Makarov reached for Anya's hand. He could only hope that Makarov knew what he was doing. He said that he would spring Anya's trap, but he feared that his friend might be caught in a web that he could not even see.

Nevertheless, being dismissed gave him the time to figure out the identity of the man that saw Anya at the park. Yuri could have sworn that he had seen that man somewhere before. It could not have been a recent thing, but the man's silhouette was extremely familiar. It must have been through some sort of video footage that he could not place his finger on. Something that he had seen before, multiple times.