OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY EIGHTEEN – 1920 HOURS
IN TRANSIT – ROVOS RAIL PASSENGER SUITE
Why'd it have to be a suit?
Snake checked himself in the mirror as he combed his hair back, feeling stiff in the starchy black monkey suit that Diane had packed for him. He looked down at the tie in his hands, considered going without. He hadn't attended many formal functions since he was back in school—the whole thing felt uncomfortable and surreal.
He disliked the idea of a tie. What if they were caught by SANDF or if the train were attacked by Outer Heaven troops? If he were forced into hand-to-hand combat, the attacker could grab the fabric and lead him by the neck and without a knife he'd have no way to cut it off.
Snake took a breath. He was being paranoid. They'd passed out of the Northern Cape and into the North West province hours ago, leaving the savanna for the grass plains of the Highveld past Klerksdorp—they were in SANDF-controlled territory, and any Outer Heaven personnel who hadn't been captured or killed by the military were either out of the country or gone to ground by now. It should be perfectly safe. He was probably just looking for an excuse to just not wear the tie because it was just plain uncomfortable.
Snake examined himself in the mirror. His face looked a little fuller, the eyes less shadowed, but he still had that searching, wary look about him. He wasn't sure if that would ever go away—if he'd ever feel safe or normal again.
He thought of Ellen, and how safe she probably felt right now, or how anxious, to be more precise. It would be better to give her at least some sense of ease and normalcy whenever possible. He put on the tie.
He stepped out of the bathroom, only to be struck by the sight of Ellen, whose ensemble left him breathless. Ellen was draped in a slim-fitting navy-blue dress and heels that showed off the curves of her dancer's body, the color of which complimented her eyes, glittering like sapphires in her dark black eyeshadow that starkly contrasted her alabaster skin.
Over her shoulder, her dark hair flowed like water in wavy curls and her ruby lips pursed slightly as she looked up to him, silently asking for his thoughts on the sight in front of him. Diane clearly had an eye for fashion, Snake thought to himself.
"Wow," Snake breathed, not being able to articulate much else.
A light rosy blush illuminated Ellen's cheeks, her lips parting into a brilliant smile.
"Thank you," she said. "You look rather dashing yourself."
Snake coughed to clear his throat and tried to repress the urge to tug on his collar. He felt like a nervous teenage boy going to prom, when he desperately wanted to keep up an air of confidence—telling himself it was for her sake. But maybe the act was for him, too?
"Ahem. Um, shall we go?" he asked, offering his arm.
Ellen smiled politely and took the offered appendage as Snake led the way out of their cabin and down the hall to the dining car, where they were quickly seated by the maître d', who handed them each a menu and helpfully informed them that appetizers would be a choice between sugar snap pea salad or a lemon chicken soup, with the main course consisting of either salmon, steak, or pork sausage, and would either of them like to sample the wine?
Snake was about to order red wine, when Ellen requested in English for the waiter to bring samples of white wine for him. Snake looked at her quizzically as the waiter walked away.
"I was going to ask about the red wine," Snake had said.
"I know," Ellen responded. "But I saw you perk up at the sound of salmon. I assume that's what you plan on ordering later, da?"
Snake nodded but looked no less confused. "Yeah. I'm not sure I understand why that matters, though."
"You pair white wine with white meat like fish and poultry, red wine with red meats like steak and pork."
"Does it really matter that much?"
Ellen looked around at the people sitting at other tables. "Probably not, not in this day and age," she admitted in a low voice. "But you're meant to be a man of wealth who should likely know these things, and it's the sort of discrepancy other wealthy people would notice."
Snake nodded. "I get it," he responded. "Thanks for the save, then."
Ellen bowed her head. "Do you want any other tips of formal dining etiquette? I've spent a lot of time with such socialites. I'm sorry, I would have had us rehearse earlier if I had thought about it."
"I think I'll be okay on the etiquette front," Snake said. "I've attended Officer Training School, and attending formal functions in dress uniform was one of the things I've had to learn. A few of the foster parents I've lived with growing up were military officers too, so it's kind of been ingrained in me, whether I want it or not. I've just never had much cause to drink much before outside of the occasional visit to the bar, and I don't come from a particularly wealthy background, so the wine thing would've never occurred to me."
He chuckled slightly, but he noticed in Ellen's eyes that she was slightly taken aback at the mention of foster parents. She was able to quickly and politely stifle her surprise, and she leaned forward slightly with a smile.
"Just in case, perhaps you could tell me what you already do know? I'll be happy to fill in any blind spots," she said genially.
Snake nodded, and began reciting:
"Back straight, elbows tucked in, folded napkin in the lap, silverware arranged in order of use: starter, main course, and dessert; from the outermost utensil inward. Forks to the left of the plate, spoons and knives on the right. Wait until everyone's been served before starting to eat, eat at the same pace as everyone else, and be sure to taste food before seasoning it. Use the dominant hand when cutting meat with the knife, holding the fork in the opposite hand, then switch hands to eat using the fork."
Snake looked into Ellen's eyes. "Did I miss anything?"
"Place discarded pieces that you either can't or don't want to eat on the top left of the plate, keep the rim of your plate as clean as possible, keep your bread on the plate at all times unless you're lifting it into your mouth, and don't clink your glass for a cheers or toast so as not to damage the glassware," Ellen finished for him.
Snake nodded. "Got it. I should be good."
"Don't worry if you make any mistakes," Ellen smiled sweetly. "It's just the one dinner, after all, and I'm not certain others here are paying that close of attention. It's more just for the sake of being safe."
"That's fair," Snake replied.
The waiter arrived with their wine and appetizers and politely took his leave.
"So, Sn-Thomas, this could be the last chance we have to talk and get to know each other," Ellen said, remembering Snake's alias at the last second while she tried to make conversation.
She was right, Snake realized. He thought of how by this time tomorrow, they'll both be on their respective ways home from the embassy. He thought about it for a moment. Chances were good they'd never see or hear from each other ever again, same as with Diane, Jennifer, and Wikus. Same as Kyle and Gray Fox and the Resistance members too, he bitterly noted.
Did Snake really want to put in the emotional effort of getting close with this woman, knowing that they're just going to get separated again the very next day, possibly for good? Snake's eyes fell slightly as he quietly folded his napkin and placed it in his lap.
He realized he was being rude with his continued silence and remembered his mission to keep Ellen safe and to help her to feel secure. It probably wouldn't hurt to indulge her with some light conversation, he thought to himself, as long as it stayed exactly that—light.
Or at least what would pass for light in Snake's book—really, he just needed her not to ask about Outer Heaven, or the Resistance.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," he replied. "We'll be going home soon, after all. You looking forward to it, getting back to your normal life?"
A broken smile played on Ellen's lips as she blew on her soup spoon and lifted it into her mouth. "I'm looking forward to seeing my father again. As for a normal life, I don't know. After everything that's happened, can we really be sure that 'normal' is still possible?"
"Don't see why not," Snake said unthinkingly. "What about your ballet? You think you might go back to that?"
"Perhaps. I'm unsure. As much as I would love to return to my art, the idea of traveling with an international troupe again feels…daunting, to say the least. I'll always be looking over my shoulder. Maybe I'll tour with a domestic production, stay within the borders of Russia. At least until I feel confident again, if I ever do."
"You'll get there," Snake assured her. "But yeah, it's not a bad idea."
"What about you, Tom? What will you do when you get back home, wherever 'home' is for you?"
Snake took a bite of his salad, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. This was about as close to the subject as he was willing to get, but he still felt frustrated as he realized that he'd been so focused on the mission that it never occurred to him to wonder about what would happen after, not when he could die at any moment.
"I…I don't know," he confessed. "I'll need to warn my contacts in the American military about my CO's deception and betrayal, among other things. I'll have to give a debriefing and fill out paperwork, then it's back to work to finish the rest of my term of service."
Snake frowned as he thought of the rest of his term. How would he be able to finish out the rest of his commission, after the things he'd experienced? The CIA was ready to betray Kyle at a moment's notice. The Army delivered Snake himself into Big Boss's hands, and Big Boss used his connections to betray him, and possibly the whole of FOXHOUND as well assuming they weren't all in on it—put the whole world in danger.
How could Snake continue to serve without knowing who to trust? He remembered what Big Boss had told him in that barbershop two years ago, how every servicemember who signed on became property of the U.S. government until the end of their term.
Is that all he was? Property? A tool? Snake had accepted the notion so casually before. Only now did it dawn on him what exactly that meant.
If there was no one left for Snake to trust, would he continue to be used anyway against his will? Did he even have a choice?
"After that…I don't know," Snake reiterated.
Ellen saw the mixed emotions on Snake's face but wasn't sure what to make of them. It was clear that this line of questioning bothered him deeply, but it was hard to get a read on what exactly he felt. She frowned.
"What about your family?" Ellen ventured, changing the subject. "Will you go to visit them once your mission is complete?"
Snake smirked. "Probably not, to be honest. I never had much in the way of family before entering the service anyway. And the ones that I did have, well…the nature of my job makes it so that officially, I don't exist. Doesn't leave a lot of room for catching up."
Snake picked up his wine glass, examining the contents as he swirled it. "The only ones I'd want to see are soldiers themselves. For all I know, they could still be out on tour. Even if I was put on leave or discharged, there's no guarantee I'd get to see them at the same time."
He took a swig.
"What about your parents? I think you mentioned something about foster parents?" Ellen asked. A second later, she remembered the implications of what she just asked and looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, is that too personal a question?"
Snake waved her off with a smile. "No, no, it's fine. I don't mind talking about it. I've grown up living with a lot of different foster families as a kid. Never the same people for more than two or three years at a time."
"Are you…?" Ellen left the end of the question open, trying to be delicate.
Snake knew what she was getting at. "An orphan," he replied, nodding. "I've never known my birth parents. Don't know what happened to them. They could have been dead, or they could have abandoned me for all I know. Either nobody was keen to tell me or nobody else knew either. Maybe the details were just that bad—I prefer to think that they died, rather than the alternative."
Ellen looked a little sad. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Snake said. "Can't miss what you never knew, right?"
"What about your foster parents? Did you love them?"
"Sort of, yes…and no. It's complicated. A few of them were former or active duty military and were strict disciplinarians. Some of them were kind, others…well, I'll put it like this: I liked some of them more than the rest, and I'll leave it at that. In any case, like I said I never knew any of them for longer than three years, so I didn't have enough to time to get so attached as to think of any of them as parental figures: more like teachers and older roommates I was forced to live with. Not exactly easy to form a strong familial bond with that kind of setup. By the time I was a teenager I gave up on the idea of a permanent family altogether."
"I see," Ellen said, finishing the rest of her soup. "That seems so sad. I couldn't bear to think of what my life would have been like without my mother."
Ellen gasped slightly, putting a hand up to her lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "I keep…what's the American expression… 'putting my leg in my throat?'"
"'Putting your foot in your mouth,'" Snake corrected with a shrug. "It's okay. Like I said, I never knew anything else, so I don't have anything else to compare it to. To me, it was just normal life."
"Is it normal in the United States for orphaned children to move to different foster families?"
"I can only really speak on my experience," Snake answered. "But from the few times I've talked to other foster kids, I've been made to understand that the system rarely works out in our favor. The one time I'd bothered to tell another kid how I'd been bounced around a lot, he didn't look too surprised."
"So there's no one you were close to at all?"
"I wouldn't say that," Snake replied. "When I was in the regular Army, I'd served in a small unit for a short time. The military has a way of instilling a bond of trust that you just don't get in the civilian world. The people I served with in the Army, they were like brothers to me. Hell, even the people in my current outfit—"
Snake cut himself off, remembering Salamander. He got quiet for a moment, then shook his head slightly, as if clearing his mind of cobwebs.
He realized he'd finished his salad. He put the fork down just as the waiter arrived again to collect their empty dishes and deliver their main course. Once the waiter was gone, Snake decided to turn the subject to his date.
"What about you?" Snake asked. "You mentioned your mother. I've only ever heard of your father. Were you and your family close?"
"My mother and I were," Ellen said, lifting her knife and fork to cut her steak into pieces. "I remember when she used to sing me to sleep or when she'd read to me at my bedside before bed. She had a heavenly voice. She was the one who guided me into becoming a dancer."
She took a bite of her steak and sighed softly, her eyelashes wet.
"I miss her," she said quietly.
Snake didn't know what to say or do, so he simply nodded and kept quiet.
After a moment of silence, Ellen explained, "It was a car accident. It happened when I was still young. I was devastated. My father responded by throwing himself into his work with the government. I understand now that providing for me was how he showed his love and that overworking himself was just his way of grieving, but at the time, it damaged our relationship pretty badly. I was hurting and I needed my father, but he just—wasn't there."
Snake placed the salmon into his mouth. As it melted against the roof of his mouth, he noted that he could hardly register the taste. It matched the numbness in his stomach that grew with Ellen's words.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Ellen shook her head, daubing her eyes with her napkin to prevent her mascara from running. "Don't be," she echoed him. "Our relationship actually did improve as I reached adulthood, especially after Ottsa was able to leave his work behind in our country's transition to the new government. For once, we finally got the chance to get to know each other again, have a fresh start."
Ellen's face dropped. Snake could feel her unspoken sentence: at least, we did until Outer Heaven stole it from us.
Feeling compelled, Snake reached across to rest his hand on hers. "You'll see him again," Snake promised, not knowing if he was lying to her or not. "I'm sure of it."
He hoped like hell that he was right about that. Ellen's face seemed to perk up a little, at least. They resumed eating, though it was almost mechanical. Neither one of them were really tasting their food.
Ellen cleared her throat, forcing a smile. "So, Sn—I mean, Tom," she said, raising her wine glass. "Is there a woman in your life?"
Snake chuckled. The question felt ridiculous, though it was hard to pin down why he thought so. He shook his head slightly.
"Not really," he said. "Not a lot of room for that in my world."
"Really?" Ellen asked, eyebrow raised. "Never?"
"I'm not…inexperienced," Snake said, trying his best to be delicate. "But it's difficult to get close to people when you've lived the kind of life that I have. I don't even know if it's because of lack of opportunity or a lack of interest, to be honest. It's just always been that way."
"This surprises me."
"Why?"
Ellen smirked. "You seemed to be rather comfortable around Jennifer, and I could have sworn I saw you and Diane together in bed one morning the other day. With that and the confidence you showed in taking me to dinner, I would have thought you to be quite the ladies' man."
Snake laughed a little. "Nothing happened between me and Diane. At least, not in the way you're thinking," he said.
"I know," Ellen grinned. "I'm pretty sure Steve would have killed you if it had."
"Ha! You're probably right about that."
"What about Jennifer, though?"
Snake shook his head. "Nah, she's more like a combat buddy. I don't really think of her that way."
"You don't mix business and pleasure?"
Snake tilted his head with amusement. "I mean, I wouldn't have kicked her out of bed, but a relationship? I guess I just never really thought about it."
Ellen smiled into her wine glass. "I see," she intoned with a sly, enigmatic smile.
"This is starting to feel like an interrogation," Snake joked.
Ellen held her palm up, feigning innocence. "No, no, not at all. I was just curious."
"Well, what about you, then?" Snake asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I imagine a famous dancer like you would have a lot of suitors waiting for her back home."
"Why Tom, you flatterer," Ellen grinned wickedly. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were jealous."
"Perish the thought!" Snake waved it off sarcastically.
"Why the sudden interest? Are you looking to, as they say, 'sweep me off my feet?'" she leaned forward slightly, a playful light in her eyes.
"Depends. Is it working?"
"Hmm…." She examined her fingernails mock-dismissively. "Your approach was decent, but your flirtatious technique could use some work. And here I thought you were a worldly provocateur."
"Ha ha, ouch," Snake chuckled.
"You score decently for effort, though," she laughed and then leaned forward into her folded hands. "And if nothing else, at least you're easy on the eyes."
In spite of himself, a pink tinge glowed on Snake's cheeks. Ellen stifled a giggle, her own cheeks equally rosy.
"Excuse me," she apologized. "It seems I may have had a little too much."
"Don't apologize," Snake said suddenly. "I like it when you laugh."
Ellen's eyebrow raised. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Snake replied sincerely, blurting out, "Fun is a good look on you."
Snake cringed. "Fun is a good look on you?" What the hell was that? He chided himself.
Complimentary to his own embarassment, Ellen's blush deepened as she looked slightly taken aback at his unguarded honesty. "Thank you," she answered shyly.
"Uh…no problem," Snake said, rubbing the back of his head.
Not really knowing how to continue the conversation, they both finished their meal in embarassed silence.
After paying the waiter, Snake and Ellen walked back to their carriage and closed the door behind them. Snake entered the bathroom to give Ellen some privacy as he shed his suit and donned his pajama bottoms and white undershirt. Once Ellen gave him the all clear, he stepped out to find her dressed in a night gown and brushing her hair.
Snake suggested that they turn in for an early night, and they both laid down onto the pullout bed and said goodnight. Ellen lay facing away from him.
In spite of his suggestion, Snake found that he couldn't sleep. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the train rolling on the tracks beneath them as they moved through the rolling grasslands. He considered opening the curtains to watch the stars, but glanced at Ellen's motionless form and thought better of it, choosing to remain alone with his thoughts.
The problem was that being alone with his thoughts was the last place Snake wanted to be. His eyes dull and lifeless, all sensation in his body melted away as his mind once again wandered into the cold darkness in which the Demon resided. To his mind, he could almost make out the creature's empty cold stare peering from the empty and formless ceiling.
He thought of his reflection in the mirror after killing Salamander, and every time since then. No matter how hard he tried, Snake couldn't get that image of the grinning crazed Demon out of his head. He felt his body raise his hands so that he could look at them, but it wasn't his body, they weren't his hands.
The bandages that wrapped these palms, these fingers, these arms…they covered the marks of his monstrous nature, hid the blood that stained them. But as far as Snake was concerned, nothing could hide what he truly was.
Not anymore.
He looked down at Ellen again. Could she see it, he wondered? Did she know what he was? Did she lay awake in quiet horror knowing that just inches away a monster looked upon her with dark and empty eyes? Or did she simply sleep soundly in ignorance?
Snake lowered his hands and sighed. He knew he needed to sleep, to conserve his strength. But he was afraid to dream—afraid of the terrors that the night held.
He felt a shift next to him. He looked at Ellen once more. "Ellen?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"
A moment of silence. For a second, he believed that she had simply shifted around in her sleep.
"…Yes."
Her voice was small and hushed, barely above a whisper.
"Couldn't sleep?" Snake asked.
Ellen didn't say anything, only nodded. Snake turned his gaze back up to the ceiling of the cabin.
"Me neither," he said.
"…Snake?"
"Hm?"
Ellen turned around and propped herself up on her elbow, and he saw her eyes; big and round and wet. They shone in the moonlight that filtered between the curtains. She was beautiful, he thought to himself. He found himself feeling guilty at the notion, but he wasn't sure why.
"Can I ask you something?"
Snake nodded, and she pursed her lips slightly before asking, "…What is it that you see, when you fall asleep? When you dream?"
"That's what you wanted to ask?" Snake raised an eyebrow.
Ellen shook her head. "No…but tell me anyway."
Snake's eyes dullened again as he continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling not for the first or probably even the last time, that he was adrift over a vast ocean. Snake whispered, "I see things no good person should ever have to be burdened with. Blood. Death. Sickness. Cruelty. And, even worse things…"
He trailed off. Ellen waited to see whether he would finish his sentence, but when no response was forthcoming, she continued to her next question:
"Why do you do this? Subject yourself to such things? Why are you helping me? When I was in the prison under Outer Heaven, I had heard some of the soldiers talk of warrior's pride, warrior's blood. That war and death was a part of who they are. But…that can't be true, can it? Surely it is them who are different, no one enjoys such a life…right?"
Snake lifted his bandaged hand, stretching out his fingers as he contemplated his palm. "You're asking me why I fight. Right?"
Ellen said nothing.
Snake sighed. "I wish I had a better answer for you. When I started this, it was out of gratitude and a sense of duty. My country and my superiors gave me a family, a purpose, and a reason to live."
Snake let his arm drop to his side. His eyes remained unfocused. "But now…now, I feel like I keep going just because I have nothing left but the fight itself. Even after my term of service is up, I don't really know what else I would do with myself. Fighting and war are all I really know. So, maybe those mercs were right, and all I'm meant for is to be a weapon of war. So, I guess, in a sense, nothing's really changed for me. Except for one thing."
"And that is…?" Ellen drew herself closer to him.
Snake shook his head slightly, then turned his eyes to her. They widened in recognition, as if seeing her for the first time. In his mind, the words turned, ominous and desperate:
I don't want to be like him. I don't just want to be what he made me.
He didn't dare say it aloud. Both because he wasn't quite sure what he meant by the sentiment, but also because part of him was terrified that by speaking those words it would make them more real somehow.
Ellen read something in his expression, and reached out to grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. "You have done so much for me and my father," she said. "You don't have to fight alone. I may not be a warrior like you, but I'm still here, for as long as you'll let me be."
Snake brushed a lock of hair from Ellen's face. "You asked me why I'm helping you," he said.
"I did."
"That question is the easiest to answer. I'm helping you because I want to. It's the only reason I need."
Ellen reached forward to tenderly grasp at Snake's face and leaned in to put her lips on his. Their faces touched for scant seconds before Snake pulled back, shaking his head sadly. Ellen looked hurt, but Snake put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry. It's not you, I promise," he assured her. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then, why…?" she asked quietly.
"I just…I can't," he said simply.
Ellen nodded, still looking disappointed. "I understand. Can I ask you for one favor, though? If you're comfortable with it, of course."
"Of course."
"Will you hold me until I fall asleep? Just for tonight?"
Snake reached out to accept her as she wrapped her arms around him, putting her head on his chest. Her shoulders shook lightly.
"Are you cold?"
"No," she whispered. "Scared."
Snake pulled her in closer. "Me too," he admitted.
Over time, her breathing slowed to match the pace of his heartbeat, becoming shallower as she drifted off. Snake took longer to drift away, eyes dullened once more as they pointed towards the ceiling. He had one last thought as he dissociated entirely before eventually succumbing to sleep due to exhaustion:
She's warm…
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY NINETEEN – 1000 HOURS
ROVOS RAIL CAPITAL PARK STATION, PRETORIA
Snake and Ellen had gotten up at a little before seven, quickly got dressed in more casual clothes (Snake in a polo and khakis and Ellen in a lime green sundress), and had just enough time for breakfast before the train rolled into the station at ten. Snake left a red envelope with ZAR300 with the Train Manager for the staff tips before they hurriedly disembarked from the main carraige onto the station platform.
The police were out in force, directing the arrivals to a security station to be processed before they could enter the city. Snake and Ellen quickly got their travel documents ready as they stood in line to approach the guards' table.
"There's so many of them," Ellen said.
"Yeah, looks like they're out in force—some kind of crackdown. Probably to keep the peace on the streets and keep the fighting far away from the Capitol," Snake observed.
"I hope our documents will be enough," Ellen whispered.
Snake silently agreed with her. His documents identified him as a white South African with dual citizenship to the U.S. The dual citizenship was to make it easier to get inside the embassy, but he was hoping that the locals would only care about him being South African. If they were looking for an American…
He looked to Ellen. Her traveling with him might be a boon if they were looking for a lone American agent, he realized. Diane did say that they were specifically looking for an American male, after all. He gulped. Hopefully it would be enough. In the meantime, he needed to project an air of confidence, for Ellen's sake.
"Just let me do the talking," Snake said, taking her hand. "And stay close."
Before long, it was their turn to present themselves. Snake and Ellen both handed their IDs over and the guard looked them over.
"What's your business in Pretoria?" he asked in Afrikaans.
Snake replied, trying to mimic the air of a pompous businessman. "Oh, you know how it goes. Visiting family, and all that."
The guard gave a cursory nod, showed the IDs to another soldier looking over his shoulder. After exchanging a few muttered words, the other soldier took the IDs back into a tent, leaving them to wait awkwardly for a few minutes. When he returned, he handed them back their documents and waved them forward.
Snake and Ellen gratefully made their exit, leaving the station platform to go to the nearest street crossing.
It all felt too easy, Snake thought to himself.
As Ellen and Snake made their way southward, the officer who had let them through kept examining the potocopies of the IDs he was shown. Everything was above board, and yet, there was something familiar about the girl that the man just couldn't place. So, he contacted his superiors asking for information about a woman fitting her description.
What came back via fax was an A.P.B. from INTERPOL for a kidnapped woman by the name of Ellen Madnar, with a picture that matched her down to the last detail.
On the corner of Steve Biko Road and Malherbe, Snake and Ellen stepped into a boutique shop, where Snake spent most of what was left of his ZAR on a baseball cap and a large sunhat for him and Ellen. As Snake paid the cashier, Ellen looked out the window, to see men in camouflaged uniform driving past in a utility vehicle, and some officers stopping random passersby to show them photographs.
When Snake finished paying, Ellen tugged on his arm to lead him away from the window towards a side door on the north side.
"What is it?" he asked as they stepped out.
Ellen heard a motor, and leaned in to kiss him, covering both their heads with the wide brim of her sunhat until the motor passed. She pulled away from him and looked at the end of the alleyway, nodding.
"They're looking for us," she said. "I saw them earlier."
"I see. And the kiss?"
Ellen blushed slightly in embarassment but looked no less serious. "Most people are uncomfortable with public displays of affection, and tend to turn away. I thought maybe it would discourage any onlookers from outside the alley from getting too curious."
Snake nodded. It made sense. "Good thinking," he praised.
He looked past Ellen, ignoring her deeper blush. He pointed to the eastern end of the alley. "Let's make a slight detour eastward then, cut through the rear business parking and cross the road into the neighborhoods on the other side. Maybe the residential area will be less patrolled."
Ellen nodded, putting hand on her head to keep her hat steady as she followed the American spy past the parked semis, through the trees and, after waiting to make sure there was no traffic, jogged to jaywalk across Johan Heynes Drive towards Tenth avenue, diverting southward along Union Street.
They made it through two more blocks without incident before dodging into a wig shop to avoid another patrol. Snake waited until the staff wasn't looking and stole a blonde and a red wig off the display counter and led Ellen off onto a side path for them to put them on. He also grabbed a jacket out of the suitcase and draped it around her shoulders, while holding a blazer by the collar over his own shoulder.
"Let's ditch the suitcases," Snake instructed. "They're dead weight at this point, and we only have a little more to go. We should keep the fake IDs though—we'll need them to get into the embassy."
Ellen agreed, and they dumped the suitcases by the exterior wall of the wig shop out of view of the street. Snake held out his free arm for Ellen to hold and together they walked leisurely down Soutpansberg past the National Archives of South Africa and the Compensation House.
"We're getting closer to the Union Buildings," Snake noted. "We'll need to be extra careful here not to draw attention."
"Right," Ellen replied. She pointed over to the parking lot next to the building for the Department of Agriculture and Forestry. "Look, there's a bus stop," she exclaimed. "That should save us some time, right?"
Snake nodded. "Good eye," he said. "The faster we get away from here, the better."
They ran up to the bus stop and waited. When a bus finally arrived, Snake handed a small amount of cash to the driver for the fare and led them both to an empty pair of seats. The bus wasn't too crowded, which Snake thought was odd, given that it was half past eleven. He wondered if the lack of car and foot traffic was because of the increased troop presence on the streets. But what about people needing to go to work?
Even with their disguises, the whole thing felt eerie to him. Every move they'd made since arriving in Pretoria that morning felt too easy. He wondered if he wasn't just being paranoid—it was possible he was just too high strung from everything that had happened since he infiltrated Outer Heaven.
Then again, he thought grimly, is it really paranoia if they really are out to get you?
The bus was sweltering. They sat in uncomfortable silence as their sweat began to build up, neither one of them wanting to shed any layers and risk tampering with their disguise.
They had to stop at Stanza Bopape and board another bus with the last of their money, this one going eastward. Out the window, they could see through a clearing that bisected the trees, revealing the Union Buildings in the distance across Arcadia.
Military vehicles drove across the concourse, and through the other side of the bus, they could see a convoy of personnel vehicles moving past the bus up the street. The bus gave them a respectful distance as they passed, and reflexively, Snake pulled his cap down while Ellen hugged her sunhat to her chest, hiding the lower part of her face with its brim.
After a few minutes, they got off at the Libyan embassy, and Snake and Ellen quickly made their way across the street toward the trees. Snake pulled out his map, and pointed down the road they were facing.
"We're almost there," he said. "Pretorius Street is just down this road, our destination is right across."
"Oh, thank goodness," Ellen sighed in relief.
"Come on," Snake offered his hand once more and led her down the road.
As they approached Mamelodi Private Hospital on the other end of Orient Street, a few men stepped out from behind the trees to cut them off. Snake looked behind him, and saw a military utility vehicle turning off of Stanza Bopape at the other end to pull towards him. Snake pulled Ellen close and continued walking to move past the three men who were moving to block their path.
"Wait, stranger."
One of the men raised his hand to signal for Snake to halt. The vehicle behind them killed their engine and four men in fatigues disembarked.
"What do you want?" Snake demanded.
"Civilian movement around government buildings is restricted unless on official business," said the man who stopped him. "What is your reason for coming this way?"
Snake leaned his head to whisper in Ellen's ear. "Remember the plan: if we get separated, make a break for the embassy and don't look back. It's straight ahead—be ready."
"O-okay," she said.
Snake pulled out his fake I.D. paper, putting his hands up. "My wife and I—we have business at the American Embassy," he said to the soldier.
The soldier stepped forward while the other men quietly surrounded them. The soldier took the I.D. from Snake and looked it over. "Thomas Steyn," he read. "You're an American citizen?"
"Yes, sir," Snake replied. "And a proud citizen of South Africa, as well."
The soldier looked at him skeptically, then at Ellen. He looked over her shoulder as an officer with a beret approached from behind them. Snake and Ellen both turned to regard him, and they recognized him as the officer from the train station. He must have been having them followed this whole time, Snake realized.
To Snake's surprise, the officer in the beret turned not to him, but to Ellen. He looked her over, then up to the top of her head. "How are you liking our fine city, Miss Madnar? I see you both visited the wig shop on the way here."
Ellen's eyes widened. "How—"
The man produced a sheet of paper, which Snake recognized as a printout of an all points bulletin. "We've been looking for you, Miss Madnar," the man stated with a calm smile. "We're relieved to find you safe and sound. If you'll come with us, we can provide you with safe accommodation while we arrange transportation for you out of the city."
"She's not going anywhere with you," Snake growled.
He turned towards Snake, his smile lowered into a stern frown. "As for you, American…I'm assuming you must work for Outer Heaven, being a foreigner. Bad luck for you."
He stepped back towards the car he came in on. "Standing orders are to take any male Americans found within the city boundaries for questioning," he said. He turned his head to regard his subordinates. "Arrest him."
Two guards approached with weapons drawn, while a third moved toward Ellen and placed his hands on her shoulders to guide her northward toward the car. Snake lowered his center of gravity and drove his elbow backward into one guard's groin and grabbed his rifle to flip him over onto his back while disarming him.
Snake then approached the second guard and swept one of his legs out from under him with a kick, knocking the guard on his ass and giving Snake enough time to kick his weapon away. Ellen, meanwhile, turned around towards the third guard and kicked him in the groin and punched him in the temple, sending him reeling backwards while Snake quickly pushed him down and leveled a rifle in the man's face.
"RUN!" Snake yelled.
Not needing to be told twice, Ellen sprinted into the trees, moving south while Snake placed himself over one of the guard's bodies and pointed his rifle at the remaining guard and the officer standing around the vehicle, who were also pointing their weapons at him.
Ellen pumped her arms as she ran, breathing heavily. Her wig and sunhat falling off her head behind her. She cross the street at a run, crossing two lanes and narrowly avoiding getting run over at the third as a car was forced to stop for her. She ignored the driver's indignant cries as she ran across the small parking lot to the security gate, where concerned American M.P.s were already coming to greet her.
She fumbled, handing them her I.D., muttering how she was in serious need of sanctuary, and after quickly assessing that she had no weapons on her person, the personnel quickly led her through the gate.
Not far behind, Snake crossed Pretorius street, using the civilian vehicles as cover to prevent the SANDF force from firing on him. When he got to the gate, several M.P.s drew their weapons on him, screaming for him to lay down his arms.
Snake dropped the rifle, lifting his hands up just in time for the SANDF troops to cross over into the parking lot. Snake screamed, "I am an American citizen, and I am requesting to be remitted into the protective custody of the United States of America!"
The M.P.s approached, but the SANDF officer stood his ground. "This man is wanted for questioning in relation to criminal activities perpetrated by the foreign private military corporation known as Outer Heaven," he said. "He has attacked multiple members of the South African National Defence Force. He is to be detained and placed in our custody for immediate questioning and trial. Interfere, and you will risk a diplomatic incident."
The M.P.s looked from Snake to the SANDF officer, not knowing what to do. One of the higher ranking ones turned to address his subordinate. "Call it in," he ordered.
Another M.P. approached Snake holding a pair of handcuffs. "Sir, I'm going to need you to put these on," he said.
"Are you permitting me entrance to the embassy?" Snake asked.
"Hell no," he said. "We don't need the headache. You can go with them. You made your bed, go ahead and lie in it."
Snake growled. If he couldn't get them to let him in peacefully as a refugee, then he'd just have to get creative.
As the M.P. approached, Snake grabbed his wig and threw it into the man's face, turned him around and grabbed him around the neck and pulled his sidearm from its holster. Immediately every gun in the area was pointing at him, none firing for fear of hitting the young soldier in his arms.
"Back up," Snake commanded as he gently pushed his captive forward. The other M.P.s kept their guns trained on him, but otherwise kept their distance as Snake approached the gates and the keypad next to them. When he got to the gate, he made sure to turn around so his captive was between him and everyone else.
"Open it," Snake ordered, and the guard in his grasp fumbled in his pocket for a keycard that he slid through the slot next to the keypad, and then punched in the code. The gate opened behind them, and Snake looked behind him to see Ellen's scared eyes as another soldier had her in a protective hold to keep her restrained so that she wouldn't bolt out the door.
Once safely past the gate, Snake pushed his captive forward away from him to fall on his face. He then tossed aside the pistol and got down on his knees, with his hands on his head.
"I surrender myself into the custody of the United States military," he said simply.
The M.P.s rushed him, handcuffing him and roughly dragging him to his feet as they led him into the building, separating him from Ellen as they took him past many scared onlookers to a secure holding cell—just like he wanted.
Ellen looked to where Snake had disappeared down the halls before she reluctantly followed the guiding gentle hand of a security officer as she was led to the main desk. "Snake…," she muttered to herself.
When she got to the desk, she approached a woman who was waiting to meet her, who looked frazzled after all of the commotion. The woman apologized—for what, Ellen wasn't sure. Then she asked for her name.
"My name is Ellen Madnar," she said. "I understand that you have been looking for me."
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY NINETEEN – 1350 HOURS
EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IN SOUTH AFRICA – HOLDING CELL
Snake wasn't sure how long he had been waiting when someone finally came to check up on him. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours. With nothing else to do but to sit chained to the table and stare at the wall, he wasn't really left with much in the way of options. He was silently elated when two men stepped into the room, one an M.P. the other a man in a suit—finally, there was something to sate the boredom.
The man in the suit sat down across from Snake, opened up a folder and pulled out an ink pen. The M.P. posted at the door. The suited man quietly took notes while Snake leaned back in his chair, not really paying attention.
Ellen was safe. He was…well, safer. The mission was almost complete. He just needed to report in. The only question was, who should he report to? Big Boss is dead, and given what happened, Snake wasn't sure he could trust anyone at FOXHOUND. That left the C.I.A. and the Lieutenant Colonel he'd met at the briefing. Roy Campbell, he was pretty sure the name was.
Between the Army—the same Army that was in charge of FOXHOUND—and the C.I.A., Snake wasn't sure which was a worse bet. But all the same, he needed to see things through—wherever they led.
But before he could do any of that, he needed to figure out how he was going to deal with his current predicament. The man in front of him was a suit. Was he military? A diplomat? A C.I.A. Case Officer? Some combination of the above?
Snake rolled his eyes slightly, peeking at the man's badge: "Foreign Service Officer Derek Carlton."
Foreign Service Officer…a diplomat, then. Carlton…why did that name sound familiar?
Finally, after a few more seconds of writing, the diplomat put the pen down and folded his hands in front of his face, eyeing Snake intently.
"I take it you're him, then?" Carlton asked.
Snake raised his eyebrows, lazily cocking his head. "Beg your pardon?"
Carlton scoffed, pointing at Snake with an accusatory finger. "You're in a lot of trouble, you know that?"
Snake lifted his hands, looking toward the handcuffs that were chained to the table. "I would have never guessed," he uttered dryly.
"I've got phone calls from the presidential offices in Arcadia demanding I turn you over to them. There's people in SANDF who are yelling for your head. Meanwhile, you attack American personnel while demanding we house you. If I don't have an answer for these guys, we're in for a political shitstorm. So, let's cut the bullshit."
"Gladly," Snake said.
"Good. Then maybe you can give me a reason why I shouldn't turn you over to them right now."
It hit Snake like a flash.
Carlton. Of course.
Snake looked over to the M.P., then back to Carlton. He pointed at the guard. "What's his security clearance?"
Carlton was nonplussed. "What?" he asked bemusedly.
"His security clearance. What is it?"
"I don't see how that's relevant."
Snake rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't." He reached out a hand and waved it toward him. "Paper, pen," he demanded.
Carlton gave Snake a wary side-eye, then looked back to the guard. "Keep an eye on him. If he makes any sudden moves, don't hesitate."
The M.P. nodded, and Carlton picked up his pen and grabbed a sticky note, putting it in front of Snake. Snake jotted a quick note, then flashed it to Carlton:
'I KNOW THAT YOU'RE CIA. DOES HE?'
Recognition showed in Carlton's eyes. He took the pen back from Snake and sat down on the other side of the table. He looked to the M.P.
"I need you to wait outside," he said. "If anything happens, you'll know."
The soldier didn't argue, but stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Carlton leaned forward.
"Explain," he demanded.
Snake leaned back again. "I have information to trade. Information you're going to want to know."
"And what do you want in return?"
"A favor. Two, actually."
"Two favors? That's a very expensive trade. Either your intel is very good, or you're messing with me. Messing with me is a very unhealthy proposition, you know."
"I'm well aware. The first favor I want is something you'd probably want to do anyway, I just want your word that you'll follow through. It's related to the information I have for you."
"Uh-huh. And the second?"
"A simple phone call. There's a Lieutenant Colonel in Washington that I need to contact. You can feel free to listen in or trace the call, whatever makes you comfortable. But I need that phone call to happen, regardless."
Carlton chuckled slightly, a little incredulous. "That's it?"
"That's it. Are the terms acceptable to you?"
"Only if the intel's good."
Snake shrugged. "I guess it'll have to do. Alright."
"So, out with it."
Snake sighed. "Your agent, Vukani."
Carlton frowned. "Vukani? What about him?"
"He hasn't reported in to you in a while, right?"
"Not since three weeks ago," Carlton replied.
"That long? Shit…" Snake breathed.
That meant that Salamander killed Vukani before he could get in touch with Carlton. Did Vukani even manage to get to the phone? Did he get the chance to talk to his son, before Sal butchered him? Snake sighed heavily, pinching his nose.
"Do you know something?" Carlton asked.
"He's dead," Snake said dully. "He died eleven days ago, in Williston."
Carlton slumped in shock, exhaling slowly. "He was a good man," he said. "How did he die?"
"He was betrayed by someone he trusted."
"Who?"
Snake shook his head. "It doesn't matter. His killer suffered the same fate. I made sure of it."
Carlton nodded. "You said the first favor was related to this."
"It is. I'm sure you know that Vukani had a son out in Brandvlei. I want you to see to it the kid is well taken care of."
Carlton's steely gaze softened at this request. He nodded silently. "You were right, that is something I would've done anyway."
Carlton took a moment to collect himself, then asked, "So, that's your intel? The death of a foreign asset?"
"Not entirely. The operation I'm a part of is compartmentalized," Snake said. "I have to be careful with how much I tell you, because I don't know how much you know. That's why I need the phone call, so I can call it in to the people I know for sure are in the loop."
"So, what else can you tell me?"
"I can tell you that my code name is Solid Snake," Snake replied. "And the person I need to contact is Lt. Col. Roy Campbell. He's stationed at the Department of Defense. I can either make the call myself with you having the option of monitoring it, or you can call on my behalf. I just need to relay a few simple words."
"I'm listening."
APRIL 1, 1995
THE PENTAGON – 0800 HOURS, EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
THE OFFICE OF LT. COL. ROY CAMPBELL
Things had been a mess over the past two weeks. Ever since the bombings, they'd had no contact with Big Boss's Mission Control team, and by extension, Snake. The CIA had reported that one of their mission critical contacts had gone missing a week prior, and there was no word about whether FOXHOUND had gotten their captured agent back or if Dr. Madnar's daughter was still alive. Dr. Madnar himself had only just entered the country via U.S. craft yesterday, a full week and a half behind schedule, and no one had any information as to the reason behind his late arrival.
Meanwhile, chemical and nuclear runoff had polluted the Vis river, creating a huge ecological disaster that poisoned the plants and wildlife from Outer Heaven all the way to the sea. Whole towns, cities, and rural communities were without drinking water, prompting a mass migration, and Mandela's SANDF were still refusing to let U.N. forces enter the country to help with the cleanup and the processing of refugees. First it was insistence that they wanted to be sure that the Rebel forces had been quelled to ensure no danger to the peacekeepers, then it was the result of some kind of diplomatic incident involving an American prisoner.
Lt. Col. Campbell had been running himself ragged, answering and receiving calls, attending meetings with members of both FOXHOUND and the CIA while also spending every waking free moment with his eyes glued to the TV flicking through every news station on the mere chance that he could get just a scrap of information.
This new story he'd been hearing through the grapevine about SANDF being on the hunt for an American made him nervous. Did South Africa know about Snake, or were they just grasping at straws? Is the reason they hadn't been hearing from the Mission Control team because the whole operation had been compromised?
Campbell was beginning to worry about an intelligence leak somewhere, and from what he'd been seeing from his counterparts at the Agency, he wasn't the only one concerned.
Campbell rubbed his bleary eyes as he checked his watch. He'd been awake for something like ten hours, only having gotten a small amount of sleep last night for two hours before having to come back to the office again past midnight. The long hours were starting to wear on him.
He got up and walked out of his office to head down the hall to the break room. Government sludge or not, he was in serious need of some coffee. As he poured himself a cup, his thoughts drifted to his little brother. Would Mattie have done any better in his shoes if he were still alive? He thought of the girl that Matt left behind. Eight years old and still has that same fire in her eyes as her old man.
Campbell took a drink. He needed this whole thing to go okay. Needed to leave a better world behind than the one he inherited, for his niece's sake. He thought of her mother—how if things had gone just a little differently, that kid might've grown up with a different father…
The Lt. Colonel shook his head. No use fixating on the past, not when his mind needed to be focused on the here and now. He looked up as a young man entered the room, looking haggard as he approached with a salute. He reminded him of Matt. Campbell cringed internally at the thought.
Campbell returned the salute. "At ease, son," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"A phone call for you, sir," the soldier replied. "From the embassy in South Africa. They said that they had a message for you."
"What's the message?"
"They wouldn't say, just that you had to hear it from them directly. From what they said though, it sounded urgent."
A sinking feeling welled up in the pit of Campbell's stomach. Is this the news he'd been dreading for two weeks now? He nodded to the soldier. "I'm heading to my office now. Have them put it through."
With a new energy to his step, Campbell quickly marched back to his office to his desk, seeing that his phone was shining a light showing that the other party was on hold. He picked up the receiver.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Roy Campbell. May I ask who's speaking?"
"This is Case Officer Derek Carlton of the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm operating as a Foreign Service Officer here at the embassy. I have a man here in my custody going by the name of Solid Snake. He's instructed me to give you a message, repeated verbatim: 'The mission is complete, and I am in need of a pick-up.' He said you would know what that means."
Indeed, Campbell did.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY NINETEEN – 1800 HOURS
O.R. TAMBO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA
Ellen fidgeted as the sedan pulled up on the tarmac to roll to a stop be atride the parked 747. The door on the side was open, with a small metal staircase leading to the ground. She watched through the tinted glass of the passenger door as three figures descended the steps to the ground: two men in suits with wires coiled near their necks attached to ear pieces.
The third man was a thin man wearing what looked like some kind of prisoner's garb, though he looked anything but captured and hopeless as he strode confidently across towards their vehicle. He was of similar build as the man who shared the backseat of the sedan with her.
She looked at her companion. His eyes had lost the armored steel they held when they had traveled from the train station together to the embassy earlier that day. Now, they looked almost dull and lifeless, the skin of his haggard body stretched thin across his face and hands. It was as though an invisible weight had been lifted off of Atlas, and once freed of the world's burden, the man was left to succumb to exhaustion.
Their driver opened her car door while the other M.P. in the front passenger seat opened Snake's allowing them both to tiredly exit the vehicle and approach the three men who had disembarked the plane. One of the suits approached Snake and shook his hand.
"Snake. It's nice to finally meet you," he said. He gestured to himself and the man in the other suit who looked younger and had much darker skin. "I'm Agent Johnson, this is Special Agent Johnson; no relation. We're with the Secret Service. We're here by order of the Presidential Office to ensure yours and Miss Madnar's safe return."
The third man, the prisoner, shook Snake's hand as well. "2nd Lieutenant William Afton, sir. Army Intelligence."
"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," Snake reponded with a tired sigh. He looked over the prisoner's jumpsuit the man wore. "What's with the getup?"
"Intel we're risking a diplomatic incident if we don't turn over an American prisoner to the South Africans for questioning. We can't leave a FOXHOUNDer in foreign hands, not even if their government is friendly to us. So, I've been instructed to take your place as a sort of patsy. They won't know the difference."
"And you're okay with this?" Snake asked, with his eyebrow raised.
Lt. Afton shrugged. "They'll house and question me for a while, and when they realize I don't have any useful info to give them, they'll be forced to release me back to the U.S. or risk their NATO aid."
Afton chuckled as he continued, "With all the paperwork I've been having to do for this op, as far as I'm concerned, I'm getting a vacation."
"Heh," Snake laughed slightly, nodding. "Well, I appreciate the work you're doing all the same."
Ellen looked to the Secret Service members to ask the question that had been burning in her mind. "What about my father? Do you have any news?"
Agent Johnson nodded, placing a sympathetic hand on Ellen's shoulder. "Dr. Madnar is safely in America's hands. He's waiting for you in Washington. We've been instructed to bring you to him, after which you'll both be brought in to answer some questions. Once everything is said and done, we'll take you both wherever you want to go, whether that's back to Russia or somewhere else."
Ellen's breath stopped as she took in the news. Her heart fluttered, her eyes widened and teared up.
Her father was alive. She'll get to see him. She'll get to go home. The nightmare was finally over.
"What's the itinerary?" Snake asked the agent.
"You'll both be flying to London tonight, after which you'll immediately switch over to a Royal Airways flight to the international airport in D.C. We've got your British airline tickets right here." He handed the papers to Snake, who nodded in thanks.
Agent Johnson gestured to the plane. "Go on now, your plane is waiting for you. Time to head on home."
Ellen looked up to Snake, who regarded her with an exhausted smile. She shared in his fatigue, but she didn't see the same elation and relief in his eyes that she felt. She realized that it still wasn't quite over for him yet.
"Well, Ellen? Shall we go?"
Ellen firmly took Snake's hand in her own, entwining her fingers with his, and nodded. She knew that when they reached America and she was reunited with her father, that they may never see each other again. Until that happened, she decided, she was going to stay close and be there for him in whatever capacity he needed.
"Let's," she answered.
Between leaving South Africa to London Heathrow Airport and switching over to fly to Baltimore/Washington, the trip all told took approximately 22 hours. The whole time, Ellen refused to leave Snake's side, her head lying on his shoulder as they slept for the majority of the travel time under the watchful eye of the Agents Johnson. Her hand gripped his tightly, fingers clasped.
She refused to let go of Snake until they finally arrived in America, where Dr. Madnar was waiting for them alongside Lt. Col. Roy Campbell and a younger 1st Lieutenant. Ellen practically leapt forward as she sprinted into her father's arms, knocking the wind out of him.
They simply stood there embracing each other, the world melting away around them. After a long few minutes of silence, the 1st Lieutenant politely informed them that he and Agent Johnson was to lead them back to base to rest and recoup, but that Snake would be traveling back with Lt. Col. Campbell and Special Agent Johnson.
The Madnars looked to each other before looking to Snake. "I suppose this is goodbye, then?" Ellen asked.
"I guess so," Snake replied.
Dr. Madnar took Snake's hand in both of his and shook thoroughly, tears in his moustache. "Thank you, Snake," he told him. "Thank you for bringing my daughter back to me. For getting us out."
Snake patted his shoulder, and Ellen pulled Snake aside to kiss him on the cheek, tears running freely down her cheeks.
"Thank you, Snake. Please, take care of yourself. For me."
Snake nodded, and the two groups separated. Ellen watched as Snake was led into the back of a black limousine escorted by two police cars. Her right hand curled into a fist as she silently prayed for Snake's safety.
OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY TWENTY – 0915 HOURS, LOCAL TIME
THE RIDE BACK TO THE PENTAGON
Snake watched out the window as Ellen and Drago were led back into the black sedan. Once they and the airport had both disappeared over the horizon, Snake let out a long sigh and leaned back in the car seat, rubbing his neck. He looked to Lt. Col. Campbell and Special Agent Johnson, pulling out his pack of Lucky Strikes.
"Do either of you mind if I smoke?" he asked.
Campbell looked over to Johnson, who cracked open a window. "I'd say you more than earned it, Snake," he replied.
Snake gratefully nodded and flicked open his FOXHOUND lighter, illuminating the confines of the car before sucking the nicotine and tobacco smoke into his lungs. He sighed contendedly, making sure to point his face toward the window so as not to blow smoke into his fellow passengers' faces.
"So, where are we headed? Back to the Pentagon?"
Campbell nodded. "We'll need to gather the heads of operation for a debriefing."
"Who all is going to be there?"
"It'll be me, Director Deutch, and a ranking member of FOXHOUND staff. I had a question for you about that, actually."
Snake nodded. He knew what Campbell was about to ask. "You want to know about Big Boss."
The Lt. Colonel nodded gravely. "Yes. We haven't heard from him or anyone in his mission control team for two weeks. Where has he been? Do you know?"
Snake took a long drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke out the window, and leaned forward. Campbell and Johnson both leaned in close to match him. Snake's dull eyes sharpened, and his face hardened as every muscle in his body tensed up.
"Colonel, who is the current acting commander of FOXHOUND in Big Boss's absence?"
Campbell looked nonplussed. "The current ranking officer acting as head of FOXHOUND is Kazuhira Miller. Why do you ask?"
"Will he be at the debriefing?"
"Yes."
Snake clenched his jaw. Outside of CQC training, Master Miller never wore any prosthetics for his limbs. If Miller turned out to be a traitor, he could be easily subdued.
"Will there be anyone else from FOXHOUND in attendance?"
LTC Campbell frowned. "What's this about, Snake?"
"Will there be any others, Colonel?" Snake practically hissed the question through his teeth, catching Campbell and Johnson off-guard.
Campbell nodded. "He'll be the only FOXHOUNDer there, Snake. Now, explain what this is about," he ordered.
Snake leaned back, all the tension draining out of his body as he finally relaxed. He nodded slowly, then took another drag from his cigarette, blowing up to the ceiling before sitting back up to face the two men properly so he could break the news.
"There was a traitor in FOXHOUND. Our operation was compromised from the beginning."
Campbell and Johnson's eyes went wide as they took in this bombshell. "A traitor? You're certain?" Campbell asked.
Snake nodded. "Yes. I want to save the details for the debriefing so that I only have to explain it once, but that's why I was asking about FOXHOUND's presence there. So far, I've been able to locate and eliminate two traitors working within the Mission Control team, but I don't know how far it goes or who else might be involved. Until we know for certain that there aren't more bad actors, we need to limit who has the need-to-know. I don't know if Master Miller is trustworthy, but if it's just him there, we should be okay for now."
"Who was the traitor?" Campbell asked. "There'll need to be an investigation—I'll have to take this to the Joint Chief."
"Both the traitors I encountered are dead," Snake said. "I killed them myself. As for their identities, well…I want to wait until the debriefing, so I can inform everyone at once and so I can gauge Master Miller's reaction. If he's in on it…"
Campbell nodded. "I understand."
"Good. How much longer until we get there? I want to get this over with as soon as possible," Snake said.
Campbell decided to overlook Snake's inappropriate manner of speaking to his superior officer. Just one look at the FOXHOUNDer and Campbell could tell that he'd been put through the wringer. He examined Snake's face—he'd seen that look before on soldiers experiencing PTSD and burnout; he didn't want to push Snake any more than he had to. It wouldn't have been right.
"We should be there within the hour," Campbell promised. He tentatively reached out to put a reassuring hand on Snake's shoulder.
Snake flinched slightly, but otherwise didn't react. Campbell recalled when he first met Snake at FOXHOUND command almost a month ago; the kid couldn't have been much older than twenty when they'd gotten ready to send him out. Twenty-three, twenty-four, tops.
Now, seeing Snake in front of him again, Campbell noticed how much thinner and how strung out the kid looked. He looked older, somehow, like all the stress and pain of whatever he'd gone through had aged him and taken his strength from him. It was an all-too familiar sight to Campbell. Once more he'd thought of his brother when they'd last met up together after both serving in Desert Storm.
Campbell offered up a sympathetic smile. "You did a good job, Snake. Just a little more, and it's all over. You're almost there: mission complete."
Snake nodded, smirking slightly as he stared at the burning ember of his cigarette.
"Mission complete…," he muttered.
A/N: This one took a little longer than I initially expected. Stuff at work, as well as the election and its aftermath all served as pretty potent distractions keeping me from getting this finished. It had been stuck at 3/4 of the way done for something like a week and a half, but I finally sat down and finished the rest of this chapter today. Not much to say about this one, really. I think the scenes between Snake and Ellen on the train are probably my favorite things I've written for this fanfic, right alongside the previous chapter. Getting to write these intimate character moments where I can explore Snake's relationship with other people as well as watching him develop methods of coping with the harsh reality of the things he's encountered has been a delight to write for this story.
So, that about puts an end to the South Africa arc of the story and to Snake's mission. Now, there's just two chapters left before the story's over: next chapter we'll cover the debriefing and Snake's time spent after the mission is over as he navigates the psychological fallout and the internal investigation of FOXHOUND. The final chapter after that will basically just be me tying up the remaining loose ends of the plot while laying the groundwork for the next story, and for all intents and purposes, that'll be the ending. There might be an epilogue afterwards, in the fashion of the classic MGS post-credit scenes, but I haven't decided yet-I'll figure that part out when I get there.
I don't know when the next update will be, but I'm hoping to have this fic finished before the end of the year, so fingers crossed I can make that finish line! Thank you to everyone who has continued to read my work up to this point. You give me the motivation to keep going forward with this project.