Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

***

10:19, October 29^th, 2031.

God I haven’t picked up this thing in ages. Simon’s been telling me to write in it more. Something about it helping me process everything that’s happened.

I cannae believe it’s been ten years. A fucking decade since the start of all this shit. It feels like yesterday and it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Time seems to pass differently now. I don’t know why. I don’t even know what started it all. There’s so much that happened. It comes back in bits and pieces. And Simon helps where he can. I guess it started in Kastovia really. Way back when I was so green I could walk into a tree and they couldn’t find me. That was the beginning of my way in. Back when the team that’s become my family was nothing more than a list of names and a mission.

If I trace back the threads of this fucking mess that’s where it all started. That’s when everything started to go wrong.

***

CHAPTER ONE

***

18:07, April 4^th, 2019. Base Delta 34b, Kastovia. 45° 18' 14.079'' N, 38° 47' 17.054'' E

***

“It’s not going to be as easy as we thought.”

Price leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been reports of a new general in Barkov’s ranks,” replied Laswell, her voice staticky through the computer speakers. The screen changed to a small photo and a name. Soap’s brow furrowed. Vladimir Makarov. Soap had never heard of him.

He glanced around at the other members of the newly formed task force. Sergeant Garrick was studying the screen pensively, his face drawn. Lieutenant Riley was leaned back in his chair, his mask obscuring any readable expression on his face.

Soap resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since they’d met, Lieutenant Riley had been nothing but cold and irritatingly professional. Captain Price had told him that the lieutenant was just quiet, and to not to take anything he said personally. But Soap couldn’t help taking it personally when Riley was always being so goddamn uptight about everything. Sergeant Garrick was professional too, but at least he laughed at Soap’s jokes.

“What’ve we got on him?” asked Price.

“Nothing.” Laswell clicked away from the photo. “All we know is that he’s working with Barkov and they’re both hiding something on this little base off the coast of Kastovia.” She pulled up an image of an island. There were a few small white buildings, and a single loading dock. Completely unassuming. “It’s remote and isolated. Commander Karim will meet up with you on site. I’ll give sniper support from a boat a few hundred yards out. And I need the rest of you to infiltrate the base and stop whatever they’ve started.”

Soap cracked a smile. “When do we start?”

***

15:12, April 6^th, 2019. Unknown Base, several miles off the Kastovian Coast. 46° 45' 34.014'' N, 38° 19' 23.98'' E.

***

Gulls called overhead as Soap lay in the grass, his rifle scope trained on a few enemy soldiers standing along the walls of the base. Just on the edge of the harbor, Soap could make out a little white boat. It appeared to be just another boat in the bay, but he knew that Laswell was crouched behind the prow, rifle at the ready.

A quiet voice came over the comms. “Watcher 1 to Bravo, what’s your status?”

“Bravo in position,” Captain Price replied in a hushed voice. “Kelo, how copy?”

“Loud and clear,” said Commander Karim. “In position.”

“Copy that,” said Laswell. “Engage when ready.”

The swish of grass took over the comms for a moment. Then Price said, “On me.”

The next instant, two of the guards lay dead. Soap lined up the crosshairs and fired, hearing the shots of his teammates ring out beside him.

“Entrance clear, sir,” said a low voice over the comms. Soap wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the sound of Lieutenant Riley’s voice. It was rough and low and sounded like it was right out of a horror movie. Soap had no idea if he was doing it on purpose or if he just naturally sounded like a serial killer.

The five of them moved in towards the entrance gate, scanning the surrounding area for any enemy operatives they’d missed. They made it into the base without incident, dropping various enemy soldiers along the way.

It felt much like the training exercises from the boot camp that Soap had only recently gotten out of. The gravity of the lives he was taking did not overwhelm him the way he had feared it would. Basic training had prepared him well.

“Watcher 1, this is Bravo 0-6,” Price called in. “We are inside the base. It’s heavily guarded; we’re expecting serious enemy fire.”

“I’ll cover you as much as I can, Bravo,” replied Laswell.

“Copy that.” Price crept up towards the door to the main base. He turned to the rest of the team. “On me.”

He opened the door and the five of them worked their way in. Gunfire rang through the air, ricocheting off the cement and metal of the walls. They cleared the room within a few minutes, moving on through the maze of hallways. At one of the junctions, Price turned to Ghost.

“You and Soap, take the west side of the base. Gaz, Farah, and I will clear the east side. Call in if you find anything.”

Soap nodded shortly and followed Ghost down the hallway. It was dark and hazy with smoke. Ghost was freakishly silent, his footsteps making almost no sound at all. He crept along, turning every now and again to give Soap a blank glance, as though he was checking to make sure that he was still there. Everything Ghost did or said to Soap radiated distrust and exasperation. He had hoped that Price’s trust would be enough to prove himself to Lieutenant Riley. He had been wrong.

The sound of running footsteps stopped Ghost in his tracks, and he motioned behind him for Soap to wait. A group of Konni soldiers went running down the hallway, unaware that the two of them stood concealed in the shadows.

Without warning, Ghost fired a round at the closest of the group and Soap cleared the rest of them. “Good shots, sergeant,” Ghost said dismissively once they were on the move again.

Soap felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he’d misjudged Ghost. “You called it, Lt,” he replied. He fixed another Konni in his scope and dropped him. When he looked up, Ghost was watching him, silent and expressionless.

Ghost turned back to the hallway, moving down to a large metal door. He secured it with a breacher charge and crouched behind a nearby wall while it detonated. As the dust and smoke cleared, he moved in, Soap close at his heels.

The room was huge with high ceilings and dozens of shipping containers. It was surprisingly not as heavily guarded as the door had been.

Once the last guard was down, Ghost made his way towards the closest container and cut the lock. Soap drew a quick breath when the door opened. There were enough weapons and ammo for a whole army inside. Barkov was clearly supplying many more soldiers than the ones who worked on this base.

Shaking his head, Ghost closed the door. “Check the other containers, sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Soap made his way to the next container, he heard Ghost over the comms. “Bravo 0-6, this is Bravo 0-7, how copy.”

“Loud and clear, 0-7,” replied the Captain. “What’s your status?”

“We found a weapons cache,” said Ghost. “Much more than should be needed for a base this size.”

Soap opened the door to the next container but immediately froze in his tracks. It took Soap a moment to realize what he was looking at. A missile, big enough to be sent overseas, sat in the container, the controls blinking at the ready. And printed on the side of it was an American flag.

“Steamin’ bloody jesus,” said Soap under his breath. “How the fuck did this bastard get American missiles?” He turned back to the door. “Ghost!”

Ghost turned sharply at the sound of Soap’s voice, his transmission cutting off halfway through. “What?”

“Found something you should see,” said Soap.

Ghost jogged to the container but stopped short when he saw the missile. He stared at it a moment before he leaned down to his comms. “Bravo 0-6, one of these containers is housing a missile,” he said, his voice agitated. “An American missile, sir.”

“Disarm it immediately, lieutenant,” Price replied.

“On it,” said Soap, kneeling beside the controls. “Cover for me,” he added glancing quickly up at Ghost.

It was silent for a moment. Then, “You don’t give me orders, sergeant.”

Soap looked up from his work, suddenly aware of the insubordination. “Sorry sir, it’s just that we need this disarmed as soon as possible and—”

Ghost cut him off. “You know what you’re doing?”

Soap nodded. “Trained in demolitions, sir.”

“Get to work, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

The room was eerily silent. Soap hadn’t meant to be insubordinate; he’d just known what needed to happen and he’d done it. He didn’t understand why Ghost wouldn’t trust him. The lieutenant knew Soap was a demolitions expert; he must have been briefed on that. So why was he so wary of everything Soap did? Soap wanted to prove himself to this strange man, but he had no idea how.  

He snipped a wire and one of the little lights went out. Only when he went to unscrew one of the bolts did he realize that his hands were shaking. He knew these launchers, had learned how to disarm them, but he’d never disarmed a real one. Even though he knew each step of the process, he was still terrified that something would go wrong. He inhaled shakily and cut the last wire. The controls beeped twice in quick succession and the lights went out. Soap let out a breath. “All stations, this is Bravo 7-1. The missile has been disarmed.”

“Good work, 7-1,” said Laswell.

“This is Kilo Actual, we need assistance up here.” A burst of gunshots followed Commander Karim’s transmission. “We’re under heavy enemy fire. I repeat; we need assistance.”

“What’s your location?” asked Ghost.

“The roof. North side of the base.”

Soap was running before the transmission had even finished. The two of them traversed their way back the way they had come, clearing the path of Konni as they went. The stairwell to the roof was blessedly empty. Soap raced up the stairs, the rhythm of his feet keeping pace with his racing heart.

The rooftop was in chaos. A group of Konni soldiers were clustered together, moving towards a helo. The rest of their team was tucked behind air vents and in low spots of the roof.  

“They’re surrounding someone,” Price said. “Can’t tell who but they’re trying to get them to the helo.”

Soap ducked out of the line of fire, turning to fire a round at the soldiers. “Let’s find out then, shall we?”

One by one, the soldiers surrounding the person fell. “Move up!” called Price. “On me.”

He and Soap darted forward, taking cover as the man fired at them. “Watcher 1, we’ve got a person of interest on the roof.”

“Hold your fire,” Laswell replied. “If it’s Makarov or Barkov we don’t have execute authority.”

“Copy that.”

The last of the soldiers around the person fell. Price beckoned to Soap and the two of them moved in towards the man who now stood alone, the ground around him littered with bodies.

“Drop your weapon!” shouted Price, rifle trained on the man. “Hands in the air!” For a moment he stared at Price with an unreadable expression. Then he calmly raised his hands. His handgun clattered to the ground.

As he got closer, Soap could see the stern brow and dark eyes that he recognized from the photo they’d been shown at briefing. Vladimir Makarov.

“On your knees,” ordered Price.

Makarov slowly sank down, his eyes never leaving Price’s.

“Kilo, keep an eye on him,” Price said quietly.

“On it, sir,” Commander Karim replied softly through the comms.

“Vladimir Makarov, you are in custody of the British military,” said Price, securing Makarov’s hands behind his back. “On your feet, soldier. You’re coming with us.”

Makarov stayed on his knees. “You’re not taking me anywhere.” His voice was careful and quiet, like something lying in wait. “That is, unless you want to declare a war.”

“You’re a bloody terrorist,” Price snapped. “We’ve got enough from just this base to send you to prison for life.”

Makarov huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Put me in prison if it puts your mind at ease.” He looked over at Soap, his eyes sharp and accurate as a sniper shot. “There will always be someone else ready and waiting to take my place.”

Price shoved him forward with the handle of his gun. “On your feet.”

Makarov rose up in one fluid motion that brought to mind a snake. He moved with a deliberate decisiveness, as though certain that the world would make space for him.

Soap secured Makarov’s hands behind his back and led him away from the helo.

“Bravo 0-5, plant charges on that helo,” barked Price over the comms. “I don’t want to leave any of these bastards a way out.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Garrick replied.

A few minutes later, the helo exploded, a black metal skeleton against a wash of orange flame.

“Well done, sergeant,” said Price. “Watcher 1, prisoner secure, ready for exfil, what’s your status.”

The comms were silent.

“Kate?”

No answer.

“Kate what’s your status?”

“Direct enemy contact, I repeat: direct enemy contact!” Kate’s voice was breathless and ragged as though she had been running. “I need immediate assistance. There’s a Konni boat in the harbor, John.”

“Ghost and Farah! Stay here with Makarov and provide sniper support,” Price shouted, running towards the stairwell. “Gaz and Soap with me.” He leaned down to the comms. “Hold tight, Kate. We’re coming.”

But Kate’s voice cut through the comms a second later. “John, Barkov’s on this vessel. I repeat, General Barkov is on this vessel.” There were shots in the background, and shouts in Russian.

“Fuck!” Price shouted.

The five of them raced to the edge of the roof just in time to see the Konni boat speed off into the water, well out of sniper range within seconds.

Price turned back to Makarov, shocked and gutted. “He pulled us off target!”

An acute helpless rage filled Soap’s chest, burning through him like fire racing up the fuse of a bomb. Fuming, he turned to Makarov. “You fucking son of a bitch—”

Within seconds, he had Makarov on the ground, the barrel of a gun pressed to his head.

“I’ll blow your fucking brains out. I swear to god, I’ll do it,” Soap growled, the gun steady against Makarov’s forehead. Rage boiled beneath his skin, a righteous fury that he’d never felt before in his life. In that moment, Soap’s whole world had dwindled to dark eyes, a thin smile, and his finger on a trigger.

He could see Price in his peripheral vision and vaguely felt him place a hand on his arm. “Soap, don’t.”

But Soap didn’t even look at him. He held Makarov’s gaze like a challenge, feeling the anger flare up again when Makarov laughed softly, unperturbed.

Makarov’s face settled into a grin. “Do it.”

Soap clicked off the safety with a wild determination.

“John, we have him in custody,” Price said hurriedly, his voice hazy in the back of Soap’s mind. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Reason slowly began to creep back in. He knew Price was right. But that didn’t take away from the part of him that desperately wanted to carry out justice there and then.

“Stand down, sergeant,” said Price. The command in his voice was unmistakable.

Soap took a breath and finally looked up. There was a vein of fear in Price’s gaze, like Soap was an explosive he wasn’t sure he knew how to diffuse. A sudden rush of guilt overcame him. Slowly, feeling his anger pouring off him like smoke, Soap stood up, backed off, and sheathed his gun. The satisfied, knowing smile that spread across Makarov’s face almost broke his resolve.

Soap could feel the rest of the team looking at him, but he didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the disappointment and confusion on their faces. He could only look at Makarov, who seemed only to have eyes for him.

“Laswell, are you secure?”

“Affirmative. We need emergency evac ASAP.”

“Copy that,” Price replied. “On it.”

He made a few calls over the comms, words quick and worried. The helo ride back to their base was plagued with a tense silence that pulled at them all. No one would look anyone else in the eye, but they kept glancing at Makarov, as though they were worried he would disappear; that somehow, having him in custody wasn’t enough.

And through it all, Makarov kept smiling like he knew something they didn’t; like being captured was exactly what he’d planned all along.

***

19:24, April 6^th, 2019. Base Delta 34b, Kastovia. 45° 18' 14.079'' N, 38° 47' 17.054'' E.

The tension in the room was as suffocating as tear gas. Everything was at a tipping point, and they all knew it. Price had set up a call with General Shepard to debrief on the mission and it had devolved almost faster than the mission had.

“We can’t prosecute him in the UK,” Shepard was saying. “He’s not part of a designated FTO. All of this is too recent for that.”

“Well, who can designate it?” asked Gaz. “Can’t you cut some red tape for us?”

Shepard shook his head. “It’s not that simple. If we publicly declare Barkov and his men a foreign terrorist organization, we don’t know what they’ll do in retaliation.”

“Whatever they do, we’ll be ready for them,” said Soap, his voice low and determined.

“I think it would be best to hand him over to the authorities in Russia,” Farah chimed in. “They don’t support him, and I’m sure they would deal justly with him. When he and Barkov were occupying Urzikstan, the Russian government expressed interest in both of them if we ever captured them.”

A shadow crossed Price’s face. “Are you sure he doesn’t have government officials in his pocket?”

“I’m sure he does,” said Shepard. “But not enough that they won’t prosecute him and send him to prison. I’ll send you men that I know can be trusted. They’ll make him pay, John. I promise. The Russians don’t want him terrorizing the world any more than we do.” Price gave him a withering look. Shepard ignored him. “Call me when Barkov’s in Russian custody.” The screen went dark.

***

17:09 April 7^th, 2019. Russian border with Kastovia. 47° 36' 3.112'' N, 41° 54' 6.508'' E.

***

The Russian government officials met them at the border. They talked very little, staying professional and expressionless throughout the entire interaction.

Makarov was just as calm and collected as anything, far more at ease than a man in his situation should be. When he saw the government officials, however, his face fell an almost imperceptible amount.

“What,” said Soap. “Did you think we would just give you back to Barkov?”

Makarov laughed shortly. “Of course not.”

Soap could feel the flames of anger filling him again. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done,” he said, quietly. “Even if it’s not at our hands.”

Makarov calmly walked up to the officials, a defiant smile on his face. But before he stepped into their helo, he turned over his shoulder to look at Soap, his face pulled into something that could almost be mistaken for a smile. “I’ll be seeing you again, MacTavish.” The smile faded from his face and his eyes turned deadly cold. “I promise.”

There should have been a sense of finality, having finally caught one of the men responsible for so much terror. But as Soap watched the helo lift into the air, he had a sickening suspicion that this was just the beginning.

***

Chapter Text

MISSION BRIEFING

To: Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley

From: Captain John Price, Task Force 141

Subject: Mission Overview, Operation 984.

GENERAL INFORMATION:

Recon with Cmdr. Philip Graves and members of the Shadow Company. Recon with Urzikstan Liberation Force Cmdr. Farah Karim and small convoy of ULF soldiers. Convene with Mexican Special Forces Col. Alejandro Vargas and Sgm. Rodolfo Parra at base outside Las Almas (see summary for coordinates). Travel with all designated personnel to the target’s location, based on the information currently available. Capture target, Gen. Roman Barkov. No execute authority.

SUMMARY:

Deployed location: Las Almas, Mexico. 29° 37' 41.329'' N, 104° 30' 25.695'' W.

Deployed Personnel: Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley, Sgt. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Sgt. John “Soap” MacTavish.

Duration of Deployment: Begins October 19, 18:00, end at discretion of CO.

***

18:35, October 19^th, 2021. Mexico/United States border. 29° 37' 41.329'' N, 104° 30' 25.695'' W.

***

“You’re wheels up in five.”

“Roger,” Ghost replied, walking towards the vehicles where a small unit of soldiers were unloading supplies. Makarov was safe in prison, but Barkov had still been out waging war in Urzikstan. Barkov was notoriously difficult to find. He had people in nearly every country, people that would offer him protection no matter the cost. It had been years since they’d had a reliable hit on him.

“Marines are loading in now,” Shepard continued. “You and the sergeant are leading the way on this.”

Ghost paused. “The sergeant?”

“Soap MacTavish.”

Ghost hardly had a second to process Shepards words before a familiar figure walked up to him, smiling like he was genuinely happy to see Ghost.

“Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah Lt?” Soap playfully punched him in the shoulder like they were friends. Ghost nearly went to block it like he would an attack. “Save you a seat, sir.”

He was gone before Ghost could even fully comprehend what had happened. He let out a breath. He had worked with Soap on several missions over the years, but the strange cordiality and casual unprofessionalism still caught him off guard. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ghost, do you copy?” asked Shepard.

Sighing, Ghost turned on his comms. “Yes, sir.”

“Any issues?”

“Negative, sir.” He jogged towards the helo on the tarmac. “Out here.”

***

Soap did, in fact, save him a seat in the helo. Ghost almost wished he hadn’t. Soap talked the whole way there, laughing and joking with the men from Shadow Company. Ghost felt some sort of odd nostalgia when he was around Soap. It pulled at memories of happier times; when he was just as care-free and hopeful as this smiling, green sergeant. He did his best to avoid the feeling. He didn’t like the way it tightened a knot in his chest.

Commander Graves was riding in the same vehicle with them, and he matched Soap’s casual attitude about the whole situation. Ghost had never worked with Graves before, and he was wary of the commander. Almost everyone Ghost met was suspicious until proven trustworthy.

“How far is the target location from the base?” asked Soap.

“Hopefully not far,” said Graves. “The faster we get in there, the less chance there’ll be of Barkov catching wind of us and turning tail.”

Soap nodded. “If he’s even still there.”

The convoy stopped at a base on the outskirts of town, and the soldiers unloaded. A man stood ready to meet them at the gates.

Before Ghost had even gotten the chance to get out the car, Soap had already called out to him. “Alejandro!”

“Sergeant MacTavish!” the man replied.

Ghost and the rest of the team followed Soap over to Colonel Vargas.

Soap grinned, reaching out to shake his hand. “Call me Soap.”

Alejandro’s gaze moved to Ghost and his smile faded the slightest amount. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

Ghost nodded shortly. “This is the rest of our team: Sergeant Garrick, Commander Karim, and Commander Graves.”

Alejandro smiled at them all. “Welcome to the city of souls.” He beckoned them to follow. “We’d better get going.”

The group of them walked to a new convoy of about ten armored vehicles. Alejandro paused to call a few orders to his men before hopping into one of the cars, gesturing for the others to do the same.

“This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra,” said Alejandro.

The driver of the car turned to give Ghost a smile. Then leaning over to Alejandro, he said something under his breath. Alejandro laughed. Then glanced back at Ghost. “You know Spanish?”

“No,” said Soap.

Alejandro smiled. “You will.”

***

19:32

They parked along a dirt road as the sun began to set. Everything was grayscale in the fading twilight, and a chorus of crickets called from the nearby woods.

“This place is in the middle of nowhere,” said Soap looking around at the dark trees.

“We’re taking the back ways in,” Alejandro replied. He turned to address the rest of them. “Alright. This is an infiltration, not an attack. But I need you all on standby if this turns sour.” He turned to Farah. “Commander, I want you with Soap, Ghost, and I. Sergeant Garrick you as well. Graves and Shadow Company I want you to circle the target in a helo.”

Graves nodded, turning back to give the orders to his men. Everyone divided up, and the infiltration group loaded into a vehicle and drove off deeper into the woods.

“Where exactly is this place?” asked Soap as the car hit another bump in the road.

“About five miles outside of the city,” replied Alejandro. “It’s the house of one of the Lieutenants of El Sin Nombre.”

“Who’s Sin Nombre?” asked Ghost.

“El Sin Nombre,” Alejandro corrected. “The Nameless. He is the leader of the Las Almas cartel.”

Soap leaned forward. “Where do we find him?”

“You don’t. We’ll be lucky if we even find one of his lieutenants.”

Ghost stared out the window at the darkening sky. In the valley, the lights of the city sparkled, tiny flecks of light spread out like a net.

“My eyes and ears in the city have reliable information that there is a person of interest being harbored in this house,” Alejandro said. “Considering the affiliations that General Barkov has with the cartels, they believe that it’s him.”

***

19:57, October 19^th, 2021. Suspected Location of El Sin Nombre. 29° 26' 29.976" N, 104° 25' 10.076'' W.

The house sprawled along the edge of the tree line. It was well maintained and beautifully built. Ghost hoped they wouldn’t have to raze the whole thing to the ground. As the five of them crouched on a ledge overlooking the house, Alejandro switched on his comms.

“Victor 3-1 this is 1-1, how copy?”

“Solid,” Rodolfo replied. “Shadow, what’s your status?”

“Three clicks from the target, boys,” Graves responded, his transmission hazy with background noise of the helo. “On standby.”

“Copy that.” Alejandro turned to the rest of them, his face barely visible in the blue-black light. “Commander, what’s your plan?”

Farah leaned in, her voice soft. “We can’t take any chances. If Barkov catches wind of us, he’ll be out of here before we even know he’s gone.” She glanced towards the house. “If we want to capture him, we’re going to need to sneak in. If it all goes well, they’ll never even know we were there.”

“But how do we get in without them noticing?” asked Gaz in a hushed whisper. “The security on this place has gotta be bloody bulletproof.”

“We’ve got to get creative,” whispered Farah, her eyes serious. “They brought him here because they know someone’s looking for him. Why don’t we tell them who?”

A cold feeling settled in Ghost’s stomach when he realized what she meant. “You’re saying we send one of us in there.”

Farah nodded. “Offer intel, meet with whichever lieutenant lives here, and give us an in to get Barkov.”

Ghost knew she was right. It was far too dangerous, but if they went in there, guns blazing, Barkov would disappear, and they had no way of knowing when they would get intel this solid again. This may very well be their best chance at getting rid of him. Ghost was about to volunteer when Soap spoke up.

“I’ll do it.” The determination in his voice was unmistakable.

“You make one wrong move; they’ll kill you, hermano,” warned Alejandro, his voice hushed.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Ghost stared. There was something familiarly reckless in Soap’s blue eyes. Ghost knew that fire. It was the righteous anger of all the rookies who’d joined the military thinking that they were there to save the world from evil. It wore off with time. Whether it was cooled from the reality of the job, or snuffed in a blaze of gunfire, the spark always died out. Ghost was surprised that it had lasted so long.

“We came here to catch a war criminal, let’s catch him,” Soap continued, an edge to his voice.

Alejandro gave him a slow smile. “Tienes huevos, cabrón. You’ll need eyes and ears. I’ll go too.”

Ghost forced himself to look away from the self-confident smile on Soap’s face. “Commander, Sergeant Garrick; fan out and take overwatch.”

Both of them nodded. As Farah passed by Soap, she paused. “They’re going to want proof.” She pulled the ULF badge off her jacket. “Give them this.”

“All of you, stay in touch,” said Alejandro. He exchanged a steady glance with Soap. “Let’s go.”

From his sniper position, Ghost watched as the two of them disappeared into the darkness.

***

20:19

Soap had never been good at hide and seek. Sitting still somewhere wasn’t fun, so he’d get bored and end up revealing his hiding spot. He wanted to play, not sit alone in some small space waiting to be found. If he did play hide and seek, he would always want to be the seeker.

As he walked up to the front door of the house, unarmed and doing his best to appear harmless, he felt a strange rush of confidence. They had had time enough to hide. And he was going to find them all whether they were ready or not.

The guards at the door pushed him to his knees, yelling orders at him in Spanish. He raised his hands over his head, calm and compliant. Once they realized he was unarmed, they secured his hands behind his back, threw a bag over his head and dragged him inside. Beneath the fabric of the bag, Soap smiled.

The house was strangely cold, and the scent of wine and perfume floated through the air. The floor was carpet, and the doors sounded heavy as they were shut and bolted behind him. Soap felt confident enough that he could get out of this. He’d never liked stealth missions, but he could talk his way out of nearly any situation if given enough time.

His captors abruptly came to a stop and the bag was pulled off of his head. He glanced around, surveying the room. It was small and dimly lit, and the walls were dark wood and stone. It was windowless, preventing him from even knowing which story of the building they were on.

Soap put on a smile. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, testing the waters.

One of the guards backhanded him. “You do not speak unless spoken to, pendejo.” The man stalked around to face him. “You say you have information.”

Soap nodded. “The Russian you’ve got here, I know who’s after him.” The shift on their faces told him everything he needed to know. Barkov was here. They were harboring him, and they knew that someone was chasing him. The guards turned to each other, saying a few words under their breath. Then one of them turned back to Soap, smiling.

“Right this way.”

They led him down a flight of stairs, and through a small door. Bright lights cast the room in a sterile glow, making the blood on floor shine. A woman stood with her back to them, a smoking gun in her hands and three bodies at her feet.

“Valeria!” One of the guards called. “I have someone for you.”

The woman turned around, sheathing her weapon. “About time. Let’s hope this one is more helpful.” She fixed Soap with a stare so sharp he could have sworn it left a mark. “Sit.”

Soap obeyed. The guards secured his bound hands to the chair. Valeria stood in front of him, watching him like she was meticulously taking him apart with her mind. “What do you have to say?”

“I know who’s been following you around,” said Soap.

Valeria laughed, a short humorless noise. “Lots of people follow me around.” She leaned closer. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap took a breath. “The people after your Russian friend. I know who they are.”

Valeria tipped her head to the side, intrigue in her eyes. “Ah. So you know who’s been blowing up my safehouses and killing my men?” She spread her arms. “I’m all ears.”

“Mexican Special Forces are doing most of the coordination,” said Soap. “But they’re being backed by the ULF.”

“The Urzikstan Liberation Force?” Valeria scoffed. “Try again.” She reached for her gun, but Soap gestured to his shirt pocket with his chin.

“I’ve got proof.”

Valeria grabbed the badge, her face twisting into a tangle of confusion and contempt. “What the fuck are they doing in Las Almas?”

“Tracking your Russian friend.”

Valeria looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “Stay here.” She walked back to the door. “We’ll be back for you shortly.”

It was silent for a moment. Then the door opened again. Another one of the guards. He wore a grey mask pulled over his face, and he was running towards Soap. Before he had the chance to even brace himself for an attack, the guard spoke.

“Soap! You’re alive.”

Recognition hit Soap in a rush. “Alejandro?”

“Si, hermano,” he replied with a smile.

“How the fuck did you get in here?”

“Violently.” Alejandro reached down and cut the zip tie binding Soap’s hands. “They’re mobilizing up there. Your intel has spread around the house already. They’ll be preparing to take Barkov out of here any minute now.”

Soap swore under his breath. “Are you in contact with the rest of the team?”

Alejandro nodded. “They’ve got eyes on every exit to this place. He won’t get out without them knowing, I promise.”

“How long until Valeria gets back?”

Alejandro stood. “Let’s not stay to find out.”

The hallways were dark as they crept along. Alejandro kept stopping, and waiting a moment before continuing. Everything was worryingly silent and strangely deserted.

Finally, they found their way to a corridor with a huge wooden door at the end. Shouts could be heard at the end of the hallway. Soap leaned against the edge of the door, but the sounds were unintelligible. “Can you hear what they’re saying?” he asked in a whisper.

Alejandro shook his head.

More shouting, this time accompanied by approaching footsteps. Alejandro pulled Soap into a corridor, just in time to see the door fly open and Valeria walk out, flanked on both sides by men.

They were all talking at once. Finally, Valeria turned around and faced them, giving them some order that Soap didn’t understand. The two men bowed their heads and practically scampered back the way they’d come, and Valeria turned and stalked off down the halls. Soap turned to Alejandro, lost.

But the look in Alejandro’s eyes silenced any words he was about to say. He was staring after Valeria’s vanishing form like he’d seen a ghost. “I know her,” he whispered under his breath. “We used to serve in the military. And they were calling her El Sin Nombre.”

Soap felt his blood run cold.

“All stations, this is Victor 1-1. Bravo 7-1 is secure. El Sin Nombre is here.” Alejandro’s voice was shaking. “Barkov is at another location, but El Sin Nombre’s sending men out to help him escape. And they know that the rest of you are out there.”

“Do we have clearance to capture El Sin Nombre?” asked Farah.

“Yes,” Alejandro replied. “We know she’s harboring a terrorist. We can take her for questioning.”

“Which side of the house is she headed towards.” Ghost’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“North.”

***

21:04

When he heard Alejandro’s transmission, something like relief filled Ghost’s heart. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. It was as though some part of him had expected Soap to die in there and he hadn’t realized it until now. Perhaps Soap was tougher than Ghost had given him credit for.

Before Ghost could dwell on that thought, he was on his feet and racing towards the north side of the building. Night had settled over the landscape in earnest, and everything was deathly still. He laid down flat alongside Gaz who glanced up at him, nodding in greeting.

“Nothing yet,” Gaz said under his breath. “Not sure how long we’ve got.”

“I suspect it won’t be long.” Ghost could just make out Farah’s form crouched in the grass nearby.

No sooner had she spoken, then there was flurry of commotion by the door. Ghost watched through his riffle scope as half a dozen guards slinking along in the shadows, heading towards a few parked vehicles.

“Hold your fire,” Farah whispered. “I planted charges on our way in.”

Ghost couldn’t help a small smile. Commander Karim was a force to be reckoned with and he was deeply thankful that they were on the same side. He watched the men climbed into the cars. A second later, a flash of light illuminated everything in stark contrast for an instant. Then the roar of an explosion filled his ears as the vehicles turned to smoldering heaps of metal and plastic and flesh.

“Well done, Commander,” said Ghost. “Victor 1-1,” he called over the comms. “What’s your status?”

“We need assistance,” Alejandro responded, out of breath. “Shadow Actual we need you on the roof.”

“On it, hermano,” replied Graves a second later.

The rhythmic beating of a helo came careening overhead as Graves glided towards the roof. Ghost watched through the scope of his rifle as a figure came racing out onto the roof, turning around to fire shots at where they’d just come.

“There’s a woman on the roof, hermanos,” said Graves.

“That’s her!” Alejandro practically yelled. “El Sin Nombre.”

“That’s Sin Nombre?” asked Gaz, watching through his rifle scope.

“What?” said Farah, smiling. “You think women can’t harbor terrorists?”

Gaz rolled his eyes, laughing lightly.

“On your knees!” Graves called out over the loudspeaker from the helo. “Hands in the air!”

Ghost watched as the woman on the roof reluctantly got to her knees, setting her gun on the ground. A second later, Alejandro and Soap appeared, guns trained on the woman. They secured her and brought her to the door of the helo, unceremoniously shoving her inside.

“Area secure. Ground team, you’re clear for exfil,” said Graves as the helo rose back into the air.

***