The Ripper | Simon "Ghost" Riley

prologue

[A Undisclosed Cafe in Manchester - Late 2019]

Kate Laswell sat at a table for two, awaiting her new-found acquaintance to join her on this what he stated as an 'emergency meeting'. Taking a sip of her tea, footsteps come towards her. Placing her tea down, she looks up at the casually dressed Captain John Price. Motioning towards her own cup, she offers him one. "Tea?"

"Well, I'm a long way from a proper pint." Price exclaimed, pulling the chair out and sitting down in it, resting his elbows against the table.

"Russia disowned Barkov." Laswell begins, leaning forward in her seat to create a more private discussion in such a public space. "Well, they didn't have much choice, did they? He's dead." Price responds, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"You took a big bite out of that problem, John."

"For now, but left unchecked."

"They won't be." Laswell leans down towards the ground, pulling out a large folder out of her bag and placing it onto the table. "General Shephard pulled those files you asked for. What exactly is this about?"

"A task force." Price simply states. "We already have lose ends."

"And I will tie them." He grunts out. He is determined, he knows the files that Shephard pulled will be worth the effort, and he knows the people he chose for this job won't say 'no'.

"I can fund assets, not outlaws." Price sits back in his chair and stands up, nodding his head in understanding. "Enjoy the tea then."

"Zakhaev wants Barkov's throne." Price looks back at Laswell, before sitting back down in his seat and pulling it forward slightly with his hips. "I almost buried him in Pripyat with MacMillan."

"That was the father. This is the son 'Victor'."

"Lovely family." Price states, not enjoying the fact that one of his failed missions is beginning to come back and bite him in the ass.

"They're a big fan of Hadir's."

"Well, that would explain why he's still alive."

"They're going to get him out." Laswell deadpans, amplifying the severity of this situation they are in.

"Then give me what I need." Price says, leaning closer into his seat, he so desperately wants this opportunity. Finally, Laswell slides the folders towards Price, him following with a small smile. Opening the folder, it held 4 separate folders. Price read over each one, nodding his head at them all. "Who's your crew?"

"Sergeant Garrick."

"Kyle?"

"They call him 'Gaz'. He never said anything." Price states, flipping Gaz's folder to the back of the others. Price reads over the next folder in front of him. "John MacTavish. SAS, sniper-demolitions, goes by 'Soap'."

"Why?"

"That's classified." Price says, with his brows raised. It wasn't really classified, just something between the two men to keep the animosity afloat at the sniper-demolitions call-sign. Price flips Soap's folder over and smiles at the next name written out on the folder. "Jade MacTavish, younger sister of John MacTavish, goes by Ripper."

"Don't you think it'll be an issue to have siblings on a team?" Laswell questions, furrowing her brows together at the 'what-if' scenarios that played out in her head. She had worked with many siblings before, and it never ended well in each of those cases. "Not these two. Jade will put him in his place."

"Why?"

"She's his superior." Laswell raises her brows at this new information. Although at the time, Jade had only been a superior for a few months, her first mission being one back in April, Price had watched her grow and perform as the months had went on. He had full trust in her abilities.

Price flips Jade's folder back and let's out a low chuckle at the name written on the folder in front of him. "There he is." He states, sliding the folder towards Laswell. "Simon Riley."

"There's no picture."

"Never." He states, gathering his littered folders and stacking them together. Price places them neatly into the large folder and leans back in his chair. "Now the rest, that's need to know. Unless we got a deal." Laswell let's out a deep sigh, hanging her head for a moment, before sitting upright towards the Captain.

"What are you calling this task force?" She asks, finally buying into this new idea. Price leans forward in his seat again, his elbows practically buried into the coffee table beneath them.

"1-4-1."