The Bullet's Whistle (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

    Vladimir Makarov.
    He didn't recognize me. I prayed not. Fuck, I begged he didn't. If he did, there was no telling what he'd do; the man was unpredictable.
    His eyes were dark orbs of evil, hair just as sharp and dangerous. Face pale, Makarov's face reminded me of a rat. A rat that liked to sniff into too much cheese and escape every trap.
    "I'm more of an English speaker," I fluctuated my accent more aggressively with the man before me.
    He could not find out I had an ounce of American blood in my veins. Makarov hated Americans with everything he had. I'd be dead and lost to the entire world in seconds if he found out who I was or where I descended from. That would be acting nice if he didn't decide to interrogate first.
    "Northern?" he tested, his voice poison dripping from a snake's fang.
    "Excellent guess," I forced a laugh which Makarov didn't even smile to.
    "Why are you not bidding?"
    "I'm waiting for the right antique," I was quick to respond. "I have my eye on a vase."
    Makarov eyed me like a lion, his dark eyes tracing over my face to the curves the dress caused on my chest. I suddenly felt overly exposed and stripped of anything. I was sure that at any moment he would see the piece in my ear, carefully designed to be hidden, and set his armed Russian dogs loose. At any moment, he'd see the knife in my handbag.
    Don't forget who you are.
    I released a subtle breath to Ghost's reminder. This enemy before me was the most powerful yet. He had started a war between our two countries with no remorse. All simply because he wanted Americans to die.
    I could handle him. I could kill him just as Shepherd had ordered me to. He was no different from Rojas or the target in my first mission. He was human despite the vampiric features. He had blood that would pour with the right strike.
    "Are you alone?" I pressed, giving him a long look up and down.
    Makarov simply looked out to where the auction was beginning to die down. "Entirely."
    "Interesting," I continued to eye him, forcing the bile in my chest to return to my stomach.
    The quiet man turned to face me again, his eyes narrowed now more than ever. I felt a pang of frustration thunder my bones. Makarov was going to be the most difficult to get away from others; he wasn't at all alone after all.
    "You interest me," Makarov suddenly licked his lower lip once.
    Yes. This was perfect. He needed to lust over me. I needed him to want me. The longer that lasted and he didn't figure out who I was, the better.
    "Sam, what's going on there? We're detecting heavy heat signatures from all sides."
    I ignored the panic in my ear and leaned towards Makarov. "Do I?"
    He was slow to offer a hand. "Come with me, Molly."
    The idea that he'd heard my entire conversation with Luka shook my core. The terrorist was truly all over the place. If he'd found me in the building I was sure he knew exactly who I was. The question was: why hadn't he killed me yet?
    I was so used to leading targets off to their misery and having complete control over the mission that I didn't catch the possibility of the opposite. Perhaps Makarov had the entire situation at his mercy...that he had me at his mercy. I was the one about to fall for his luring tactics, not him for mine.
    "I really would like to bid on a certain item," I smiled promptly, my accent sounding more natural with each word.
    Makarov stepped closer, his voice a breathy hiss. "My dear, I'm afraid there is a trap set up here. I'd hate for you to be caught in it."
    The spider was spinning his web. I refused to get tangled.
    I opened my mouth to respond when the entire building started shaking. Loud, ear-deafening booms came from all around and I stumbled to the ground from the force. Chandeliers collapsed from high in the air, smashing some guests, while walls and pieces of the ceiling flung around as well.
    My arms brought me to a crawl underneath a set up table. People were screaming and scrambling to escape the thundering bombs that were still wrecking havoc. Bullets started to fly through the sound of it all.
    "Shit," I cursed, realizing Makarov had disappeared in the chaos. "Makarov set the whole place off!"
    "Fuck!" Soap shouted into the comms. "Are you okay?"
    I pushed myself up and began to run the only way Makarov could've gone—down another grand hallway. My heels made me unsteady and the dress swished in my legs, but I managed to make time.
    "Samantha! Come in!" Ghost was now trying to connect to me.
    "I'm going after him!"
    "Call it off," Soap sounded like he was speaking to someone else more than myself. "You'll get yourself killed."
    "I have him," I panted, seeing Makarov flying through the chaotic crowds in the hallways.
    "SAMANTHA!"
    Rebelliously, I muted my earpiece with a tap. No longer would they hear me nor I them. It needed to be that way for both sides. They wouldn't know what was going on and I could focus.
    I pushed women and men aside, hustling after the dangerous target. People were screaming from fear and pain. They ran around trying to exit, but only more firing from automatic weapons answered their cries.
    My legs scrambled around fallen objects and shelves as I tried to keep pace with Makarov. I was gaining on him by this point and I was more than determined to completely reach him.
    As if trumping my wish, Makarov let out a shout of commands in Russian. Men started filing down from a main stairwell, ready to block whoever Makarov had motioned towards. I cursed in frustration again and slid to a stop just outside of the hallway.
    People still ran around in a craze. They crossed paths of the eight Russian men and myself without any other thought than escape. I panted, shifting my handbag straps into one piece.
    The eight brutish men all glared daggers my way, fists clenched and ready to defend their fleeing master. I let out low sigh and then twirled my handbag once.
    "This just became the best night ever."
    The largest man charged at me first. I easily dodged and then kicked him into the nearest wall. He sank against it, stunned, and then went limp.
    A second leapt on me from behind and I spun once, elbowing the bastard in the ribcage hard enough to crack bones. He let out a squeal as he collapsed and I quickly used my heel to stab into his right eye.
    The carpet ran red as I faced the third Russian. He moved to punch me and I ducked to the right, avoiding his punch and the charging brute. The two crashed into each other, letting out wails of pain.
    Four and five came at me together, twirling knives in their hands. I dodged the fourth and then gripped the wrist of the unsuspecting five. He wailed as I twisted and then clutched onto the knife. My arm stabbed backwards as I planted the blade into his sternum.
    The fourth one launched forwards with more skill. He swiped the blade at me once and I narrowly avoided the blade, a sharp pain slicing into the left side of my hairline. I dove for his waist and brought us both to the ground in one fluid motion.
    We struggled to gain the upper hand. I gripped both of his wrists and forced the knife downwards. He pushed against me, letting out a gurgled scream as the blade slowly sank into his throat.
    Done with those two, I flipped around to meet a fist. I flung sideways, letting out a moan of pain. My legs swung around to quickly put me on my feet. The sixth bastard was grinning from his hit.
    "You're going to pay for that one!"
    I swung my handbag hard enough to knock the man senseless. He stumbled around, trying to find the knife strapped to his side. I clutched his shoulder and then wrapped the handbag strap around his throat.
    He choked as he went to his knees, trying to get the strap off his neck. I pulled tighter as he went breathless and let out a groan of determination. The man snapped to the ground in seconds—dead.
    I faced seven and eight. Despite my complete mauling of their comrades they looked ready. I straightened, ignoring the blood pulsing from my face and head, and motioned for them to attack. The stupid asses did.
    In a fluid motion, I looped both of them together in the handbag strap. They let out groans of pain as I smacked their heads together. I wiggled between them, stealing the pistol on number eight's hip, and pulled hard.
    The two spun down to the ground, their throats raw from leather burn. I quickly drew the pistol and shot both of their foreheads.
    Panting, I picked up my handy little bag and then ran the rest of the way through the quieter manor. People were still running around, avoiding the shots of the rest of the massacre.
    Exiting into the cool air, I let out a breath of exasperation. A chopper was lifting into the night, just barely out of reach with a pistol. I raised to shoot twice with no luck.
    "Fuck!" I growled, throwing the pistol to the side.
    On the ground ahead, a lump of a body bled out. I paced forward, glaring down at who Makarov had left to die. The face was bloodied by a shot in the center of the forehead.
    Luka Yulian Victorovich.
    Makarov had killed his second? One of his closest dealers, closest confidents? I crouched, feeling around for anything of use yet to no avail. Makarov had made sure to strip him of any important documents.
    I tapped my ear to unmute the comms. "Makarov got away. Victorovich is dead."
    "Samantha! Bullocks! " Ghost cursed. "We thought we lost you!"
    "And Shepherd is pissed!" Roach announced.
    I stood and looked to where I knew the chopper would be picking me up for evac. My chest hurt with an unknown pain, even harsher than the pulsing of my head. Failure is what it was and hell did it hurt. 
    I looked down at my white gloves, splattered with a bit of blood. The plum-colored dress was dipped in crimson along the hem, also ruined. My hair had once been nicely styled for the evening and now fanned all over the place. I dropped the handbag in defeat.
    "He got away."