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

Chapter 7

    The statement both excited and irritated me.
    "Lucky day?"
    "Makarov's close dealer is throwing a party," Soap's eyes narrowed as he continued to smirk. "You're going to crash it."
    I grinned. "That sounds like something I would do," my lips fell. "I'm doing this alone?"
    "Yes," he raised his gaze. "I just found this information out. Sending more than one of us will be a little too obvious."
    "You're doing it around Shepherd?"
    "I have...slight permission."
    "What's the gig?"
    "You're to gain intel from Makarov's close second and if the bastard himself is there, you'll kill him."
    "What about his second?"
    "Luka Yulian Victorovich will be very active at the auction," Soap explained. "For him to show up missing during would attract attention—a lot of it. You won't make a move on him unless shit hits the fan."
    "I'm hoping it does."
    "Makarov is the main target," Soap gazed at me intently. "If he's there."
    I nodded to it all. "And the specifics? How do I get there? What are you making me wear this time?"
    "Ghost will show you all of that," Soap turned his gaze to where the soldier was entering right on time. "Just remember your mission, Samantha."
    "Have I let you down yet?" I curtsied slightly and then lowered my voice. "Don't tell anyone what you know...not yet. Please."
    "Of course not," Soap smiled as I backed out of the room. 
    Me telling Soap that little hiccup of my history had not been planned or intended. The men I worked with and fought next to now didn't need to know the history which haunted my every day. They didn't need to know how I really was: the ruthless killer who ended the lives of anyone who got in my way, innocent or not.
    Ghost was wearing his mask—which I dearly wanted to question—and gave an amusing wave. "Right this way."
    "I guess there aren't any 'be safe Sam' and 'see you soon Sam' around here," I muttered. "Tough crowd."
    "You don't need anything like that," Ghost chuckled, showing me into an armory. "Don't forget who you are."
    I smiled, my gut warm. "I won't. Now, what am I—"
    I broke off as Ghost opened up a prepared cabinet in the room. My eyes traveled over the plum-colored dress. Low at the chest with thin straps crossing over the back. The skirt was long and held a few layers of chiffon fabric. Silver heels, white gloves, and a black handbag were hanging as well.
    Ghost was watching me examine the set up and I turned my head to glare at him. His calm eyes broke into an amused one upon seeing my sourness.
    "There's no way in hell I'm wearing this!"

"Fucking dress," I grumbled, pulling up the low-hanging V chest as I walked out of the garden.
    The pilot had already lifted off to allow another helicopter to land and unload important guests. I eyed the figure of his borrowed bird in annoyance; I was really stuck here for most of the night. He had orders to stay within distance for the comms, yet he couldn't be at my side.
    "Приветствовать," the doorman greeted me in Russian as I stepped up to be let inside.
    I smiled in response, throwing just enough of a nervous blinking fit to make the man blush. I pushed inside, immediately coming to a grand hall full of paintings and artifacts on auction for the night. Filthy rich people from all over were milling about.
    "Any idea where the bastard could be?"
    "Dressed in a suit with a woman around his arm," Ghost responded lowly in my earpiece.
    I looked around at the dozens of men just as such. "Specific. Very, very specific."
    "He will be where the money is," Soap spoke instead.
    I raised my head and proceeded to steadily walk deeper into the center hall. People paid me no mind, watching instead the antiques. I tried to fit in to a certain degree, also pausing to look at a few odd items.
    "Заинтересованы?"
    I shook my head. "Нет, спасибо."
    "She knows Russian?" Roach practically shouted into the mic. "She speaks Russian?"
    "Settle down Roach," Soap snapped.
    I avoided laughing by picking up an alcoholic drink offered by a tray and sipping. The drink was sweet yet held an aftertaste of danger. I only drank more.
    "Any sign?" Ghost demanded.
    "No," I murmured. "All of you shut it and let me do my work...except for you Soap. Sorry."
    "You are absolutely right," Soap agreed. "Keep the comms open. We'll be in touch. Out."
    I let out a low breath and swiftly sat down at a table in the main ballroom. People were drinking, dancing, and bidding on items currently up on the stage. The man calling out the highest price was nothing like the photo of Luka Victorovich.
    "Мне все равно, кто он. Они не изменяют мне."
    My gaze moved to where a professionally dressed man was speaking in low Russian to two other colleagues. By the fact he didn't want to get cheated, I knew Luka was the man speaking. I eyed him more warmly to onlookers, a smile coating my lips as I stood to move towards him
    "Г-н Викторович," I greeted Mr. Victorovich with a dashing smile.
    He glanced to the men by him and then told them to leave. Luka faced me with a warm, handsome smile, causing his face to pinch like a mouse. "You sound English."
    "I am," I blushed, tucking a strand of curled brunette hair behind my ear as I forced out an impromptu accent. "Excuse my improper Russian."
    "It is lovely," Luka smiled and eyed my entire, elegant form. "As are you."
    "Oh, Mr. Victorovich," I blushed again. "You're too kind." 
     I did have to admit that the enemy personnel was rather dashing. His tie was a deep velvet, his wrist watch a sparkling silver. Luka's dark hair was gelled and combed backwards; it caused him to look even more sophisticated. His eyes were a golden brown, softened into a welcoming mood.
    "Is your husband—"
    "I'm here alone tonight," I gave another friendly beam. "I've yet to find the right man."
    "Perhaps I could help."
    "I'm sure you would be very helpful indeed."
    An expression in Luka's face faltered as I stepped forwards to run a hand along his arm. He cleared his throat, growing stiff at my swift touch. I turned until I was behind him, still stroking along his fit shoulders and along his triceps. My eyes scanned the area around us as I did so. 
    "Excuse me," Luka was looking towards the stage. He paused before moving away, his eyes hooded in a mood of desire. "Remind me your name?" 
    "Molly." 
    "Molly," he licked his lips. "Find me after the auction."
    I smiled after him in a seductive way as he sauntered over to the stage. He fixed the cuff of his right arm and then stepped onto the stage. My back found a nearby wall and I leaned against it in curiosity. 
    So far nothing had jumped out at me that Luka was buddies with Makarov. He was simply a rather handsome and flirtatious businessman with a thing for selling authentic objects. 
    "Talk to me Sam," Soap came in.
    "So far so good," I murmured, brushing away a piece of hair. 
    "And are you okay?"
    Specifically you, Sam. "Just fine."
    Soap's natural manner of checking in on myself made a wiggle deep in my heart come to life. I wanted to shiver in a rare delight, however I forced myself not to. I could no longer have the attraction to John MacTavish that I'd struggled with since first meeting him. 
    He'd made it clear that the night together had been a mistake; it never should've happened and I kicked myself for it. I had to respect that and agree to it as well despite my constant flare of feelings. 
    "Keep your eyes peeled for Makarov," Soap came through my ear again and I blinked to come back to the mission at hand. 
    "No sign of him so far."
    My eyes traveled over some of the men shouting out bids. They were mostly older, with their younger spouses or girlfriends by their sides. Some of the suited men were more silent, standing away from the main attraction with their hands clasped in front of them. 
    I narrowed my eyes to focus on the silent one nearest to me. His jacket...the back of it was awkwardly resting. My trained gaze sought out the heavy pistol tucked between the suit and the outside world. 
    My lips let out a shaky breath as I found many other men with similar set ups. "They're armed. All of them."
    "Take it slow Lieutenant," Soap warned even though I didn't need it.
    I didn't respond, figuring my lip movement would set off an entire army. My hands held my small handbag at my side. I'd brought no weapons except for a knife tucked inside the handbag. If I had to use it, I would. 
    "Ты один сегодня вечером?" 
    To the dark, snippy voice on my left, I softly shifted my head. Probably another Russian set to woo me for the evening...to see if I was alone for the rest of the night. This was the reason I hated dresses. 
    My eyes followed more slowly and I shifted on the wall. The man was walking up, fixing his open suit vest. I traced up from his fit mid-section to his face, with dark eyes naturally narrowed along with pursed, focused lips, and I felt my blood go cold.
    Vladimir Makarov.