Hotel Six: A Call of Duty Fanfiction

Chapter 24: Samara

MacTavish rubbed his forehead, walking into the barracks and closing the door behind him.

"Everything alright, Captain?" asked Ghost, tossing a bottle of ale to him.

He caught it and shook his head, closing his eyes. "I met with Shepherd today to talk about what happened on our last op; he opened up the file on Kingfish, and now I'm realizin' just how big this whole thing is."

Ghost's blue eyes reflected a grave worry, though the rest of his body seemed relaxed. "How big we talking?"

"Huge... He's got hypothetical connections all over; Russia, Ukraine, Georgia, the Middle East, Africa, Europe... the United Kingdom..."

"No shit..." the Lieutenant breathed.

MacTavish twisted the cap off his drink and raised it to his lips. "There's a rumour that he might even have connections in the states."

Ghost was quiet, but then looked up. "What do you mean 'hypothetical' connections?"

"They're people he's talked to or worked with in the past; we don't have any confirmed contact between them all right now, but it is suspicious that as soon as Kingfish disappeared off the map, so did they."

There was a deathly silence. What now? Where would they even look? They certainly couldn't wait until the Ultranationalists showed their faces again. But with such a vast world, what if they never found any of them again until something dramatic happened?

"... What's the plan, John?"

MacTavish set his drink down in silence. "We need informants, but we don't have any right now. The Ultranationalists have killed or ejected all of the last ones we had."

The Lieutenant thought for a moment. "Obviously we need more informants, and we need to find the Ultranationalists..."

"And your suggestion is..?"

Ghost smiled. "Now, hear me out before you shoot me down..."

"Just because I'm a shapeshifter doesn't mean I'm a miracle worker..." Jessica groaned.

"Think about it, Lone," said Ghost. "You're the only one we have who can simultaneously track by scent while also garnering information from people. It's brilliant."

She grimaced. "Yeah, if you can find me a scent sample that isn't more than two days old, and have even a faint idea of where to find any of these bastards, sure; I can totally do that."

MacTavish tossed a folder to the table and its content spilled out. Jessica gave it a puzzled look and then looked back at the Captain as if to inquire. "This is the Operation Kingfish complete file. This is everyone we know of inside the Ultranationalist Inner Circle, including Vladimir Makarov, aka 'Kingfish," and everyone he's ever asked for the time."

She looked over the pictures and information. Of most interest to her was a picture with Makarov's name and information clipped to it; he had an angular face streaked vertically with scars- one most prominent on his mouth- and wild, unkempt black hair. Despite his dark, deep-set features, his eyes were a striking blue and green. Her eyes scanned the picture several times before returning to the Captian. "... Who are you wanting me to find? Our last mission proved that Makarov's movements are ghost-like; it would be a wonder to actually find him before he drops off the radar again."

He leaned forward until his face was just inches from hers. "Find anyone. I don't care if all you find is some little nobody-janitor, if he knows anythin' about Makarov or his Inner Circle, I want to know where he is and what he's doin'."

Jessica nodded solemnly. "Alright, sir. If you can find me a good location and a scent sample, I'll look for someone. But I can't promise anything, a'ight?"

The Captain sighed relief. "That's fine. We're just tryin' anythin' until somethin' works. It's better than waitin' for somethin' to happen," he said.

She clacked all of the papers, newspaper clippings, and pictures on the desk to straighten them and placed them all back in the folder. "What else do I need to know for this mission, sir?"

"I grew up in Moscow until I was 13, and then moved to Saint Petersburg with my family. When I turned 16, I went to the Imperial Academy of Art where I learned Impressionism, sculpting, and creative writing, all the while I studied history on my own. I was working at the Hermitage Museum until two weeks ago in hopes of finding a teaching job at one of the local universities."

Ghost smiled and nodded behind the translator in front of him, who was also bobbing his head up and down. "Impressive, you picked up Russian like a natural," said the Lieutenant.

Jess huffed- it was supposed to be a scoff, but the effort was less than half-hearted. "Yeah, well, when you do nothing but listen and read and practice all day, every day, for six weeks, you pick it up kinda quick."

MacTavish walked into the room briskly. "Nicely done, Lone Wolf," he said.

"Is everyone going to call me that, now..?"

"We'll be gettin' you outta here by 2200 tonight. There's a safe house outside o' Smyshlyayevka, and it looks like there's been some activity in the area over the last few days. See what you can find. If you can't find anythin' in three days, we'll come and get you."

She wrung her hands stiffly. "And if I do?"

"We'll be checkin' on ya every three days; if you need more time, send a text without punctuating the end of the sentence. If you're ready to come home, end your message with a period; end with an exclamation if it's urgent."

Jessica sighed shakily. "Okay. I can keep that straight."

"Good," said Ghost, starting toward the door. "Get yourself packed and ready. We'll see you tonight."

As the door closed behind him, Jess leaned against the wall, her arms folded and eyes shut. "... I'm nervous, John."

MacTavish looked her up and down and halted his gaze on her feet, seemingly jarred by the use of his first name. "What about? You know the language; as long as you keep your name straight and don't go into too many details when you talk to people, you'll blend right in."

"I'm not worried about that," she said. "I'm worried I'm not going to find anything, and we'll have to wait until something bad happens to find the Ultranationalists."

He stood up and walked over to her, leaning against the wall beside her. "If that's what happens, we can't do anythin' about it. It's a risk, and we can't eliminate it. Just do your best, alright?" he said.

She looked at him and nodded. "Will do, sir."

John grinned. "Good. Now, get outta here; you've got packin' to do."