JUNE 16, 1997
Interview Room 3
Creed and Dmitry sat side by side.
Relaxed but guarded. Creed knew that the Hound Wolf Rescue mission was a colossal "mishap", completely blue on blue, and that Special Agent Landen had completely went off the deep end.
The cost?
Two of Dmitry's men.
Although Creed and Dmitry rescued who they could, Creed knew that this situation was going to be hard to squeeze his way out of, even if he knew his own morality and how he faces challenges.
Neither men said anything once reaching the FOB again, before they were then transfered to AFRICOM for a "post-mission analysis". And now they sat, waiting for the "CIA Investigator".
"What do you plan on telling 'em? Do we come clean and say Landen went crazy or do we try and be neutral lad?"
Dmitry shifted nervously in his chair, uncharacteristically in fact.
"We don't know how deep the conspiracy goes, it'd be in our best interest to make him out to be some sort of hero - as if we couldn't survive without him - so they don't put us in the ground with him."
Any ounce of confidence he had in the mission died in the black site along with some of his team.
All he could trust is the man sitting beside him and the one he lived in.
Soon after, he would meet the one behind it all. Not that he really knew, of course.
Mr. Graham appeared at the doorway.
He stepped inside, and introduced himself simply and to the point: CIA, Investigating the Incident.
No mention of anything else, but its not like Graham had to anyway. He appeared calm, looked well-dressed and from what Creed and Dmitry could tell...he just wanted to find out what happened to a CIA asset.
"Gentlemen. THank you for your patience. I know its uhh...its been a long couple of days. Lets walk through it again. Just so i have everything here."
Creed scoffed, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair. He looked across the table at Graham.
"We've been through it already. Twice. What else do we have to talk about, mate?"
"Aye, c'mon. Humour me a third time." His tone stayed pleasent, and outgoing on the surface.
"So after taking care of two outposts, you entered this...Black Site, with Special Agent Landen and the rest of the personnel. 13 in total. Mission objective was to..."
Graham pointed at Dmitry.
"...Recover his old squadmates. That part is...yknow, clear enough to everybody. But whats less clear is how everything collapsed in the end. Twelve men dead. Mr. Trafford, Mr. Hemlock, Mr. Kael, Mr. Siba, the rest of the contracted element. Special Agent Landen himself. And here you both are! Walked out with the surviving squadmates, no serious injuries!"
He set the pen down. It felt like a job interview.
"It doesn't make a whole lot of sense that a building full of crazed ZLF terrorists managed to kill two of your own men, a dozen contractors, and a CIA Operative, but let you two go."
He leaned back and tried to read their faces.
"Right?"
"You mean to tell me that I work with those savages? After we put your entire element on our back, after we killed a majority of the outpost? What next sir? Will you insinuate that creed is a double agent? Will you try to tell me i work for the ZLF?"
Dmitry was up in arms by this point, exhausted from the mission schedule, and his age.
Rage seeping out of his teeth, gritting against each other from the accusations laid upon him, knowing how he watched his men brutally die.
How he saw their condition be akin to F.U.B.A.R, how hard he had worked.
Slowly and deliberately, Graham set the pen on the table and turned a page.
"That's a serious allegation, Sergeant."
Creed put a hand on Dmitry's shoulder, attempting to calm the man down, while simultaneously putting himself in the conversation now.
He put a hand out in means to get through to Graham. "With respect....Sir, the black site was a complete slaughterhouse. You wanna know how we lived through that? We ran. Because Landen, your boy, had a plan. The plan fell apart...and people had to pay the price."
Graham's expression didn't shift one bit, "My boy."
Creed corrected himself, "Your agent."
"Graham's boy didn't last very long, he seemed a little intoxicated.. know anything about that, sir?" Dmitry first spoke indirectly to Graham, his eyes weren't meeting his, a sign of disrespect.
Until he addressed him directly, catching Graham's snake-like gaze.
His tone was more that of somebody who thought they discovered something huge, like Dmitry could stand up to the agent interrogating them, yet he knew none of what would befall him.
Graham turned his attention to Dmitry, and upon hearing this, he put the pen down.
"Intoxicated."
He said the word lightly, tasting it like how Landen tasted the alcohol, and he looked up at Dmitry with that unbothered, snake-like gaze.
"That's an interesting word, Sergeant. Where did you pick that up? I had to read his file this morning - Eleven years of service...a man who built a quiet life, had a wellness group, and especially so...a year sober next month."
He appeared to have a sad smile.
"So I'm curious what exactly you saw. Because if you're telling me a decorated agent was drinking on an operation, that's something I'd very much want to put in my report!"
He picked the pen back up and pointed it at Creed and Dmitry.
" But I'd need specifics. Time. Place. Because right now what I have is a concussed man, twice in one month by his own medical file, describing the condition of a dead colleague..."
Graham nearly smirked.
"...And I'd hate for a statement like that to end up in a document someone later reads as unreliable."
Dmitry shook his head.
"See, that's the difference between you and us, for all of your talking, you've never actually come face to face with anything like what you write your reports about… or read about….. I took bullets, and concussions in a foreign country, for foreign leaders, from foreign enemies. And what does that get me? Being accused by a chair-jerker for his incompetent units failure."
Berkhoff had no patience for accusations, or authority. He led his squad, sure, but it was more of a symbiotic relationship, all working together to survive.
Yet facing the thought he may be persecuted for their deaths, it scared and infuriated him, every word laced with an anger indescribable.
He started at the Sergeant for a moment, then looked at Creed. His face appeared emotionless, but hidden behind it was genuine menace. "And you corrobate this, Marcus Creed?"
Creed nodded, he was more irritated with the situation but staying quiet. "Yes. Every bit of it."
Graham went silent again, studying Dmitry and his facial expressions.
He closed the folder, lining the edges with care.
Then he smiled again. Lighter this time. Almost embarrassed like this was a giant misunderstanding.
"Okay, okay."
He raised both hands, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers, gentlemen. Its just...I have to ask the hard questions, thats the job. Im sure you both get it."
He stood, gathering the documents.
"We lost good men. We owe it to their families to understand what exactly happened to them."
He nodded.
"I'll have somebody draft your statements for signature, and I'll be in touch if anything comes up."
He walked to the door, but without turning around, said one final statement.
"For what its worth, Im glad you two made it out alive."
He left.
---
Citadel Black Site
The CIA investigative unit at the site was led by Lieutenant Siu Mei Lin, former Rainbow, but now leading this investigative unit.
"The men above have issued us simple orders, anything that moves is to be executed and cleaned, any evidence of our involvement is to be erased under any circumstances, is that clear?"
She spoke like an authority to these men, although in terms of hierarchical control, she was probably just one step above them, having earned this position through the Rainbow Six's close involvement with the U.S. government.
"Understood, Ma'am." The soldiers immediately got to work, there was around 10 all up, and they were the most discreet any could be, even wearing ZLF patches, should anyone manage to catch them in the act.
They were cleaning up bodies and disposing of vehicles.
Enter Anslo Garrick.
To be fair, the black site was quieter than Anslo expected. From all the complaining his superior delivered, he was ready for a challenge.
But this didn't strike Anslo with any particular emotion.
The stillness of this black site almost gave him the idea that this was a finished piece of infastructure.
But this wasn't finished.
He took note of the cleanup team that he could see and counted. Ten in total. Some had civilian clothes, but some had ZLF badges.
He knew exactly what this was.
He mapped basic positions of the CIA personnel and who was running the setup.
Unhurriedly, Anslo made his way through the east entrance, the same place where two of Landen's guys got a magnum to the temple by Judge, and moved without a sound.
He found his first victim in the labratory - A younger woman, headphones in and photographing things her fellow contractors missed.
She didn't hear Anslo at all.
He was almost too gentle with how he killed her.
---
"Ten confirmed K.I.A, this is going to take us a lot longer than one night…" Another CIA man strutted down the hallway, this time with a fellow operator, side by side, flashlights protruding the dark hallways, eliminating spots Anslo could hide like cockroaches against bug spray, they did have their back turned to him, however, muttering amongst themselves.
"Gotta wonder why they let that woman lead us, especially after that fuckin' catastrophe her team caused at the dam… -"
One voice.
" - From what i hear, female leadership was a huge thing in rainbow, you wonder why it all fell apart?"
Another voice.
Anslo snickered to himself. He watched the CIA duo strut down the hallway, attempting to go on the offense, but to Anslo, he was stalking them like an apex predator, treating them like prey.
They were merely an obstacle.
Their casual sexism and reliance on flashlights made them sloppy.
The beams cut ahead, leaving their flanks blind.
In two seamless strides, Anslo closed the distance, wielded his combat knife and weighted tactical cord, and before the man on the right could finish chuckling, the cord was whipped around his throat.
The man on the left was also dispatched with a knife to the side of the head. Anslo then put his pwoer through the cord, choking the man out, and cutting off blood and air to the brain, until the man went limp.
Unfortunately for Anslo, his victim did reach for his shoulder-mounted radio, he did not get the opportunity to speak, however his button was clicked in at the wrong time, his gargling breaths, and Anslo's louder struggle was heard in brief crackles and very swiftly.
A voice protruded the otherwise silent, misty air around Anslo.
"Kilo 5,4 and 3,9… caught a bad cold huh? Those coughs don't sound good, return to the transport. Can't have another chemical attack wiping us out." Mei Lin then faintly let go of her radio, however, after moments of silence, she spoke again.
"Come in… Kilo 5-4, 3-9. Don't tell me that made you pass out, 8-5, check in, over."
Before Anslo left, he grabbed the radio and equipped it, so he could listen to the chatter of Mei Lin, and the CIA Special Ops.
Carefully and stealthily, Anslo moved deeper into the black site, and in his mind, he thought about this woman. The burdens she had to carry. Understanding the 'history' of R6 Leadership.
But sadly for her, this black site would end up being another failure.
Anslo moved forward, and was soon caught by surprise by a lone CIA officer in civvie clothes.
He acted fast and lunged with his combat knife.
The knife instantaneously sunk into the mans collarbone, his hands clasped around the knife, desperately attempting to pull it out, his eyes met anslos, with a certain kind of shock, disbelief and anger creating a look of mild discomfort. He gritted his teeth, trying with all his might, yet he and Anslo fell to the ground for a dust-up, which ended quickly with Anslo piercing the knife through the mans chest, impaling him with one smooth movement. He would not have enough time to try and "clean" this kill.
It was too out in the open.
Not sloppy enough to become a serious problem but sloppy enough that other agents would hear the struggle.
Anslo precisely moved into the stairwell, slowly and methodically making his way up.
Ironically enough, two agents were coming through the stairwell, about two sets up, lifting some kind of heavy object, it appeared bed shaped, and rotten smelling, one of them even commented on it.
"This fucking stinks man, you said they did what on it?"
Inaudible mumbling could be heard from the other, as they approached closer.
"Nah no way, you made that up… no one could be depraved enough to do that, even in this shithole."
Anslo shuffled up, seeing both agents and stopping dead in his tracks as they both descnded the stairs, with the body.
He had his pistol out, silenced of course, and he stopped there confused as they came down.
"Oi, Lads. Be careful with the body will ya?"
He quickly drew the pistol and shot both in the temple.
---
Mei Lin was in a full-blown panic.
"Disciple squad, move to the rooftop immediately, communications aren't functioning properly, too many of us aren't responding."
Lieutenant Mei Lin was almost like a leader slowly losing control over its pack - a soldier losing its platoon.
Anslo made his way up to the rooftop, now reaching the top floor after clearing isolated CIA patrols, using the stolen radio to track them down.
The top floor was like a crime scene, caution tape strung across doorways. Placards with numbers were next to blood splatters, where corpses originally lay.
It was CIA's attempt to be the "good guys". The people doing the "right thing".
Anslo thought it was hilarious.
"HQ..no, wrong channel… HQ….nothings working."
The woman he heard many times over the many dead people's radios was standing not far from him now, investigating the corpses strewn along the rooftop, mainly by his people.
A couple of agents gathered around the rooftop, patrolling the sides, looking off to the roads.
Once Anslo passed Landen's left bottle of alcohol, more bodies, and more crime scene setup, he climbed the final steps of the stairs, now reaching the roof where Ying and the last few agents stood.
It was almost like a repeat of what happened before - Judge confronting Landen. Except Anslo was no murderer full of rage.
A murderer?
Yes.
But he was methodical.
He pulled the pin on a 9-Bang, before rolling it onto the roof.
He waited for the pop.
"Flash deployed - not ours!" The men cowered for cover, not that it necessarily helped, they were immediately blind to it, stumbling into walls and the like, easy prey, especially for a predator like Anslo.
Mei Lin elected for cover, on full alert, keeping an eye for Anslo, hoping she wasn't seen.
Anslo methodically and systematically cleared the blinded CIA operators one by one, soon leaving Ying alone.
He used the shadows of the roof to his advantage.
Every bit of cover was like a reward to him.
He knew that if he caught her by surprise, he'd have a much easier time taking her down.
For as much confidence Anslo had in his abilities, he couldn't underestimate anyone.
"Cmon you bastard… you can't kill us all." Was it merely a coincidence or a slight piece of unfortunate foreshadowing? Anslo and Ying knew each others capabilities very well, it wasn't hard to say that at least one was scared of the other, as Ying took a deep, shaky breath, through her whispers she heard a break in the stepping, rolling a flash grenade toward the noise, it still had the pin.
But would it be her or Anslo's undoing?
He put his hands up in defense, before taking cover. He couldnt quite make out where Ying was, but fired a few stray shots from his silenced pistol into the darkness, aiming to catch Ying with one of the shots.
Once he knew her location, he could pounce.
As she peeked out, the pistols bullets struck her multiple times, once in the shoulder, the neck, then in the upper thigh, as her body met the floor within seconds, her elbows absorbing a lot of the impact, but she crumbled under the pain within seconds. Blood started to seep from the wounds, dripping onto the harsh rooftop flooring, as she desperately attempted to crawl toward cover, for something- anything.
It was far too late though, Anslos boots stepped closer, she could hear it, and could sure as hell feel it when his boot pressed harder against her neck, allowing the blood to seep and pour out.
He continued applying pressure, even grinning slightly as he did so, effectively cutting off whatever airflow she had left.
He pressed down until her body went limp, leaving her sprawled flat against the rooftop.
Dead.
He crouched, pulled the radio from her vest, and turned the dial until it was only static.
The evidence placards and the numbered tags were still where the CIA had set them, with chalk outlines and photograph markers.
Someone had marked Judge's work as carefully as a museum labels its exhibits.
It was a map of the worst week of the Citadel's life, and the Americans had drawn it for him.
He found what he wanted on the east side, by the stairwell: a jerry can the cleanup team had brought for disposing of vehicles. Half full. He weighed it in one hand, unscrewed the cap, and smelled it.
Petrol.
He worked from the top down, unhurried, the way he'd done everything else. He poured a line along the base of the caution tape and followed it down the stairs, soaking the placards and the evidence tags as he went.
On the top floor he found the room where Landen's contractors had been searching, the half-drunk bottle still sitting by the wall. He picked it up.
It was whiskey.
He looked at it a moment, then tipped it over the chalk marks and let it run across the floor.
---
The laboratory was last.
The suspended body bags rotated slowly in the draft from the open door, and he didn't look at them for long.
He emptied what remained of the can across the tables, the documentation and instruments and forms in multiple languages that someone else had spent a day bagging, and then he walked to the door and set the can down on the floor, neatly, upright.
At the doorway he took out a lighter.
He turned it over once before opening it.
He didn't say a prayer.
He'd never needed to.
It caught slowly, then all at once, a bright blue crawl along the floor that climbed the nearest table and found the paper.
By the time he reached the stairwell the laboratory was lit orange from inside.
By the second landing he could feel the heat on his back.