Itâd been at least a couple of hours since Avora reached out to Captain Price⌠It was through an encrypted lineâone that left no sign, which meant that tracing her was outside of the realm of possibilities. A conversation alone with him was all that sheâd requested. No reinforcements on standby, just Captain John Price.
The location in question was an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tall pine trees that swayed in the wind, which caused the branches to rustle overhead. It was a place where people went missingânever to be seen again. Where the moonlight and stars were the only source of light, and the only sign of civilization was over a hundred miles away.
Walking through the forest was as much of a death sentence as it was horrifying. There was no telling what sort of wild animals might lurch out and attack a personâteeth tearing through skin and bone just tear its prey apart. A death as painful as it was a nightmare to endure⌠Avora assumed Price wouldnât be stupid enough to try walking through the woods.
If anything, she figured heâd drive himself there; to the warehouse, where sheâd been leaning against the wall. The cold of metal could be felt even through the protective layers of her clothes, which barely kept the evening breeze from sending a chill down her spine. Goosebumps peppered her arms as she stood there, an orange glow stemming from the tip of her cigarette; the only source of light for now, until bright headlights became visible through the treeline.
All Avora really focused on was her surroundingsâthe way the crickets chirped in unison to the way the ventilation unit hissed in the background, an appliance much overdue for replacement. A twig snapped, which caught her attention right away, but she made no effort to reach for her weapon or move. Her eyes shifted to the sky above, fixating on how beautiful it truly wasâdark with stars that shimmered like a thousand diamonds and a full moon.
âIt really is a shameâŚâ Avora said with a dramatic sigh. âThe rest of the world is missing out on such a beautiful sight.â Only for a fleeting moment would anyone forget that she was a terroristâborn to and raised by one no less. âWhat do you think, Captain Price?â She took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled the smoke, which curled into the air before dispersing. The scent of nicotine stung her throat, lungs and nostrils as she breathed in.
Price was in the car, looking at the road in front of him with disarming seriousness and attention. The stars lit up the night sky, which failed to illuminate the road through the forest that he was Crossing. The car lights guided him to the abandoned warehouse where Avora had arranged a meeting time. He didn't even know why he was crossing a road full of trees and bramble bushes to go and meet a terrorist. He tightened his grip at the memory of the call.
He had expired in his office. He was sorting out the latest reports from the mission involving imported Russian weapons. According to some research, they thought that Makarov was the one behind all this. And as if his offspring felt called into question, John's cell phone began to ring. Unknown number. He usually let it ring; if they tried, they'd call back. So he did. But when it rang a second time, he answered, and after some hesitation about that proposal, He convinced himself to go.
So now he was driving alone, without any escort behind him, through the dark woods, trying to hit as few roots as possible so as not to wreck the car. And as he arrived at the warehouse, the headlights illuminated a figure leaning on the ruined brick of that crumbling building.
He got out of the car without much hesitation. He was there now, and he wouldn't go back. Even though he didn't want to see her, he wanted to understand what she wanted from him. Maybe he could have asked her something too, who knows.
As he walked toward her, his hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket, he emphasized the little consideration he had for Avora. But he didn't lower his gaze. He couldn't afford to, because if she were even a little bit deranged like her father, then he wouldn't think twice about shooting her in the head.
He still heard her talking, John listened to her without interest. He didn't care about the sky, the stars, or how beautiful she thought that night was. He wasn't a man for roundabout conversation or conviviality. Especially in certain cases.
"What do you want from me, Makarov?"
