Metal Gear Solid: Guns of the Patriot (14 page)

Snake climbed atop the APC, pushed Drebin’s head back into the vehicle, then lowered himself inside.

Drebin said, “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride!” He slammed on the gas, and soon Snake was tossed about the cramped quarters, sandwiched among Drebin’s wares and personal belongings. The gibbon, Little Gray—so named because the hairless monkey looked like a little gray alien—hung freely from a metal pipe that ran down the length of the vehicle.

“I’m following a Pieuvre Armement APC. It should still be up ahead on this road.”

“I know that, Old Snake. Why do you think I came to pick your ass up?”

Crawling his way back to the front of the vehicle, Snake asked, “How did you know?”

“Your partner told me.”

“Otacon?”

Just five minutes earlier, I’d asked Drebin to support Snake. In no time, we settled on fair terms—Drebin was eager to help.

Snake regarded the arms dealer. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Aren’t you?”

Drebin urged the APC faster, and Snake was tossed back to the rear of the vehicle like a load of laundry. Little Gray shrieked with glee.

Snake’s codec chirped.

“Snake, can you hear me?”

“This is Jack, isn’t it?”

“I am Raiden. Jack is no more.”

The voice was emotionless. Snake slowly shook his head.

Something had come over Jack—was it the very same darkness that had once consumed Big Boss, Liquid … and even Solid Snake?

Snake asked, “Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing?”

“On a mission. Finding something. For someone.”

That didn’t help clear things up much.

“Finding what?”

“Something important. Something that holds the fate of the world.”

A pause.

“Pandora’s box, perhaps.”

After Raiden saved Sunny from the Patriots, he’d simply said, “There’s something I have to do,” and vanished. Was this what he was talking about?

“What are you searching for?”

“The corpse of Big Boss.”

For Snake, time froze.

The corpse contained the genetic code of the legendary soldier, the greatest warrior. At Shadow Moses, Liquid demanded it delivered to him. Even after his death, Big Boss continued to hold people under his spell.

Jack said, “I was asked to do this in exchange for Sunny’s location. I was following the only lead I had to find her.”

Liquid wanted Big Boss’s corpse before … could he be the one who sent Raiden to find it? Snake feared it too, and asked Jack.

“Liquid?”

“No. The leader of a small resistance group. She can be trusted.”

“Who is she?”

“Her followers call her Matka Pluku.”

Snake recognized the words. They were Czech. When he was younger and a member of special ops, his training took place in the shadow of the end of the Cold War. Naturally, his studies included Slavic languages.

“Great Mother …”

“Big Mama,” Jack corrected. “She seems to have some connection with the Patriots. She said she had plans for you.”

Snake didn’t know anyone called Big Mama, but it seemed like she knew him. It wouldn’t be the first time he was contacted by a mysterious person.

“Snake!” Drebin yelled back. “I see it!”

Snake crawled up to the front cabin, somehow navigating the inside of the violently rocking car.

The other vehicle was still distant. A clearing far ahead had been converted into a makeshift heliport—probably Pieuvre Armement’s doing. The PMC’s armored truck was parked next to a transport helicopter, and armed personnel stood at the ready. Snake’s quarry had already reached their destination.

Then Snake saw them. Standing at the open rear hatch of the large transport helicopter were Naomi and Vamp, that bloodsucker.

I yelled over the codec. “They’re taking Naomi away!”

Drebin slammed on the gas, and the Stryker picked up speed—a feat only possible because the road had been freshly paved near the heliport. Even with the more level road, Drebin’s speed was too great for the ride to be a smooth one, and Snake was again tossed into the back of the vehicle.

But as Snake tumbled, he grabbed onto Little Gray to keep himself from hitting the back of the APC. The gibbon, itself barely hanging on, let out a cry of anger in protest to the affront.

Snake flipped himself upright, hefted himself up through the top hatch, and found the rooftop gunner’s seat.

He pulled out the DSR1 he’d purchased from Drebin and aimed down the sniper rifle’s sight—right in the middle of Vamp’s forehead. The road straightened, and the Stryker was pointed straight at the target. Maybe the shot would kill the wannabe immortal, or maybe it wouldn’t, but there wasn’t time to find a better option. All he could do was shoot.

Through the magnified rifle scope, Snake watched Vamp slump to the floor of the helicopter.

But he hadn’t fired yet!

Snake lowered his gun and upped the magnification on the Solid Eye. The PMC troops hadn’t reacted to the sudden collapse of their comrade and likely commander. The rear hatch remained open as the helicopter slowly lifted off the ground.

“Drebin!” Snake shouted down through the open hatch. “Faster!”

Drebin raised his voice over the noise of the engine and the rattling APC.

“Hey man, I was just looking out for your senior citizen ass. Hang on tight, Old Snake!”

The g-force pressed Snake into the back of the gunner’s seat as his body fought against the very last burst of acceleration the Stryker could muster. His dilapidated arms and back felt as if they were about to snap. The APC crested the last tiny slope before the helipad, and the tires left pavement, the Stryker practically diving into the compound.

“Naomi!” Snake yelled.

Then the world fell apart once more.

Just like in the Middle East, the world collapsed onto Snake, and everything descended into chaos. The PMC soldiers on the ground writhed in agony. Only those in the helicopter seemed unaffected, impassively ascending like angels abandoning mankind.

He still clutched the sides of the gunner’s seat, but how long could he keep that up? He was going to fall, he knew it.

Snake looked up at Naomi, who stood still in the back of the helicopter. She pointed a finger at her neck. Even as Snake’s consciousness began to crumble, he understood the signal. He took the autoinjector from his pouch, pressed it against his neck, and pushed the button.

Then everything came back.

The connections between the neurons in his mind reformed, bringing back meaning, state, existence. He could breathe again. The nausea faded.

“I’m going for it!” Drebin yelled, but Snake couldn’t hear from where he sat. It didn’t really matter—there was only one way to get the Stryker to the helicopter. The rear of the APC slid, and the tires left faint tire marks on the helipad as the car drifted to a stop directly beneath the helicopter.

Drebin shouted, “Eye have you!”

Snake called up to Naomi, and she leapt from the open hatch to the APC several yards below. The helicopter had been too high for her to jump to the ground, but the Stryker’s height—and Snake’s waiting arms—allowed for her safe landing. She made it inside the vehicle, and Snake followed.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here!” Drebin’s voice teemed with excitement.

This time, Snake grabbed onto the central bar to hold himself in place.

“It happened again,” he said. “Like in the Middle East.”

Naomi nodded. “Another of Liquid’s tests. The emotional control isn’t stable yet.”

“What about Vamp?”

“He injected nanomachines to put himself to sleep and escape the effects.”

Drebin cut in. “Look behind!”

Snake poked his head back out the top hatch.

When I saw them through the Solid Eye, I thought they were a pack of T-Rexes. When I designed the Metal Gear REX, I named the machine after the dinosaur, so I could understand the association, but still, I felt silly. I knew better—they were Gekko.

That said, the pack of IRVING chasing after the Stryker was straight out of
Jurassic Park
. I’d heard reports of the IRVING’s effectiveness, but I didn’t know their legs could propel them across the dirt that fast. They were like giant athletes.

Snake positioned himself at the mounted machine gun attached to the gunner’s seat and fired at the Gekko. Although the mounted gun shot large caliber rounds, they didn’t seem nearly enough to penetrate the thick armor plating of the IRVINGs’ heads. Instead, Snake focused his aim on the exposed bits of sensory and nerve equipment at the top of their flat, tanklike heads, on the less heavily armored connections where their weapons were mounted, and on their fleshy, organic legs.

His strategy proved successful, and the Gekko tumbled one by one. But for each he felled, another sprang into its place.

“I can’t believe the numbers of these guys,” said Drebin, in awe. “This is way over the war price here.”

The “war price” was a kind of market price that fluctuated according to the demand for PMCs and munitions industries as well as the demand for production, distribution, and energy. As fighting became increasingly intense and prolonged, the war price for those commodities went up. With the prices growing by leaps and bounds, investors had started to take notice.

Therefore, with the numbers of Gekko clearly disproportionate to the war prices for that region, Liquid’s war must not have been motivated by profit.

Snake, who was becoming gradually overwhelmed by the swarm, called out to Drebin. The head of the pack edged closer and closer to the Stryker.

Now, some readers might be wondering where I was at that moment. I was in a helicopter.

When I saw Liquid launch his second test, I flew the combat helicopter out from
Nomad
’s cargo bay and monitored Snake’s mission from there. Factoring in my helicopter’s speed and Drebin’s, I calculated the fastest possible interception vector.

“Head for the city!” I said to Snake.

Drebin spun the wheel and went off the side of the road and onto a side route leading toward a nearby town. One minute, houses began to dot the landscape, and the next, the Stryker was inside the city.

Still piloting my own helicopter—only possible thanks to a liberal usage of the autopilot functions—I sent a map of the city to Snake’s Solid Eye and said, “I’m going to land just on the other side of the marketplace. Please, somehow, just make it there!”

Piloting his APC in a mad dash between buildings and pedestrians, Drebin drove with a skill inimitable by any ordinary man. Luckily, they’d entered the city through a less-populated area, but as they approached the market, crowds became thicker, and this feat became increasingly difficult. Even more unsettling than the Stryker’s swerving maneuvers was how, as the situation became more and more dangerous, Drebin smiled all the bigger.

Naomi noticed it too and managed to whisper, “You …” but had no words to follow. What could she say?

“Whoa!” was all Drebin had to say, his grin nearly as wide as his face.

Drebin guided the APC around a corner in a sideways drift to see a flatbed truck blocking the street. He flicked the wheel, and the Stryker rolled on its side and bounced into an acrobatic flip over the flatbed.