Alright, I apologize for how long it took me to update. I was off school two days in a row for snow, so it forced me to get motivated and type this up. It's a long chapter as well...but I provided page breaks for those of you who may not be able to finish it in one sitting (it's only 10 pages...). Also, dialogue typed with ( ) around it is being spoken in Portuguese, I didn't want to translate all of it, and I also didn't want to translate incorrectly...that's always embarrassing. As always, thanks for the comments/alerts/favs :) Enjoy!

Returning to the camp had Roach feeling like royalty. His fellow comrades gathered around to ask eager questions, (except for Reaper, he was far too annoyed) Meat being the one to ask the most questions.

"So, what was it like? Did you have to kill anybody?" Meat inquired over the others.

"At the beginning, it was nothing but climbing. But when day two hit, we reached the base, and that's when all hell broke loose--" Roach replied.

Royce found his way into the crowd. "So…you guys had to retaliate?"

Roach gave a nod. "Fought fire with fire…honestly, I'm still surprised we came out alive."

The curious questions continued to flood into Roach's ears, until they ultimately died down and dispersed, just like the sun as it vanished beyond the horizon.

The day that followed brought grim news…the kind of news that had a man's stomach churn. A man of great importance and stature sent for MacTavish and Riley. He needed to speak to the men that ran the Task Force 141. This man's name was General Shepherd, and he was the man in charge of it all. An American, no wonder. He had beckoned for the two men early the next morning, the news was urgent, and he needed to speak to them directly.

Inside the conference room, the three men watched videos on the wall with concerned eyes. Shepherd was a stern looking man. A flat mouth, sharp features, and an even sharper stare. He watched the images before him with his thumb on his chin.

Simon Riley and John MacTavish were at a loss of words as the images unfolded. They were fresh news broadcastings, straight from Russia. What their eyes showed them was sinister.

An entire Russian airport had been brutally murdered by a set of heavily armed gunmen; terrorists rather. And what they left behind was a trail of the innocent dead-children, mothers, the elderly- and an American…the American was actually sent as a spy by Shepherd. The man was a field agent from the C.I.A. and his name was Joseph Allen. Unfortunately, all the Russians saw was an American who had just assisted in an inhumane assault. This looked bad, very bad. Even though Shepherd's face was unmoving, he was no were near calm.

Riley shook his head in dismay, biting his lip as the video played on the wall and in his head. "This is not good. The Russians aren't gonna let this massacre go unanswered. It's gonna get bloody." He announced, unable to remove his eyes from the outlandish replays.

MacTavish crossed his broad arms. "Too right, mate. Now, in the eyes of the world, they're the victims. No one's gonna say a word when the Russians club every American they can reach."

"Makarov was one move ahead," Shepherd followed through, pulling their attention from the videos. He straightened his posture and reached for the wireless mouse by his chair. "Now the man's left thousands of bodies at the feet of a single American."

MacTavish eyed the man with a sense of curiosity. There was something about the man's aura that worried the young Captain. John couldn't put a finger on it, but as for now, he'd have to shrug it off and, instead, be more concerned with the current situation.

"We're the only ones who know it was Makarov's operation. No one else does," MacTavish stated matter-of-factly, leaning forward to support his weight on the table with his arms. "Our credibility died with Allen…we need proof. Without it, Allen's just another criminal."

Shepherd's eyes found MacTavish's. "Follow the shell." His hand worked the mouse and pulled up a picture of a man onto the projected screen. "…Alejandro Rojas."

Riley and MacTavish found the man's eyes on the still picture. Pictured next to him was a darker complected man, possibly his side-arm man.

John felt confused and shook his head. "Never heard of him, sir."

Shepherd opened up additional files. "You should know him as Alex the Red. He supplied the assault."

That time around, the name rung a bell, and had both Riley and MacTavish nodding with realization. What bothered them both, was how Shepherd already possessed this information.

"One bullet to unleash the fury of a whole nation. Which means…" John said only to be interrupted in the middle of his thoughts.

"Which means he's our ticket to Makarov." Shepherd answered, with his stare still locked onto the screen and Rojas' oval shaped face.

"Consider him dead." Riley commented with lowered brows.

"Not so fast. We need the man alive, that's why I called for you two. We are sending you and your men to the Rio de Janeiro area, to find and retrieve the man and the information he has." Shepherd said with that unchanging look in his light blue eyes. He walked over to MacTavish and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "I know I can entrust you and your men with this important task…right?"

John looked at Shepherd's hand then found the man's face. John MacTavish's look alone was enough to answer the question.

"Wait a minute, you're not going?" Roach asked Worm who sat in his bed, picking dirt from under his nails.

Worm shook his head, still keeping his eyes on his work in progress. "Nah, I got assigned to joint-operate with the SEALs."

"But you're a part of MacTavish's Task Force…" Meat commented through a mouthful of foam and toothpaste. Royce sat quietly while watching the events unfold. Each of them enjoyed Worm and his humor. They found it to be a shame that he wasn't joining them.

"True, I am. But the Task Force is very flexible. While half of you guys are selected by the "Leftenant" and Captain, the other members are sent off to help other branches of military on special operation missions. That's where me, Reaper, Hammerhead and the others are going. The SEALs need some mild assistants, so Archer is taking us with his sniper team to provide that help."

"Don't get killed. I'd like to work by you soon." Royce stated flatly, with hidden hints of concern.

Worm flashed his wide smile. "Same goes for you, man. When you guys return from Brazil, you let me know how it went, alright?"

"That sounds like a plan," said Meat from his corner.

The morning was quickly disappearing and noon time was closing in on Captain MacTavish and his five selected men: Ghost, Roach, Meat, Royce, and an Australian that went by the name Dingo. By 1300 hours, they'd be on their ride to Brazil and what the humid country had waiting for them.

When the MH-60L DAP helicopter landed, all of the Take Force 141, except for Ghost and the Captain, pulled themselves aboard and awaited for the appearance of the remaining two. The pilots appeared impatient, but they would have to wait.

Ghost found MacTavish standing alone, staring at the far end of the camp.

"Sir, the chopper is ready." Ghost announced while striding towards MacTavish's backside.

The silent man didn't answer right away, and instead, narrowed his blue eyes quizzing.

"Sir?"

Captain MacTavish turned his head towards Ghost and avoided the remark. "I've got a strange feeling, Ghost."

Ghost straightened his posture and remained still. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," MacTavish turned his head back towards the end of the camp again and bit his lip, "I just fear we won't be returning with all of our men."

Ghost didn't want to feed the negative thoughts, but sadly, it was most likely true. The mission they were assigned was labeled as a highly dangerous operation. The area they were being shipped off too was teeming with Brazilian Militia men, a heavily armed gang said to be in alliance with "Alex the Red", and maybe even the Russian madman, Vladimir Makarov. The chances of them returning unharmed and fully intact was unlikely.

"Sir, we can't worry about that now…" Ghost said quietly, having MacTavish turn to him with a inquiring look written all over his face.

"Let's go, Ghost." Again, the man seemed to have dodged Ghost's replies, and simple patted Ghost's broad shoulder as he walked past. Riley smiled weakly under his ghastly balaclava, and followed in MacTavish's footsteps.

The Captain may have been a strong individual, both mentally and physically, but he was still young, and not yet fully immune to witnessing the death of his men and their constant state of being in danger. It was stressful and overbearing to always be alert of not just oneself, but the other five as well. His men were his responsibility, and whatever happened to them, no matter what it may be, he felt it was his fault. He was their guardian, but he was also their human guardian, he was no angel, even he couldn't promise to himself that he was going to be able to keep them all safe.

MacTavish cared for each of his men, but for some reason, there was something about Roach he really liked. He saw himself in Roach: quiet, skilled, and determined. MacTavish was only a year older than the Sergeant, (Roach had decided to join the military later in his college years; he was slightly older than the other sergeants) so he related to the reserved man even more. Seeing Roach with his alert eyes and skillful shooting only made the Captain watch after him more. It wasn't that Roach was going to be getting special treatment from his Captain, but he was going to be specifically guarded in a way.

Ghost and MacTavish finally reached the chopper. Once the two stepped into their transportation, the chopper lifted off the ground and took to the sky.

Midway through the journey, the men had learned much. Apparently, Meat was a father of two four year old twins; a boy and a girl. He smiled as the picture of them was passed around.

"You're a father? Why are you doing this profession?" Dingo questioned with amazement.

"Well, I was already involved with the military when their mum got pregnant, and by then, I was pretty set on knowing what I was going to do. Sure, you can call me selfish, but I know you guys understand. Besides, I love my children. That's why they're with my parents right now, their mother didn't want them." Meat stated so rather nonchalantly with love. His fellow comrades saw him in a new light.

Talking about Meat and his twins had Ghost wondering about Royce. The topic quickly changed with the opening of Ghost's concealed mouth.

"Out of curiosity, how come you sound more American than British, Royce? You apparently came from the UK," he gestured towards the Union Jack on Royce's left shoulder.

Royce smiled. "I was wondering when someone was going to ask that…" he began, "my father got transferred over to Liverpool by his job when I was fourteen. When we finally arrived, I met Meat and immediately became friends," his eyes found Meat, "I've lived in Britain since."

The men continued to talk over the spinning turbine of the soaring helicopter.

The quiet Roach finally broke his streak of silence. "Captain MacTavish, I was wondering, when we get to Brazil, how are we going to start to search for Rojas? We have hardly any leads."

MacTavish was glad someone finally asked. Ghost and him always cover the mission amongst themselves, and briefly sprinkle the details on their men, so it was relieving to hear Roach speak.

"The locals. A lot of them are more than willing to talk. Rojas has been quite the pest over there, especially with his gang of Militia. We'll have to remain under the radar as best as possible to avoid suspicion, but Shepherd's hooked us up with some intel and names," the Captain answered.

"Rojas hasn't just been stirring up trouble in other nations, he's affecting his own as well. Rio de Janeiro is home to his hot spots, and of course, his violent ways," added in Ghost as he leaned his weight forward in between his knees. "With that being said, we have the advantage, but the key is: finding the ones that are going to talk."

"We know a few: one owns a hotel, Hotel Rio, and the others have small businesses or work underground to help out men like ourselves. When we land, Thiago Serra will send us in our first direction. It's all we have…" Captain MacTavish stated confidently. The men hoped that luck and the magic of miracles were on their side.

It was a long trip, but when they arrived in the hot country (after a few stops on the way to refuel and to eat) they were greeted by a middle aged man with cinnamon hued skin and graying black hair. He had a warm, welcoming face and was approaching with his arms and palms opened. Roach could read the man's face like any open book. The man was glad, no thrilled, to see MacTavish and his fully geared men behind him. There were two other men behind him with assault rifles, but they were too robotic to pay any heed.

"Thiago Serra?" Captain MacTavish asked politely once he reached talking distance.

The short man smiled kindly. "At your service. John MacTavish?" The man had a thick accent, but spoke English well.

MacTavish shot out a broad palmed hand for Thiago to except. "In the flesh." Their palms met; Thiago shook MacTavish's hand, enthusiastically using both hands.

"It sure is a pleasure!" He viewed the others with his fixed smile. "Your men look prepared enough, but…I hope you speak the native tongue. You'll have a hard time with the locals without it."

Captain MacTavish jutted a thumb over his shoulder in Ghost's direction. "We have two men who can speak Portuguese. My Leftenant, Ghost, and one of my sergeants, Meat."

Thiago seemed pleased; he nodded contentedly. "In that case, I feel it safe enough to send you and your men off on your own. We've provided two vans at the end of this street to transport you to the most recent hot spot Rojas was seen. My men can take you there."

"Much appreciated." MacTavish thanked before following the two men with the FAL rifles. But before they could get too far, Thiago found MacTavish's shoulder.

"And please, be careful…Rojas has Militia everywhere…they look like any normal civilian here. So be on the look out. Also, Rojas wears a red hat. Like a baseball player."

MacTavish nodded in his direction. "Good to know…any bit of information is accepted with gratification. Safety be with you, friend."

Thiago smiled again at MacTavish and the others who past. "To you as well."

The Task Force 141 followed the two Brazilian soldiers to the vans where they halved themselves and jumped into separate vehicles. They had little clue as to where they would be taken until their driver turned in his seat.

"We take you to Juan's convenient store. Rojas was last seen there with a friend."

MacTavish looked at Ghost. "His assistant…"

Ghost nodded. "We need him as much as we need Rojas, either one of them will work." Ghost leaned forward to talk to the driver. "Darker complected man?"

The driver confirmed Ghost's suspicion with a nod of his head. "Yes, almost black. Long faced, spaced teeth."

"That would be him," Ghost replied with his usually flat tone. "Alright, take us to Juan's….I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"Gomes, you can call me Gomes."

"Well met, Gomes." MacTavish said before peering over his shoulder at Roach who had also joined them in the white van.

Roach had a perplexed look on his face; he appeared in a rather childish state of being. MacTavish gave him an all to familiar smile with his eyes, that Roach acknowledged with the bob of his head.

It only took a few minutes to reach Juan's, the real traffic was trying to avoid the pedestrians, but it was still a short drive. When they pulled up in front of Juan's, Gomes pointed a finger towards the entrance.

"There it is, Juan should be right inside, he's already expecting us."

Gomes stated with his accented words while his head was lowered to view the front of the yellow tinted building.

"Thank you, Gomes," MacTavish replied as he grabbed his M4A1 that lay by his side.

Gomes reached out towards the Scottish man, and halted his movement. They both peered into the other's face. "You need any help?"

MacTavish looked at Ghost to get an answer; the only thing his received from the costumed man was a stern shaking of his head. Captain MacTavish turned back towards Gomes with his lips parted.

"I think we'll be alright, if we need it, you'll know."

With that being said, the Task Force regrouped outside of the vans they exited from and now stood confidently before Juan's.

"Meat, Dingo, I want you two to stay outside, keep your eyes open for anyone who may look familiar. The rest of you, come inside with me. Ghost, I want you to do the talking." MacTavish ordered.

"Roger that," Ghost answered agreeably, bringing his M4A1 up before his chest.

"Remember men, they're civilians around, we don't want to scare them, but also consider that you may be looking into the eyes of one of Rojas' Militia men," MacTavish added in as his eyes scanned the faces of the tall men standing around him, "let's go."

While Meat and Dingo kept guard, with watchful eyes, MacTavish and the other three ventured inside to be met with a wide array of opened-eyed stares.

A middle aged woman yelped and dropped the canned food she held at the sight of the heavily armed men that came casually strolling in. The four men had no trouble walking past the people who populated the store and towards the counter where a grey-haired, balding man sat with his face crammed into an opened magazine.

Ghost tapped his gloved knuckles onto the surface of the plastic counter, pulling the man's attention from the pages. "Oi," Ghost greeted.

The man shot up straight and threw the magazine onto the counter; his eyes were bulging with fright. But the fright quickly flushed from his face once he realized who the men were.

He stood up and began to shoo the costumers out. "Saia, agora!" (Get out, now!) He continued to fervently wave them out until the store was completely dead, aside from the five who remained.

Suddenly, he sat back down and sighed heavily, shooting the four men a frosty stare, which was mainly directed at Ghost and his horrifying apparel. "Apareceu antes que esperei…" (You showed up earlier than I expected…)

Ghost backfired, "O antes o melhor." (The earlier the better.)

The man sighed again, but this time, rubbed his face in his hands. "(Rojas came in here two days ago with his Militia gang…they ransacked my store.)" Without warning, Juan replied quickly and went straight to the point.

MacTavish picked up on the name 'Rojas', and looked over at Ghost for a translation. Ghost, without moving his stare from the store owner, raised his finger into the air.

"He says Rojas came into here two days ago, they robbed his store…" Ghost directed his attention back towards the aging man, "Então o que?" (Then what?)

Juan shrugged impatiently, "(They took nearly half the store, but what was I supposed to do? They had guns!") He allowed Ghost to translate his words into English again before continuing, "(There were seven of them all together, his assistant was with him, just like he always is.)"

MacTavish looked to Ghost for an answer, but Ghost just shrugged. "He hasn't given us a location yet," he stated quietly to MacTavish while Juan insisted on talking about how terrifying the experience was.

"Well, ask him for it," MacTavish ordered, showing small signs of an impatience Roach had barely seen.

Ghost jerked his head towards Juan and asked, "(Do you know where they went?)"

Juan looked stressed, the man appeared to have aged several years as he held his chin in his shaking hand. He was beyond nervous, the Task Force's presence was intimidating him, not to mention, the Militia were everywhere. He looked towards the window where he instantly was hit by a realization.

Juan jumped out of his seat and closed the blinds of the windows and slammed the door shut; the humidity quickly elevated and had sweat streaming down the back of their necks.

"(I have no idea! They just simply walked out.)" Came his weakly attempted reply. Ghost narrowed his eyes skeptically. The other three watched curiously wondering what the man had just said.

Ghost craned his neck towards MacTavish and said, "He's not telling us the truth."

"He's lying then," MacTavish confirmed.

"No shit, sir," Ghost replied sourly, but the sourness was directed at the lying man.

Captain MacTavish moved his rifle off to the side, and stepped forward. "We need to know. Thiago specifically told us that this man," he pointed roughly at Juan, "can point us in a general direction." Juan, although knew some English, he could sense the tension was becoming fiery. He was growing anxious.

MacTavish's voice began to rise, "For Christ sakes, hundreds of innocent lives were massacred in an airport because of the man we want," he glared into Juan's eyes, "get it out of him."

"Alright, sir," Ghost suddenly brought himself to his towering height and leaned over the counter with an aggressive aura. "(Listen Juan, I know you're scared of what may come if you talk, but we're here to get Rojas, we'll make sure nothing happens to you. We need to know what you have.)"

A bead of seat rolled off of the man's forehead and down his cheek. He shook his head and raised his shoulders. "(I know nothing of where they went after they came here.)"

MacTavish already knew he didn't fess up, especially when Ghost had no answer for anybody.

With a catlike litheness, Ghost reached over the counter and lifted the man up by his collar and began shouting, "Sabe! Conte-nos!" (You do know! Tell us!)

"(Marcelo on Rodrigo Street! That's who they mentioned!)" With the yelling of the man's voice, Ghost released the man's shirt and allowed him to fall back into his chair.

"(See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?)" Ghost said with annoyance as MacTavish looked at him for the words the man had yelled. "Looks like we're heading over to Rodrigo Street."

MacTavish clapped his hands together once. "Perfect. Let's get moving, we've got a terrorist to catch."

As the men started filing out, MacTavish thanked Juan for his help and Ghost translated, "Obrigado para a ajuda."

When they walked outside, Meat and Dingo peered over their shoulders at the same time with worried stares.

"I'm getting a bad feeling from those guys across the street…" Meat gestured his head towards a group of five men, all wearing sunglasses, that were just standing and staring with their tanned arms crossed. "They've been watching us this entire time."

"Get into the vans." MacTavish ordered, paying no attention to Meat's statement. He actually was, but Meat was right, and they had to leave the area immediately.

Once inside the vans, Captain MacTavish told Gomes the location and then proceeded to say, "Will your men keep over-watch of Juan?"

Gomes stared back nervously, which had a lump form in the Captain's throat. "I…can't promise anything. But I will radio in some men to keep guard of his shop."

MacTavish wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do. Something inside him, and even the others, told him that Juan probably wouldn't make it through the night.

So within ten minutes they found themselves on Rodrigo Street. The Task Force dug for details and information as best as they could, and continuously were given different leads. Apparently, Rojas is an active man who manages to appear everywhere all over Rio de Janeiro.

The number of stares from the civilians they received had increased too, and they started to wonder, were they even civilians? Unfortunately, there was no way of telling.

By the end of the day, their transports had dropped them off at Hotel Rio where the Task Force would stay the night to refuel and consider their next steps.

The hotel was cleared out for the Task Force, something they were grateful for. Their mission had to be as subtle as possible and they didn't want to risk any potential Militia gang members also staying a night at the hotel to eavesdrop or, worse, even kill them.

When the sun had falling, and the waning moon was cast high into the sky, Roach stood on a balcony and watched the streets below. The others were either drifting to sleep or snoozing silently. The way the cool night breeze hit his skin, had him pondering peacefully.

Ghost read a book quietly off in the corner, using a small lamp as a source of dim light. But the others were off in their own dream worlds, even Roach who watched the trees sway and the stars shimmer. He had rarely seen a sea of stars in the sky, but tonight was one of those night that was lit up by the universe outside of this one.

Then the erupting sound of an argument down from below startled him and caused his eyes to affix onto the two men who were snapping at each other. Roach had no idea what was being said, he had never even attempted at learning Portuguese. He did know some Spanish and Russian, but he was no master at either of them. So all he could do was stare mindfully, amusing himself by guessing what words they threw at each other.

At first, the commotion wasn't loud enough to affect the others inside, other than Roach, until is escalated drastically once the one in the dark clothes smacked the other across the face. The force was strong enough to have the injured man stumbled backwards and fall into the dirt. The noise had Riley lift his unmasked head up out of curiosity. Riley said nothing, only stared briefly before returning to the pages of his book.

But Roach was still uneasy about it, he shifted restlessly as he watched the argument unfold into a full-out assault. He felt the need to say something, but it wasn't his place to interfere…how sure was he of that?

Suddenly, he saw the dark cloaked man reach for his belt and pull out something that glistened and sparkled in the moonlit night. The man on the ground shouted something before the shining object emitted a thunderous pop and began to smoke.

Roach jump out of distraught. The shining instrument had been a pistol, and judging by the sound of it, the firearm had quite the kick to it.

"Oh shit! Someone just got shot!" Roach hollered back into the room. But the Task Force had already been awoken by the loud gunfire that had stirred the stillness of the night.

"What the bloody…" Meat shot up quickly and ran for his shoes.

"I'll get my first-aid kit…" Royce announced as he rummaged through his bag.

"Meet downstairs, pronto," MacTavish broadcasted while the men grabbed their shoes and even their side-arms, just to be safe.

Within seconds the owners of the hotel and the Task Force were surrounding the wounded man, who moaned with pain.

"Keep applying pressure," Royce told the man after he put a thick cloth over the bullet hole. Meat translated for Royce.

"(Call an ambulance.)" Riley told the owners of the hotel. They quickly responded by rushing back inside.

By now, many residents had gone outside to see what all of the noise and chaos was about. They knew just as much as the Task Force did: nothing.

Royce ripped open the man's shirt and was taken back by how large the wound was. "Holy sh--Roach, what did that guy shoot him with?"

Roach stepped forward. "It was a pistol, but I couldn't get a clear image."

"Must have been a Desert Eagle," MacTavish answered as he peered over Royce's shoulder.

The man was losing blood fast so they had to get an answer out of him.

"(Who did this to you?)" Riley asked the panting man who was fading in and out of consciousness as Royce patched him up as best as he could.

The man began breathing heavily, and in between breaths would say a man's name, "Enrique Torres."

MacTavish looked to Ghost who could only shrug.

"Ask him for clarification," MacTavish replied.

Riley turned back towards the dying man. "(Who is he?)"

They could hear the sirens off in the distance. Roaring in their ears.

"(You should know him as Rojas' assistant…)"

This dying man's words just shot up the importance scale.

Before the man had completely passed out, they had discovered that he was a former Militia man, and that they could find Rojas's whereabouts through Enrique's brother, who was located at the far end of town. Captain MacTavish had Ghost write down the address and the man's name: Victor Torres. They now had a lead that was actually going to take them somewhere, but the men would have to wait until morning before taking any actions, as much waiting may kill.