I dedicate this book to the casualties of Shadow Moses as well as to all those who suffered the tyranny of the nuclear weapons – and to Richard Ames.

- Nastasha Romanenko

PROLOGUE

Shadow Moses Island: XX XX’N , XX XX’W
Even the local fishermen rarely venture to this outcropping of land. Yet the incident of all incidents took place on this remote isle, north of Alaska’s Fox Islands. A number of confirmed facts undermine the U.S. government’s denial of the entire affair. Among those are the sudden appearance of the Ohio-class nuclear submarine USS Discovery off Shadow Moses, far away from its designated position, and an official record that shows that a squadron of six fully-armed F117 Nighthawks departed from Galena Air Force base for Alaska a scant event, an E-3C AWACS on emergency deployment to the Alaska area is said to have had none other than the then National Security Advisor Jim Houseman as its on-board VIP. What exactly happened on Shadow Moses?

There was no lack of rumors to account for this series of unusual military activities: an armed incursion, a coup attempt by a branch of the military and other theories made its way to the public table. I can state unequivocally that none of them came close to the truth. What actually took place was the single greatest terrorist incident in modern history. It was an act of political violence on a scale the world had never seen, a blow that threatened to send the Damocles’ sword of nuclear warfare into a free-fall. Most significant of all, the attack stemmed from several so-called ‘Black Project’ which the U.S. government had been conducting in top secret, away from public scrutiny. I have in my hand two optical discs. One contains the entire record of events that took place on Shadow Moses Island that fateful day: the takeover of a nuclear weapons disposal plant by an armed group. Other key points of this incredible record are:

- The identification of the perpetrators as the government’s own genetically-enhanced next-generation commandos and a covert special forces squad, FOXHOUND, with a long dark history of secret intervention
- The existence of one Metal Gear REX, a bipedal nuclear-capable tank whose development was one of the most classified projects of all time
- The discovery of a massive government conspiracy
- The activities of a former FOXHOUND operative who single-handedly took on this daunting situation and averted the crises, a man who is known only by his code name: Solid Snake

The other remaining disc holds the details of Project FOXDIE, a massive cover-up, which the U.S. government planned and executed in order to prevent exposure. There are, after all, forces within the U.S. government who seek to maintain the military power structure established in the last century, and will not hesitate to resuscitate the terror of nuclear arms in order to achieve that end. My intent is to expose their activity, and the entirety of the Shadow Moses Affair, through this book. Only then can we hope to free the coming generations from the damnosa hereditas of the 20th-century nuclear arms race.

I looked up from the mass of documents at the sound of the doorbell. On the monitor in front of me was a half-finished status report on the resurgence of nuclear arms development in a certain Middle Eastern state. The UNSCOM (United Nations Special Commission) had officially requested a survey by the UN weapons inspectors, and had been refused entry; tensions were once again running high in the Gulf. As a military analyst whose specialty was nuclear arms, I was under contract from a think tank to produce a study of the situation. It was due the day after the next, and interruptions were definitely not welcome. I ground out my cigarette in the ashtray and stepped out of the study. All visitors to my house are checked via a surveillance camera and then let in through the heavy gate. The property itself is surrounded by a high wall. It may seem like overkill for a beach community, but security is a necessity in greater Los Angeles, if only to keep out the legion of swimsuit-clad tourists. However, there was nobody to be seen at the gate. It was either a prank, or the camera was malfunctioning. Reluctant to investigate but feeling unsettled nevertheless, I headed back to the study and sat back down at the computer to continue my work. Just then, someone spoke behind me.

"You always were a little careless." I spun around, kicking the chair over. There was a man standing at the entrance of the study, slouching in a well-tailored suit.
"Richard!" He caught my eye and grinned. Ignoring my surprise, he strolled into the room, gazing around at the pile of books and papers.
"And still as disorganized as ever."

He shrugged his shoulders in a familiar gesture, triggering a wave of memories laced with bitterness. Richard Ames and I were married, once upon a time. We were both young, and working for the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency.) We spent much of our brief marriage in disagreement over virtually every issue, and just as I came to realize that our union was a mistake, he disappeared from my life. A while later, I received the paperwork for divorce from his lawyer. There was a generous alimony offer involved, which I refused. Not only did I find the thought of owing him anything intolerable, I also wanted to prove that he was not the only one who could walk away without an explanation. The divorce was finalized without us ever meeting face-to-face, and we were legally strangers once again. In the five years since, I quit the DIA and became a freelance analyst. I had not see Richard at all, nor even heard of his whereabouts.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded. After all, attempting to scale the wall or force the front door would immediately trigger the security system. But he refused to be ruffled.
"If you’re going to use a flimsy lock like that, may as well not bother. I’d recommend a more professional security setup."
"Does the term ‘breaking and entering’ mean anything to you Richard?"
"You know law isn’t my field of expertise," he replied nimbly and peered over my shoulder at the report on the computer display. "Radio isotope projectile separator uranium-235 production feasibility for high-speed gas centrifuge. This must be about that Middle East nuke development. Looks like your career is going well. That’s great." I pushed Richard aside and asked him flatly.
"What do you want?" He took a step back and regarded me with a slightly mischievous smile.
"What, you afraid I came back to give us another chance?" He let the silence linger as if to relish my reaction. Then, suddenly formal, he continued, "It’s an official request from the DIA." He placed a folder on the desk. "I’m asking for your cooperation as a member of NEST."

NEST stands for Nuclear Emergency Search Team, a group that operates on the Department of Energy budget. It was established in 1974 to provide technological support to the FBI in areas of intelligence, investigation, site securement, damage contain and medical response, damage containment and medical response during incidents involving criminal threats of nuclear weapon use. Call it a band of experts on nuclear terrorism, if you will. NEST consists of independently contracted scientists from federally funded research entities like Los Alamos and Lawrence Livermore, and military specialists from groups dealing with nuclear arms issues. I happen to be one of the latter group. Richard was opening the file folder.

"You’ve heard of Shadow Moses Island, I assume." I nodded assent. I had indeed heard of the remote place, north of Alaska’s Fox Islands. Though it was hardly public knowledge, the island was home to a nuclear weapons disposal facility. According to the terms of the START2 (Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty), the total number of tactical nuclear warheads owned by the U.S. and Russia were reduced to somewhere between 3000 and 3500 in the later decades of the twentieth century. The outcome was a massive number of warheads in need of disposal when there was already a shortage of storage space for radioactive materials. As a result, warheads had to be kept somewhere before they could be dismantled and their radioactive elements extracted for long-term storage. The Shadow Moses facility was the answer. It was the crystallization of the forces of nuclear proliferation, political engineering that gives preference to delaying a solution rather than producing one and a hidden military agenda to preserve what it could of the old nuclear stockpile. Richard took out sever photographs from the folder and handed them to me. They all appeared to be satellite captures of the nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses Island, perhaps acquired from the NRO (National Reconnaissance Office). There were multiple human figures around the building structures. Richard broke the silence.

"The disposal plant was seized by terrorists." I looked up sharply at the news, but his next words left me speechless. "And the ringleaders are FOXHOUND members." An 'irregular' team of the best commandos the military has to offer, armed with cutting-edge technology. That was FOXHOUND. The best of the best, and completely unknown to the public they ostensibly serve. Their function was to intervene in the kind of low-intensity conflicts the U.S. could not officially touch. They were the shadow soldiers of numerous regional conflicts and civil wars, shaping history with sabotage, selective assassination and other covert acts of war. Richard had more to say.
"It’s not just FOXHOUND that’s involved in this. FOXHOUND was conducting joint exercises with the next-generation special forces, and they’re a part of the takeover as well."

The next-generation special forces is an aggressive anti-terrorism squad deployed to counter acts of political violence involving weapons of mass destruction such as nuclear, biological and chemical warfare methods. The combat philosophy is derived from the one used for Force 21, and most of the recruits come from a mercenary background. The men are intensively trained in VR environment, and well beyond even those of Delta Force or the Night Stalkers. While the government categorically denies the accusation, there are persistent rumors that the men have been genetically enhanced to increase tactical advantage. FOXHOUND and the next-generation special forces. They were without a doubt the most skilled group of fighting men produced by the U.S., and they had hijacked a nuclear arsenal. Richard had more bad news.

"There are also civilian hostages involved. Two of them happen to be the DARPA chief, Donald Anderson, and Kenneth Baker, the president of ArmsTech, Inc."

The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency is the research satellite of the U.S. Defense Department, charged with planning and leading the development of new weapons technology; AT happens to be one of the top three defense contractors in the country. There is no such thing as a coincidence, especially the kind that involves the head of these two organizations meeting in an out-of-way nuclear weapons disposal plant. I decided to be direct with Richard.

"There was something going on in that ‘disposal’ facility, I take it? Let me guess - a demonstration of a new weapon."
"How should I know? Shadow Moses is also a prime Northern Lights observation locale, you know." Whatever Richard knew, he wasn’t telling. But his evasiveness only confirmed my suspicions. Whatever was going on, this was no ordinary terrorist incident. With that in mind, I moved onto another point.
"What are their demands?"
"They want a body. Not just any corpse though - they want FOXHOUND’s founder, Big Boss. Legendary soldier, best fighting man of the twentieth century, the whole works."
"His body? Why would they want something like that so badly?"
"No idea, but unless they have it within 24 hours, they’ll launch a nuclear strike. Richard glanced at the clock cooly. "So we have about 19 hours."
"You don’t seem too worried."
"The DOD is already working on the situation." Just as I’d suspected. Richard always had a plan in place and the machinery in motion before opening up to someone else. All he asks from others is approval after the fact.

"Shadow Moses is completely locked down. We had to rule out deploying an entire assault team. Instead, we’re inserting a single operative to free the hostages and prevent the nuclear strike."
"Impossible."
"Possible, for Solid Snake."

Solid Snake! The former FOXHOUND, a legend among mercenaries for single-handedly bringing down the fortress cities of Outer Heaven and Zanzibar Land. Yes, with Solid Snake in the picture, there was a possibility of success. But still.

"USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine, is already in place with Snake aboard." So the plan was already a go. I looked Richard in the eye and held his gaze.

"And what do I have to do with all this?" He grinned.
"Snake may be a legend, but he knows jack about nuclear weapons. Which is why I’m asking you to be a part of mission support. We’ll have you set up in no time." Right on cue, two men started to move a large piece of hardware, apparently communication equipment, into the study. Richard nodded towards the bulky load.
"I’d like you to be available to Snake for consultation via satellite linkup."

As soon as the equipment was in place, an engineer-type started to make adjustments. I could see another group of men setting up a satellite dish in the back yard. They were all in civilian clothes, but not a few of them had the build and the oddly-fitting jacket that marked them as armed military personnel. Clearly, refusal was not an option. But there was still something that puzzled me. NEST has a small investigative team, SRT, on standby at all time for immediate response. They were stationed at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas, just over in Nevada. Clearly, they were the natural choice for this assignment. And if not the SRT, the DIA also had a number of qualified nuclear weapon specialists. Richard had started to direct his men on where to set up the equipment, but I interrupted him.

"Why me?" He turned and answered without missing a beat. "I need people I can trust. There’s too much at stake."
It was a lie. The Richard Ames I knew trusted no one. But it was clear that whatever the reason, he did not intend to tell me.
"It’s a good thing I was in. What would you have done if I weren’t?"
"You have to be somewhere. We would have located you."
"I’m sure you would have."
"So are you in?" I took a deep breath. "Of course."

I don’t enjoy being a pawn, especially Richard’s, but I had no intention of standing by while nuclear terrorism was in progress. A nuclear strike takes an untold number of lives, all in a blink of an eye. Adults and infants, women and men, it kills indiscriminately. If there was a chance that I could do something to stay the hand on the nuclear button, I had to do it.
"So everything is set," Richard slapped a fist into the other palm. "Insertion was a success. Snake is on Shadow Moses." Richard walked into the study with the update he’d just received from one of this men.

The study was almost unrecognizable, thanks in part to the racks of communication hardware. Cables snaked across every square inch of available space, and engineers and DIA agents were coming and going in controlled chaos. The place looked like what it now was - a temporary mission control room. Richard laid a hand on my shoulder.

"You should be hearing from him soon. You’re clear on how to use the radio?" I nodded assent.

While the engineers were busy setting up the equipment, I had been briefed on its use as well as the mission. Snake had been delivered to the general area of Shadow Moses Island by USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine. He was then ejected from the submarine on a swimmer delivery vehicle (SDV), which he abandoned once within the range of under-water listening devices located near the disposal plant. He would swim the rest of the way, in the freezing cold Bering Sea water. The last leg of the insertion struck me as nothing short of suicidal until I learned that Solid Snake was outfitted with a state-of-the-art sneaking suit and had been injected with a compound designed to prevent the onset of hypothermia. In addition, while Snake would be the only field operative involved, he would be in radio contact with a support team during much of the mission. The members of this support team drew from a wide range of backgrounds. The mission control officer was Colonel Roy Cambell, who would remain aboard the USS Discovery. I knew him by reputation alone. He was a former FOXHOUND commander, and Solid Snake’s CO during the quelling of the 1999 Zanzibar Land uprising. He had retired soon after, but after the looks of things, he had been called out of retirement for this mission. Dr. Naomi Hunter, a genetic engineering expert on a temporary assignment from the gentech giant ATGC, was also on the team. She had apparently been leading the bioengineering program for FOXHOUND. Richard matter-of-factly confirmed that both FOXHOUND and the next-generation special forces had been undergoing genetic manipulation to enhance their combat capability. I have a difficult time grasping what we have come to – modifying a person’s essential genetic structure for the sake of creating a better soldier. Also aboard the Discovery was Mei Ling, the inventor of the new radar and communication system deployed for this mission. She was something of an engineering wunderkind, an MIT student who managed to turn the current protocol of secure communication completely on its head. The last of the support team was McDonnell Miller, a former survival instructor for FOXHOUND. Unlike the rest of us, he had volunteered his services upon receiving news of the incident on Shadow Moses. Like myself, he was working via satellite linkup from his home in Alaska. The five of us were more than equipped to support Snake from our respective areas of expertise, but Snake was still the lone field operative and the mission was a desperate one. Despite that, Richard maintained that this was the most workable plan produced by the DOD situational analysis. In hindsight, perhaps I should have suspected something then. The signs of a conspiracy were there, cleverly disguised as it was in a seemingly reckless mission plan. But we failed to see it, and both Solid Snake and I were to regret our folly bitterly.

"It’s time, Nastasha," Richard called out as the call signal came on. The line was already live as I nodded to him and took my position. I could feel myself growing keener, more on edge.
"This is Nastasha Romenko. Good to meet you, Solid Snake."
"You the nuke expert that the Colonel was talking about?" The voice that responded over the radio was, above all things, calm. Here was a man operating alone out of a deeply hostile territory, and I could sense nothing resembling tension or impatience in his tone. Instead, it was as level and unruffled as someone answering a routing telephone call at their office desk. Impressed, I continued on.
"Correct. If you have any questions about nuclear technology, all you need to do is ask. My department is military analysis, so I should be able to provide support with weapons information as well. I was called into this mission as a Nuclear Emergency Search Team (NEST) consultant, and I’d like to emphasize that my cooperation was freely given. I have no intention of allowing any nuclear strikes on my watch, let alone the rogue kind. Let me work with you on this one."
"You get to the point fast, don’t you?"
"There’s a missile that’s about to fly. A nuclear strike can never be someone else’s problem, and I’m not good at standing around twiddling my thumbs. Not that I can do little more than advise in this case."

That fact was all too obvious. Snake was the one who was putting his life on the line in Alaska, and I was safe and sound in California. All I could do was talk over the radion. Snake’s voice became less abrupt.
"It may not seem like much, but it’s enough. No one’s asking you to come out here and fight. That’s my job. Anyway, Nastasha, I’ll be counting on your help." It was a strangely comforting voice, a voice that inspired trust.
"Same here." As I answered, I resolved to myself to do everything in my power to help him complete this mission. "The nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses dates back to 2002. It was built solely for the purpose of temporarily storing nuclear warheads slated for disposal." I started to brief Snake on the background of the disposal facility, running through the points he needed to know. My first short exchange with Solid Snake ever, and I was beginning to understand why he was called the man who "makes the impossible, possible." The icy calm in the face on insurmountable difficulty, the absolute confidence, made it suddenly seem possible that he would pull off this deadly mission. He had the power to make me believe. I grew conscious of Richard’s gaze.
"What?"
"Oh - it's just that you have a kind of glow about you when you’re working. I like it."
"A glow? Funny you used to call it workaholism in the past. You found it very unappealing, I recall."
"Time flies. People change their minds."
"It’s called nostalgia. You’ll dislike it again soon enough."
"Perhaps" Richard continued to look at me.

Solid Snake certainly managed to live up to his reputation. He adroitly wove his way through the enemy’s patrols and infiltrated the nuclear weapons disposal plant, where he made contact with Donald Anderson, the DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) director. Throughout the mission, we had radio monitoring capability over Snake’s every movement thanks to his internal nanomachines. It was through this access channel that I learned a shocking fact. Donald Anderson - discovered in solitary confinement by Solid Snake - confirmed that the terrorists had full nuclear capability, and that Shadow Moses Island was the site of field exercise for Metal Gear. Metal Gear. The very mention of that name sent me reeling. It was the ultimate weapon, a nuclear-capable bipedal tank that could launch a rapid and accurate nuclear strike from virtually nay terrain, from mountains to marshlands to the desert dunes. It could bestow the dubious privilege of initiating a missile strike from sites that were previously out of the question as launch locations. For that very reason, analysts had long predicted that if brought to fruition, Metal Gear technology would rewrite the tactical map of the world. There are speculations that this Unholy Grail of weapons development was being pursed late last century in the South African fortress state of Outer Heaven, then in the ultra-nationalist sovereignty of Zanzibar Land of Central Asia. One source went so far as to claim that a working prototype had been produced, but the weapon never made it onto the world military stage; instead, it was destroyed by a special forces operative. The squad in question was FOXHOUND, and the operative was a man codenamed Solid Snake. I briefly wondered if it were some strange quirk of fate that had brought Snake into this latest incident, but I knew Richard too well. Snake had to have been called in because of his past battles. Whoever had planned this mission had been thorough, and the more I realized the fact, the less I liked it. A few years ago, I interviewed a high-ranking DOD official and led the conversation to the subject of Metal Gear. His response at the time was that the U.S. had very little interest in developing a weapon like Metal Gear (not that he officially admitted that such a thing as the Metal Gear existed – on a purely a hypothetical lever, IF such a technology were available.) With the collapse of the Soviet Union, nuclear arsenals built to enforce the idea of mutually assured destruction had lost its justification, and the deterrent argument was losing ground. In the current “multilateral world order rife with smaller regional powers” as he put it, development priority lay with cruise missiles and smaller weapons with lower lethality that could be carried by stealth bombers. He also went on to not that Metal Gear, with its affinity for rough terrain, would be extremely difficult to discover and destroy. Hence, it was the perfect nuclear strike system for rogue states. He was deeply concerned that if such non-democratic sovereignties were to get a hold of Metal Gear technology, the resulting upset in the balance of military power would lead to a massive rupture in world order. It was a fear that I myself shared. An artifact of the Cold War. The devil’s candy, created by nuclear proliferation. That was what Metal Gear seemed to be. So why was this weapon, a cutting-edge technology that was politically long-obsolete, being developed once again on American soil? It was possible that the Defense Department wanted to restore last century’s nuclear strategy to the national agenda. Or did this new Metal Gear have something that set if far apart from Metal Gear as I knew it? Anderson had more to say. Metal Gear’s launch key consisted of two separate passwords, on held by Anderson himself and the other by Kenneth Baker, the president of ArmsTech. Anderson’s own password was already in the terrorist’ hands, and he feared that the same was true for Baker’s. A renegade FOXHOUND psychic, codenamed Psycho Mantis, had literally read Anderson’s mind and obtained the key. The bottom line was that the terrorists could activate Metal Gear and launch the missile whenever they pleased. The worst-case scenario had come true. However, Anderson revealed that there was still a way to prevent the nuclear strike. Kenneth Baker alone had the emergency override key that could be used to reenter the launch code and cancel the missile launch. Even if the terrorists had already completed preparation for a strike, the override would reverse the process. His only hope now riding on obtaining the override key, Snake attempted to leave the cell area with Anderson in tow. We heard the terrible cries over the radio at the same time Snake did. Anderson had suddenly started to clutch at his own chest in agony, and before we could even recover from our initial shock, he was dead. Dr. Naomi Hunter, monitoring the situation from onboard USS Discovery, tentatively diagnosed the cause of death as a hear attack. Snack walked out of the cell alone in search of Kenneth Baker, leaving behind what had until recently been Donald Anderson, chief of DARPA.

"All right, what exactly is going on here?" I confronted Richard as soon as I confirmed Snake’s safe departure.
"You know the situation. There was a Metal Gear field exercise being conducted on Shadow Moses. FOXHOUND and the next-generation commandos were in charge of the exercise, and now they’re threatening to use the Metal Gear to launch a nuclear strike."
"Apparently, I didn’t know about that particular situation."
"If you say so." I glared at Richard, but he didn’t turn a hair. He knew as well as I did that I could not abandon the mission. Even if I did refuse to cooperate further, there was an entire group of DOD personnel around me that would not permit that to happen. I briefly closed my eyes and brought the recent events into focus again.
"What happened to Anderson? Why is he dead?" This time, I could see a trace of a reaction in Richard’s eyes.
"It’s hard to say from our end. Naomi thinks it was a heart attack but - I’ll have his medical records pulled just in case. He turned and left the study, presumably to give orders to that effect.

The sounds and the voice being broadcast from the radio told me that Snake was moving deeper into the complex in search of Kenneth Baker. Snake found the ArmsTech president in one of the underground levels. Kenneth Baker was bound to a steel girder along with multiple packets of C4 explosives. Before Snake could free Baker, he came face to face with the originator of this trap: a FOXHOUND operative called Revolver Ocelot. It seemed that he had anticipated Baker’s rescue attempt upon receiver news of Snake’s arrival. According to Naomi Hunter, the former director of FOXHOUND’s genetic manipulation program, Revolver Ocelot is a former Spetznaz. He moved into OMON (Otryad Militsii Osobogo Naznacheniya, the Interior Ministry riot squad, AKA Black Berets) and the SVR (the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service) – a successor to the KGB’s First Chief Directorate – after the collapse of the Soviet Union, but was unable to adapt to the new regime and dropped out. He cut a swath through the world’s hot spots as a mercenary before being recruited by FOXHOUND. As his codename indicates, Ocelot is a master marksman with a marked preference for revolvers. We could hear the gun battle between Snake and Ocelot over the radio. Ocelot was using an antique Single Action Army revolver against Snake’s SOCOM pistol. The first Single Action Army Revolver was manufactured in 1873. A small number of them are still in production today, but strictly for collectors and antique weapon fanciers; using this outmoded weapon for live combat is unheard of. But Ocelot seemed to invest the vintage gun with diabolical powers. He would purposefully fire against the walls and the floor, weaving a tight web of ricocheting bullets around Snake, gradually hemming him in. All we could do was silently monitor the battle. However, Snake was slowly but surely gaining the upper hand by dodging the ricochets and exploiting the revolver’s lengthy reload window. Finally, just as Snake was about to deliver the decisive blow, an explosion rang out.

"My hand!" Ocelot's scream came a second later, followed by more explosions.
"What the hell is going on!?" Richard cried. The controller in charge of the data sent in by Snake’s nanomachines started a running commentary. "We don’t know yet. I’m seeing a life sign other than those of Snake, Ocelot or Baker." Explosions continued to boom out over the radio.
"The unidentified fourth subject is knocking down girders. No sign of firearm use! Whatever it is, it’s moving fast!" The controller’s voice rose with excitement. "The speed is well above anything a human being should be able to handle." The situation was chaotic. I could make out Ocelot’s voice through the roar of collapsing metal.
"Stealth camouflage! Someone left a job only half done! As for you - we’ll continue this later!" It seemed Ocelot had left the area. The explosion went on one after the other as girders crashed to the ground. In the midst of the collapse, Snake confronted what we could only guess was the fourth life sign.
"Who are you?"
"I’m like you, I have no name." It was not human, but an artificial machine voice that answered. In spite of the metallic tones, there seemed to be in that voice an unspeakable pain. Baker’s labored groans could be heard over the conversation.
"You have a reinforced skeleton -- !?"

Suddenly, the possessor of the metal voice let loose an animal howl. The shattering scream set the communication speakers screeching, and I instinctively covered my ears to shut out the maddening sound. The cry went on and on, then cut out as abruptly as it had begun. In the ringing silence, the controller’s voice floated out, thin and hollow.

"The fourth subject had disappeared." The words brought us out of a state of shock.
"Can we track him?"
"Negative. He’s vanished, no traces."
"Collect as much data as you can."
"I have the full results on information relayed by the nanomachines. There’s an electromagnetic pattern that resembles a stealth camouflage signature."
"Stealth camo and reinforced exoskeleton," Richard muttered, deep in thought.
"Not everything is happening according to plan, I take it?" I inquired with some sarcasm.
"It’s within acceptable deviation. The mission will go on as planned." For a split second, his eyes betrayed his disquiet; then he quickly recovered his characteristic arrogance.
"You just concentrate on your job."

Snake had called the fourth life sign the 'Ninja'. I could not help but wonder about the identity of the name’s bearer, and what it was that accounted for the superhuman abilities he had just demonstrated. Far away on Shadow Moses Island, Snake was attempting to raise the shaken Kenneth Baker back on his feet. We could hear Snake asking him about the nuclear launch code, knowing the answer even as he spoke. Baker painfully acknowledged that he had volunteered the information. His arm hung broken and useless by his side, presumably Ocelot’s handiwork. According to Naomi Hunter’s intelligence, Revolver Ocelot had served as a Special Interrogations Consultant in the Soviet gulags during the days with the Spetznaz. In other words, he was an expert in torture. There was no way that the weapons technology executive, an untrained civilian, could withstand the techniques of coercion developed in the cells of Lubianka. We now had confirmation that the terrorists possessed both launch keys. The situation was more desperate that ever. Baker’s response to Snake’s queries about the emergency override keys was almost grim. He had entrusted a soldier, a woman who had refused to join the mutiny, with it while they had been sharing the cell. I caught Snake’s sudden murmur.
"The Colonel’s niece?"
The 'Colonel' was presumably Campbell, and Snake seemed to know something I certainly did not. I stole a glance at Richard, but his _expression was as closed as ever. He no doubt had known from the outset about the presence of Campbell’s niece on Shadow. Snake was pressing Baker, asking him whether there was a way to stop the launch without the override code. The executive gave him a name: Dr. Hal Emmerich. If it were indeed the case that the launch codes were in hostile hands and the strike sequence had been started, it stood to reason that the only person who may know of a way to cancel the launch was the chief of Metal Gear’s development program. As Snake promised to search out Emmerich, Baker handed him a single optical disc. It contained, he said, all the data from the training exercise. What exercise data? He had to be referring to the Metal Gear exercise. I saw Richard raise his eyebrow sharply. Baker, oblivious to the frenzy of speculation he had remotely set off, continued.
"There’s no need to feign ignorance. You were sent to retrieve this, and we both know it."