IN THE ARCHIPELAGO'S SECRET SERVICE
DISCLAIMER: How To Train Your Dragon remains the property of Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.
A/N: Having gone through various AUs-Robin Hood, Pirate and Wild West-I was flicking through my favourite source of inspiration, the movie channels and found…my favourite secret agent (Bond…James Bond…who else?). And while completely aware others have had a go, I really couldn't resist a secret agent story. However, there was no way I was going to go for Hiccup as the suave secret agent. Our favourite dragon geek? Really? (Even though I'm sure he'd do okay). And changing MI6 to AI6 just suddenly opened all sorts of possibilities for our ensemble cast.
The title of course references 'On Her Majesty's Secret Service'. Hiccup and the gang are HTTYD2 age (20-21) and Hiccup has two legs.
So enjoy!
PS-not giving up on any of my other fics. But lacking a bit of inspiration at present so will be going back…once inspiration returns…
Chapter 1: An agent falls
The agent was running for his life, the cold, damp air of Berserk rolling around him like the skeins of fog that hung between the rimed firs. His breaths were harsh as he ran, a hand clamped against the jagged hole in his side, the pressure slowing the leakage of blood but not stopping it. He knew he was leaving an obvious scent trail for the trackers and he tossed his aniseed anti-track devices, smiling as the scent exploded across his path to confuse the dogs..for all the good it would do him. If they had visual on him, they wouldn't need scent to track him.
He stumbled and his foot turned but he staggered on, his hand coming free and a pulse of blood dribbling down his side. He gritted his teeth, blood staining his mouth and full pale blonde beard. He had always accepted death as a risk of his job but he hadn't seen this coming. And he suspected no one would…unless he got the word out.
The sharp echo of dog barks bounced around the gloomy dusk forest and the agent staggered on, tripping against and rolling down a mossy slope, his clothes smeared with damp and mud. He stumbled up and forced his way through the bracken and brush, fumbling for his coms device and finally getting a weak signal. He opened the channel and entered the data, still staggering out in to the open.
Shouts were closing, voices echoing disorientatingly and his head snapped round, then he entered another line in the message. He was bleeding freely now, but the priority was letting AI6 know and then maybe his life wouldn't have been given in vain… He took a shuddering breath and ran forward…and then he screeched to a halt, random stones bouncing down the sheer cliff that yawned before him. He stared in shock: he had really taken a wrong turn. He desperately finished his message and pressed SEND. The poor signal quality meant the message was going achingly slowly.
"It's a long drop!" a voice echoed from behind him. He stumbled round and faced a man with cropped carrot-red hair, his pale green eyes narrow and mad, three claw-marks tattooed over his left eye.
"Dagur…" the agent breathed, regretting dropping his weapon as he escaped from the warehouse.
"You know, you did a good job, Hoark…if that is your real name?" Dagur called. The agent swallowed, his com clasped in his hand. Dagur gestured with his automatic pistol. "Not much reception here-and if you call 9-1-1, you may find it takes a long time for an ambulance to get up here." He raised his pistol and grinned.
"You don't even believe in Alvin's vision," Hoark replied, his deep voice shaky with blood loss. His vision was starting to grey around the edges.
"No-but I believe in the pay check," Dagur said cheerfully. "Always in advance, never less than seven figures…"
"Flattered," Hoark mumbled. The message send bar had almost crossed the screen now.
"Don't be," Dagur growled, his voice suddenly angry. "You were a job lot!" Three shots rang out and the impacts had Hoark pinwheeling backwards, the com spinning from his lifeless hand. He fell, his fading eyes seeing the cliff edge with Dagur's smug face grinning down on him recede away before they closed for the final time.
The message send was completed a mere second before the com smashed on the rocks beside his lifeless corpse.
oOo
The sun gleamed off the bronze-tinted mirror glass cladding the imposing building that loomed over the town of Berk, the capitol of the United Viking Archipelago. The Commander stared out over the view through floor to ceiling windows before he folded his arms, narrowed his eyes and considered the intelligence that had just arrived.
He was a huge man, close to seven feet in height and weighing hard on four hundred pounds of muscle and sinew, his flaming red hair beginning to grizzle. He wore a huge braided beard that wouldn't look out of place in ancient Viking Berk, but he was otherwise clothed in a tailored dark grey suit and handmade bespoke leather shoes. His thick fingers drummed on the glass and steel table in the office and he turned and paced back and forth in thought.
The office was plain and decorated with with Nordic austerity. The walls were plain white with stylish but functional steel and black leather chairs around the huge steel and glass conference table. The floor was black as was the door. At the far end of the office, his steel and black wood desk with its glass top was sitting under a huge portrait of his ancestors, Chiefs of ancient Berk. The swivel black leather chair was pushed back against the wall and still indented by his huge frame. The printout of the intelligence was crumpled on the white leather blotter. The Commander turned back to the town and contemplated the view.
Berk was a fairly small precipitous island of sheer cliffs, almost vertical peaks and swathes of forest but with a vibrant small city, Berktown, on the southern coast by Berkisport harbour. North of Chief's Peak, an improbable spur of rock that jutted against the sky in the middle of the city was President's Park, containing the Presidential Palace, the University and the barracks of the Berk Defence Force. Sited on the edge of the cliffs, the imposing glass and steep stepwise structure was the Headquarters of Archipelago Intelligence 6 from where the Commander was surveying his home. Of course, the reason why he commanded AI6 not AI1 was lost in legend-and Viking stubbornness. Several previous versions of a security service had failed due to inter-island rivalries and it was only by the direct orders of President Larson that the sixth version of the service, AI6 had been founded some ten years earlier. And the Commander, Stoick 'the Vast' Haddock, was the first man to lead the motley cohort of intelligence agents in protecting the Archipelago against internal and external threats.
He looked back to the paper, lying accusingly on his desk. He had known this day would come, since the man had been a thorn in the security and police services that Stoick had served in previously for decades. Now it was time to put a halt to his ambitions and keep Berk and the Archipelago safe. He walked to the desk and pressed his thumb on the button of the com to his PA.
"Yes, sir?" came the fierce voice of Phlegma, his long-time secretary. She was a solid and shrewd woman of his age, her hard face and cool grey eyes missing little.
"Get me agent VA1!" he commanded.
oOo
Agent VA1 was tall and handsome with an opinion of himself to match and he gave a very cocky smile as he sauntered into the outer office. Phlegma looked up at him coldly and snapped:
"You're late!" His smile slipped slightly and he leaned forward on the desk, switching his charm up to 11.
"You know I'm worth it, Phlegma honey," he purred.
"I'm old enough to be your mother, Eret, so please stop your childish attempts to seduce me," she snapped firmly. "Save your womanising for the missions…"
"You know, in other services, the top agent is at least welcomed and swooned over a bit by the Boss's secretary," he grumbled.
"Their choice and I'm a PA not a secretary!" Phlegma snapped.
"And you're an ornery Viking witch," he added.
"You're a self-important womaniser," Phlegma condemned him.
"Hey-at least I'm good at my job!" he protested. "Best clear-up rate in the service."
"You're lucky, Eret-and that will get you a long way," Phlegma warned him, "but don't believe your propaganda. A pretty face won't always fall over for your charms…"
"I'm our top agent, Phlegma," Eret said confidently. "What's the old man got for me, hmm?"
"I believe the old man can tell you himself!" Stoick growled from the door. Eret straightened up like a shot, running his hand over his slicked back black hair, his dark eyes suddenly chastened.
"Sorry, sir," he murmured. "I meant no disrespect."
"Sounded like it," Stoick growled. "In. NOW!" The tall, well-built agent sauntered in, his shirt collar unbuttoned casually and single-breasted grey suit immaculate. He took the indicated seat and relaxed back.
"What can I do, sir? Your message was urgent. Is it to do with VA2?" he asked. Stoick's grey-green eyes were briefly shadowed.
"Hoark was a good man," he said, his voice grim. AI6 agents were brave, well-trained and determined: they almost were never lost in the history of the department…and Hoark had been a friend of Stoick for many years so his loss had hit the Commander hard. Then he lifted his head. "He was investigating Alvin the Treacherous…"
"Alvin 'the Treacherous' Forraeder, head of the Outcast Syndicate and the most powerful crime-lord in the Archipelago," Eret said, rising to pour himself and his Commander a glass of mead. He handed Stoick a crystal tumbler and took a sip himself. "The man has fingers in every pie available-drugs, extortion, gun-running, people-trafficking, prostitution but he also has political ambitions. He is already First Minister of his home island of Outcast and has stated his intentions to run for President. He was defeated in the last election but all evidence is that he intends to run again-and run a very dirty campaign. He owns properties on all major islands and has a variety of subsidiary companies. There are rumours he has dealing with the Defender Organisation for Dragon-based tech to further his business interests. He is a very dangerous, heartless and ruthless man."
"Well done, VA1," Stoick commented. "I see you've done your research."
"I try to keep abreast of matters, sir," Eret said smoothly, sitting back down.
"VA2-Hoark-was investigating Alvin on a tip-off from Trader Johann," Stoick revealed. "He was concerned there was a plan being hatched against the Archipelago Government that could permeate all aspects of Archipelago life. So Hoark was on Berserk, looking into the branch of Outcast Incorporated when he uncovered some definitive proof of Alvin's plans…but he was discovered. He sent this message…" He showed the crumpled message. Eret's dark eyes flicked down the sheet.
"Is this all?" he asked. Stoick nodded. "Truncated. He was interrupted…"
"And then he was killed," Stoick said grimly. Eret rose.
"You want me to take on the investigation?" he asked. Stoick nodded.
"Stay in close contact," he said grimly. "And take care. We've lost one agent already. You'll need some ordnance from Q department-head down there at once and see what Gobber can provide you with." Eret nodded curtly and rose, heading to the door. "One other thing," he said firmly. "I'm sending you an assistant." Eret spun on his heels, shocked.
"But I always work alone!" he protested in shock. Then a thick, dark eyebrow quirked. "Unless the assistance is a gorgeous blonde, blue eyes, killer rack…" Stock rolled his eyes.
"I doubt anyone would describe my nephew's chest as a killer," he noted.
"SNOTLOUT?" he choked. "You are joking?" Stoick's brows dipped and he scowled.
"No-my nephew is a solid agent and should prove invaluable in assisting you in this matter!" he said. "You can find him in the rec room. Dismissed!"
"But…"
"Dismissed! And good luck!" Stoick said and turned away. Fuming, Eret stomped out, closed the door as firmly as he could and stalked out of the office. Phlegma peered over her computer screen., seeing his furious expression.
"Ahh-I see you don't find your new assistant attractive?" she smirked. Eret cast her a sour look as he headed to the door.
"I'm sure he'll prove…adequate," he sighed.
"Really?"
"Of course not!" Eret exploded. "He's an upstart boy with a bigger opinion of himself than I have of me!"
"Love the insight, Eret," Phlegma commented dryly.
"I mean-he's stupid, vain, has a short attention span, doesn't listen or obey orders…and those are his good points!" Eret exploded. "It's nepotism gone wild!"
"I wouldn't say that in the hearing of the Commander," Phlegma advised him sharply. "It's a sore subject for him." Eret scowled.
"Why?" he snapped.
"His son…despite the wildest excesses of nepotism…will never be suitable as an agent…" the secretary said with a sigh. "Look…he's a clever lad but…useless…" Eret frowned, dismissing the young man.
"That as maybe, but why am I landed with the substitute son?" he snapped.
"Aww..baby boo!" Phlegma sneered. "Suck it up like the big man you think you are! And go cry on Gobber's shoulder-he may take pity on you and let you have even more fun goodies than usual…"
"Oh joy…" Eret grumbled, though his expression brightened somewhat at the thought of getting his hands on Gobber's newest innovations. Then the com buzzed and Stoick's voice bellowed over the speaker.
"Phlegma-can you tell Eret to stop bitching and get his sorry ass down to Q department NOW! Intel has just reported that Alvin's men frequent 'the Meade Hall' Bar and if he stops wasting time, he and his new best friend can go and chat them up!" Eret pulled a face. "And I mean NOW! Out!"
"How the Hel does he know?" Eret grumbled. "Every time…"
"That's why he's the Chief!" she commented as he swung out in search of the Quartermaster's-or Q-department and his new partner.