Two. The Contract
"He doesn't look up to much," a gruff voice commented, inspecting the unconscious shape lying on the steel-framed bed in the base. Spitelout Jorgensen was an older version of his son with a full black beard, his cold blue eyes remote as he turned away from the lanky shape of the prisoner. "I don't see why we shouldn't just toss him into Hopeless Jail and throw away the key."
"Because-with all due respect-we need his assistance," Astrid said irritably, drumming her fingers on the trestle table across the room from the bed. The room was a small concrete box in a sub-level under a popular bakery. The little base was a satellite facility-because this mission was classified and they couldn't exactly walk into the main HQ with the wanted assassin, Night Fury in their custody. "I would have preferred to have negotiated with Night Fury and come to an arrangement. He has issues with trusting members of the secret service-and this certainly isn't calculated to gain his trust."
"No shit," Snotlout grinned, sipping his coffee. "But he was gonna turn you down, babe, so I just did what any agent would have done…"
"And if you'd mistimed it? He never misses, remember?" Astrid shot back. "He executed those Berserkers without missing a beat! We could have lost you and him!" And only one of them would have been any sort of a loss…
"Not really hearing much gratitude for rescuing the mission, babe…" Snotlout persisted in a superior voice, his self-absorption total.
"You didn't!" Astrid yelled at him. "You probably ruined it-and don't ever call me 'babe'!"
"But…you know you're just aching for me to…" Snotlout barrelled on, not seeing Astrid draw back her fist to punch him.
"Got it," Fishlegs announced from his computer which was set up at on another trestle table adjacent to the door, remotely hooking into the Service systems. Astrid was immediately on her feet, leaning over his shoulder and peering at the screen, her fists still bunched. The large agent had input facial recognition and fingerprint data and the search was whirring through the systems. "Got him," he announced. He stared at the image of the unconscious hitman's face, recognising the sharp jaw, pale skin with a few faded freckles on his cheeks, sparkling emerald eyes and much shorter dark auburn hair.
"Hiccup H. Haddock," Astrid read aloud. "He's former Archi Military-black ops by the sparsity of this biography. Height six foot one, weight one forty, eyes green, hair red-brown. Age twenty-three. Twenty three? Thor…" Fishlegs continued to scan down the page as she stared in shock.
"Family-classified. Special skills-classified. Missions-classified. Unit-classified. Honours-classified. Boy-we're really not getting much from this biography…and the encryption is at Presidential level. Odin-what was he involved in?" Astrid leaned closer and her finger stabbed at the screen, making Fishlegs wince at the sharp jab on his sensitive tech.
"Whatever it was, he decided it was too much," she said in a low voice. "He resigned his commission two years ago-a month before Night Fury appeared." She looked up and stared at the unconscious shape lying on the hard bed. "What happened to you, Hiccup Haddock? Why did you decide to go it alone?"
oOo
The breeze was cold, the snow lying deep on the ground-which was why he had gotten into position in the dead of the night before the latest falls came and buried all traces of his approach. He was in the perfect vista, an uninterrupted view down the slope over the only way out of the man's personal Hunting Lodge. The isolation was a boon for conducting the kind of shady business deals that he specialised in but it meant that there was a lot more geography surrounding the location and far less control of the situation.
He shifted under his camouflage net, the compacted snow concealing his existence. He was wrapped in a cold weather thermals, his full uniform and desert hat, the brim shading his eyes. He leaned forward very slightly and peered through the sights of his Valkyrie Sniper Rifle. The car had been brought up and the activity indicated that the target was about to move. He knew he should have some qualms, should see the target as a fellow human being, a man like himself with a family and friends…
…but Oswald Oswaldson was a man who commanded an immense criminal network of drugs, guns and human trafficking and who had his eyes on higher things. Already, he was liaising with the Hunter grouping, men interested in stripping every asset from the Archipelago lands and impoverishing their subjugated people and indications were that he was plotting with them to remove the legitimate authorities. All of them. There were rumours of people who opposed him vanishing. Whole villages in remote Berserk had been wiped from the map and the occasional crazed refugee screamed of genocide and mass graves-rumours denied by his publicity machine and quashed by his expensive lawyers. But every law enforcement officer sent after him had vanished or suddenly retired to parts of the world with no extradition treaties and unfeasibly large bank balances. So the President and Inner Cabinet had authorised the ultimate sanction-and Lieutenant Hiccup 'Night Fury' Haddock was here to execute the order…literally.
"Target is ready to move," he murmured into his wrist com. "Confirm I have blessing."
"Go with the Gods," Toothless grinned back over the com, using the code of the day.
"Keep the motor running," Hiccup murmured. "He has his own security and they may be less than happy about their change of employer…"
"Understood. We will be waiting."
Hiccup breathed out slowly, clearing his mind of all diversions. He had always had amazing aim from when he was small-no matter that his overall motor control had been laughable until he hit puberty and his too-small body finally caught up with his innate talents. Brave, determined, ferociously intelligent and inventive, as he shot up rapidly he had achieved his potential and finally excelled, making his father proud of him. And he could have had any career he wanted but tales from his father and godfather of their time serving their country had filled his imagination with the desire for adventure and he had signed on for the army on his eighteenth birthday. There, they had realised what a gem they had got wrapped in his tall skinny package and moulded him into an unstoppable killing machine.
The door opened and two bodyguards in sharp suits with earpieces in stepped out, futilely scanning the horizon. Nestled up in the hills, carefully buried amid the dead bracken and the snowdrifts, Hiccup slightly nudged the rifle to ensure the cross-hairs were where he wanted them. Another shape emerged-a raven-haired woman.
Daughter: Heather Oswalddottir. Age 24. Qualified lawyer and accountant and adept at burying illegal earnings and money laundering…Glad to see all that college education isn't being wasted…
Behind her, a buff, broad shape with carrot-red hair was following. He looked incongruous in a dark suit, his green eyes pale and fey and the blue tattoos over his left eye anachronistic. He turned back to talk to an unseen person behind him, his short beard neatly trimmed.
Son: Dagur 'the Deranged' Oswaldson. Age 29. Wanted for about thirty murders though no one has ever survived to testify against him. Psych analysis describes him as a psychopath with profound sadistic tendencies. Lovely. Can see who takes after Daddy…
His shoulders tensed as the final member of the family finally headed for the limousine. He was almost a carbon copy of Dagur but older, his carrot hair faded to sandy-grey, his face lined and slightly hooked nose and broad face the mirror of his son. Oswald's cold green eyes swept the freezing drive as his silk suit clad shape marched for the car.
Target: Oswald Oswaldson. Age 57. Head of Berserker Enterprises. Wanted for murder, genocide, intimidation, drugs, guns, people trafficking, extortion, money laundering, abuse of power, treason…a real boil on the backside of the Archipelago.
He breathed out, hugging the stock to his shoulder, his finger caressing the trigger lovingly. Oswald turned to speak to his daughter…and the cross-hairs aligned on his forehead. Hiccup pulled the trigger…
…and two hundred and fifty yards away, Heather and Dagur were sprayed with blood and other detritus as the bullet crashed between Oswald's eyes, his corpse slamming wetly backwards against the car. His bodyguards turned and fired blindly up towards the hills, the bullets nowhere near where Hiccup was concealed. He could hear Heather's screams echoing up-it was always the screams he recalled, not so much the kills-and he could see Dagur bending over the corpse of this father, before turning to look up almost directly at where Hiccup was concealed and pointing his finger up the hill. He mimed a shot and mouthed the words 'you're next.'
Shrinking down, Hiccup watched the chaos before withdrawing and heading for his extraction point…
oOo
His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up-before he realised that his arms were cuffed to a bed frame. He tugged on the cuffs experimentally but they seemed to be reasonably firm. Listening for others, he locked onto the sounds of breathing so he rocked his head and saw the three agents clustered around a computer…until the black-haired male looked up. He muttered a comment and the woman-Astrid-glanced at him, her blue eyes sweeping his supine shape.
"You're awake," she said, walking forward.
"I see nothing gets past you," he replied sarcastically. "How did you tell?" He tugged on the cuffs again and gave her a pleading look. "Little help here?" She sighed.
"I'm sorry," she said as he slumped back onto the thin pillow.
"That's not an apology," he told her directly. "An apology would be me waking up in a five star hotel room with a large fruit basket and a card saying 'I'm really really REALLY sorry.'"
"Why aren't we just locking him up for his crimes?" a new voice said and he craned his neck painfully to see an older man-like an older version of Snotlout-walk up.
"You must have hit me harder than I thought," he commented. "Because now I'm seeing double…"
"This is Director Spitelout Jorgensen, our senior officer," Astrid explained.
"Ah…nepotism," Hiccup commented dryly. "Knew there had to be a reason why that mutton-head was in the service. I thought they had higher standards."
"Hey!"
"Still not hearing the apology," Hiccup reminded her. "I'm serious about the hotel, by the way. Though I needn't be in that five star hotel on my own…" Her cheeks heated and she marched forward, slapping him hard across the face.
"You swine," she growled. "You just expect me to swoon and leap into bed with you?" She folded her arms and glared at her as he began to laugh.
"Wow, blondie-vain or what?" he scoffed. "What made you think I was talking to you? I may be asking Snotman over there!"
"Hey!"
"Only kidding," Hiccup added with a scornful grin. "Not my type."
"Then what is?" Astrid retorted and he jerked his head towards the trestle table.
"Ask Fishface," he suggested. "I guess he's found my records-what low-level grunts like you are allowed to read." They looked at him. "Oh come on," he said in exasperation. "You don't have the patience and Snotlips there doesn't have the brains. It's pretty obvious Fishface isn't a field agent-he's your nerd, isn't he?" The husky agent looked up and nodded.
"Your observational skills are remarkable-as you would expect for the level of detailed preparation required for a black ops assassin." Emerald eyes widened and he tipped the blonde man a nod.
"I know that wasn't in my biography," he commented. "Bravo. At least someone is thinking like a secret agent." Then his eyes hardened. "Though you still score a big fat zip for trying to persuade me to help you." Astrid glared at Snotlout and the self-absorbed young man shrugged.
"It needed to be done," he said lazily. "Come on-we got him!"
"This wasn't an arrest mission: it was to ask him to help us!" Astrid hissed.
"That ship has sailed," Hiccup reminded them sarcastically.
"Snot-uncuff him!" she ordered.
"Are you KIDDING?" Snotlout protested, his eyes wide with incomprehension. "He's is a one man battalion! He beat up six Sons of Odin all at once and then killed four Berserkers! He'll murder us in three seconds flat!" Astrid turned her azure gaze to Hiccup, silently asking the question and he sighed: his arms were starting to go numb.
"Nah-it will take ten seconds at least," he said lightly. "Feeling a bit off my game today…"
"WHAT?" Snotlout spluttered as a treacherous smile curved Astrid's lips. He smiled back.
"Hiccup Haddock-all I want to do is to talk to you," she said evenly. "Will you promise not to kill us, attack us, try to escape or hold us to ransom?"
"How much do you think my promise is worth, Milady?" he taunted her, his lopsided smile mocking.
"According to clients-the ones who survived and paid the money, not the other ones-your word is your bond and when you make a promise, you keep it," Astrid told him.
"I vet my clients," he reminded her.
"Madguts the Mincer? Norbert the Nutjob? One-eyed Sven, the biggest pimp in Visithug? Wow, I'd like to see your vetting criteria!" Snotlout sneered. Hiccup's emerald eyes widened.
"Thor and Odin, the Snotear can actually read!" he complimented him sarcastically.
"It's SNOTLOUT, you murderous skinny little…" the agent yelled and ran at him. Astrid tackled him to the ground.
"Snot-go and get us some fresh water!" she ordered as she wrestled him to his feet and shoved him towards the door. "NOW!" He cast her a baleful glare but complied, the door slamming shut and locks clunking after he left.
"I think I'll stay," Director Spitelout commented, his knuckles cracking. Astrid stared at him.
"Sir-I really think this isn't going to yield any hope of co-operation," she said flatly. "Could you please let me run my operation?" Then she walked over to the assassin and crouched down to look into his face. "I really am sorry. If anything happens to us-say you kill us-Gobber's Bar will be closed and razed to the ground and he will be imprisoned on a variety of probably valid but very difficult to counter charges." Hiccup's eyes narrowed and grew colder.
"You know that's a very low blow," he said.
"I really have no choice," she sighed. "I need your word. Because I like Gobber and I don't want him harmed. The Bar…well, I doubt many people would mourn its passing…"
"I would," Hiccup replied icily. "It's my home." He stared into her eyes and shuddered. "Okay. You have my word as Night Fury that I will hear you out and not kill or attack you…unless in self defence." For a second she wavered and stole a look at Fishlegs.
"Your call-but every indication is that he is considered trustworthy by those he deals with," he commented. "And he did put the excess money back from the wager. That implies some version of honesty." She nodded and then looked back.
"Accepted," she sighed and leaned over him, unfastening the cuffs and skipping back as he sat up, trying to rub the life back into his wrists.
"Okay," he said, his tone all business. "What is your proposition, Special Agent Hofferson?" Her eyes widened. "Yeah, I did recall all your names-I see the good old Berkian naming traditions are still alive and well and messing up kids' lives as they have for countless years…" She pulled out a vacant chair at the trestle and he slowly levered himself to his feet and walked warily over, eyes sweeping the room for any possible advantage or escape. Finally, he sat in the chair and grabbed the pitcher of water, draining most of it in one very long thirsty pull. "So…"
"Two and a half years ago, a Berserker businessman was assassinated," she began. "His name was Oswald Oswaldson. His illegitimate business were approximately ten times more extensive than his legitimate and there was good evidence he was plotting against the President and plans were at an advanced stage. His death stalled the treason but his son, Dagur 'the Deranged' took over after his death, swearing vengeance on those who killed his father. He blamed the government and began a campaign of terror against legitimate targets-police stations, army barracks, recruitment offices, tax offices…and rather more illegitimate ones such as shopping malls and leisure complexes. He is our target."
"Simple. Take out a contract. Get an army hitman to off him." Hiccup tone was icy.
"Three have tried. All were sent back in more than one piece. Dagur has survived and his paranoia has worsened with every attempt. Our only option is you…"
"No, your only option is to dispatch a squadron of Bifrost bombers when you are sure he's home and blast the bastard to atoms," Hiccup told her brutally.
"Too obvious and too much collateral damage," Astrid admitted. "It has been considered-but he has a compound in the centre of Berserk City-so the attack you suggest would kill too many civilians. So we suggested…you."
"Whoo me," Hiccup replied tonelessly. "Are you crazy? A hit like that would require precision, opportunity and impressive intelligence. And no offence, but I can provide precision but the rest…would be your responsibility. And I'm guessing you have nothing."
"He has a sister," Astrid began irritably. "Heather Oswalddottir…"
Heather Oswalddottir. Age 24…well, 26 now. Qualified lawyer and accountant and adept at burying illegal earnings and money laundering…
"So is she on your payroll?" he asked directly. She looked up.
"Maybe you want to try some of your famous charm on her?" she snapped. "Or maybe she would eat you for breakfast?"
"Speaking of which, are you providing meals?" he asked her casually. "I mean, the view is…" He paused and eyed her. "Intriguing, the company is somewhat cool but refreshments are pretty scant. Unless you send Snotnose to 'Helga's Donuts' for breakfast. Mine's a caramel-peanut-crunch by the way." Astrid pulled a face. "Ah…fruit lover, eh?" he teased her.
"Do you take anything seriously?" she snapped. Inclining his head, the expression cooled.
"Special Agent Astrid Hofferson, far too much of my life is immensely serious and I am perfectly capable of concentrating on what is important," he told her. "But since I have been tranquillised and abducted and kept shackled to a bed for an unknown period of time, I am concentrating on what is important: food, fluids and comfort facilities. Speaking of which: unless you expect me to piss on the floor, you better let me get to a washroom real soon."
"He's not very cooperative," Spitelout sneered. "I still think the jail in Hopeless is the best bet." Hiccup's head snapped up.
"Restroom and then show me the door," he said sharply. "This is over. I don't trust spooks and you haven't given me any reason to trust you." Astrid stared at the assassin, seeing his blazing emerald eyes and balled fists and her own hands tightened then released.
"All of you-get out!" she ground out through her teeth.
"But…" Spitelout protested.
"Director, if you want to can this mission, be my guest-otherwise, with all due respect-GET OUT!" she repeated. Fishlegs rose silently and left, grabbing the returning Snotlout after resting the bottle of water on the table and ushering him out. Spitelout glared and then turned to the door.
"We'll discuss this later," he menaced and slammed the door behind him. She gestured to the door over to the right.
"Restroom," she said calmly. "Knock yourself out." He rose and stared at her. She was unarmed and they both knew he could probably kill her if he wanted…but she had placed herself his mercy. Admittedly, they were still locked up in a base somewhere in Berk…and he had no desire to go to jail. But he had asked for a reason to trust them. Maybe this was her attempt at providing that. He gave the slightest nod before he turned and walked to the restroom, emptying his bladder then scrubbing his face in cold water. The image looking back at him from the smeared mirror was the same young man he had been two years earlier-though his eyes were more haunted and he definitely looked the worse for wear. He scrubbed again, feeling the scratchy scruff along the line of his jaw and he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Not that it was ever neat-that ship had sailed-but it was looking particularly wild. Slowly, he straightened up.
Dagur. It had to be Dagur. The only target that would tempt him to even consider working with these losers…
Hiccup was fully aware of his past as a black ops sniper, a man who killed the enemies the army told him to. And, Thor help him, he had been very good at his job, forcing himself to see the shape in the cross-hairs not as a fellow human being or a person but as a target, a shot to be completed. A mission to be completed. And he had believed that what he was doing was the right thing because he did have a conscience and had signed up to protect his home and the ones he loved.
It was a shame his masters hadn't been in on that bargain.
But over the last two years, he had realised that disposing of Oswald hadn't made things better. Sure, it had stalled the coup plans he had been close to executing but the deaths, the exploitation and the oppression had worsened under Dagur. The death he had caused had reverberated across thousands of lives…including his own.
He turned on his heel and walked out and back to the table. Astrid was waiting, looking bored but as she glanced up, there was a brief, unguarded look in her azure eyes that sent a chill of recognition through his taut shape. But he smiled lazily and sat back down, pouring them both glasses of water. Unhesitatingly, Astrid took a drink, confirming it wasn't drugged so he took a sip.
"So we discuss," he said to her in a low voice. "I don't trust you. I don't trust any of you spooks. But you have a point about Dagur. A very small point."
"Really? That psychopathic mass murderer and terrorist? What made you change your mind?" she asked sarcastically. He paused and leaned forward.
"You're desperate-and you managed to get that mutton-head and his idiot father to leave," he admitted. "And Dagur and I have history." She opened her mouth. "Not enough to do anything for free-because honestly, how stupid do you think I am? Okay, I may have a stupid name but I wasn't born yesterday and if I don't strike a bargain, I'm really condemned to Hopeless jail for ever."
"So what did you have in mind?" she asked him. "We want Dagur dead."
"What are you prepared to pay?" he asked her pointedly.
"Fifty thousand," she said in a tense voice. He chuckled.
"You're desperate," he diagnosed. "I don't get out of bed for that! One million-and I walk free." She stared.
"No one would ever buy that!" she choked out. "Fifty K and a suspended sentence for unspecified firearms offences."
"Half a million and I walk free," he repeated, observing her. She was clearly torn, between her desperate need to end Dagur and her need to win and not let him dictate terms.
"One hundred K and suspended sentence?" she offered. "And we sanitise your records?"
"I would expect that anyway…" he teased her, smiling the lopsided smile that had her cheeks warming slightly. "Two fifty and I walk free."
"Two hundred K, we sanitise your record and you get a suspended sentence for the unspecified firearms expenses," she offered. "My final offer." He stared at her.
"You leave my friends out of it and 'the Dragon's Edge' is left alone," he added sternly.
"And you guarantee that you kill Dagur and end his reign of terror," she insisted. His emerald eyes widened and he feigned shock.
"Thor, I wasn't aware that I was the entire secret service on my own!" he protested.
"You'll have us!" she retorted.
"Fishface and Snotman? Thor, I should be paid double…" he grumbled and then he stared into her eyes. A definite eyebrow arched over a stunning emerald eye, now lit with a thoughtful light. "Double or quits?" Her brow furrowed in shock.
"Wh-what?" she asked before leaning forward, her eyes flashing with determination. "What the Thor do you mean…" He stared deep into her eyes, ignoring the familiarity that stirred and dropped his voice.
"I get paid four hundred K and a free pardon…and I even get to kiss you, Miss Vain, if I so wish…" he told her unashamedly, baiting her. She slapped him without hesitation and he gave a broad unrepentant grin.
"Not hearing quits," she hissed, fiercely.
"Are you always this competitive?" he asked her teasingly.
"Always," she told him sternly. "I hate losing!" He nodded.
"Then here's the other side of the bargain," he told her. "My past has already been sanitised and almost every reference to me has been expunged from the records. So after the mission is completed, if you can guess my middle name-the 'H'-then my fee is one dollar, and I got to prison for whatever charges you choose to lay against me." His emerald eyes were twinkling with humour.
"And you're confident that there is no way I could find that out?" she challenged him. He sat back and chuckled at her ferociously competitive face.
"Honestly, my middle name is Horrendous and you'll never guess it," he said cheerfully. She spat on her palm and offered her hand, standing tall and proud.
"I agree to the terms of our contract, Hiccup Haddock…or Night Fury…" she said sternly. He sighed as he rose to his feet, topping her by half a head before he spat on his palm and clasped hands with her.
"We have a contract," he agreed with a grin as the door opened. Fishlegs, Snotlout and Spitelout stared at them. Fishlegs held out a brown paper bag.
"Um…donut?" he offered.
