Dark Star || Loki [1]

[03] No Second Glances

3 JANUARY, 2011

ASTRID

"Are we there yet?"

Scott slammed the back of his head against his seat a couple times. "If I say yes and tell you to shut your eyes, will you believe me?"

"No—you just told me the plan," said Astrid.

"We'll be there in five minutes, Louvelle. Now will you please stop asking me that?"

Astrid leaned out of the helicopter. Fierce wind whipped her hair around her face and the biting cold nipped at her cheeks like needles, turning them a rosy red. She tucked her hair behind her ear and took in her surroundings. She saw plenty of icy green slopes, mountains painted a splotchy white and a few small scattered buildings in the distance. She couldn't find the red cabin. "Sure we're not in the wrong place? I don't see Old McDonald's barn anywhere."

"That's because it's not here," said Scott. "It's just over those mountains. Pull up, Arnaz."

The pilot jerked the copter upwards so fast that Astrid's head smacked against the weapons box stored in the tiny compartment above her. "Fucking pilots," she grumbled.

The copter made a swooping arch over the mountains on the north side. The movement made Astrid sway in her seat, gripping the seatbelt with white knuckles. The wind became colder and the air thinner. She held her breath when Arnaz began to descend back down on the opposite side of the mountains, blowing up sheets of shattered ice and dustings of soft snow. Astrid felt the cold blistering of ice on her bare skin, and suddenly wished she had worn a scarf.

"Arnaz, were you even trained to be a pilot?" she shouted over the sound of the blades.

"Of course I was," said Arnaz. "Just... a few years ago."

"Oh, wonderful."

"We're here," said Scott, pointing out her side of the copter at a red cabin, just like the one he had showed her in the photos. The dock was covered with ice and snow and a very feeble looking boat was tied to one of the posts. "Land us behind the cabin. Stay inside in case we need to make a quick getaway."

"Yessir," said Arnaz.

He swerved the copter so far sideways that Astrid had to grab a hold of Scott's sleeve to keep herself upright. "Can I kill him?"

He stared straight ahead. "Not yet. We still need a pilot."

She slumped in her seat, boring a hole through the back of Arnaz's head. "I'm sure I could figure it out."

The copter landed in a smooth green patch a hundred or so metres from the cabin. Astrid was relieved to unlatch her seatbelt and jump out of the death trap.

"Ready, Louvelle?" asked Scott.

She rolled back her shoulders and smiled. "I'm always ready."

~

The job seemed doomed from the start.

The man wore leather gloves that squeezed the circulation from his pudgy hands. He had a round belly and plenty of skin on his face, flabby cheeks rosy from the cold and teeth yellowish-brown from the cigarettes he couldn't seem to get enough of. His eyes would trail over Astrid's body every now and then. Out of habit, she began squeezing the handle of her gun. Scott kept her behind him, one hand on her forearm to keep her from getting too eager.

"Agent Gilbert," greeted the man with a smile so terrible it looked like a grimace. His accent was distinctly Russian, but he rolled his 'R's so heavily he could have been faking it.