Chapter 139: A Deal with SHIELD
"One iced Americano, please." Nick Fury addressed the server, then turned to Matthew across the table. "Mr. Lawrence, what are you having? On me."
"You don't need to pick up the tab. But I'll take an iced Coke." Matthew looked at this particular Nick Fury who had managed to get him out of his office, leaned back in his chair, and let the silence work for a moment.
"Director Fury reaching out personally. Something must have come up."
"Naturally. Though we can discuss it over food. Getting you to agree to an actual sit-down took more effort than I'd like to admit." Fury took his Americano from the server and added a fried chicken order.
The fried chicken arrived and Fury picked up a piece, offering it across the table in the direction of building a rapport.
Matthew looked at it for a few seconds, then smiled and shook his head. "Appreciate it. I've been avoiding fried food lately."
"Turning down chicken?"
Matthew's smile stayed even. "Just not in the mood for fried food."
He was, in fact, declining the fried chicken. But pointing that out to a man who ran a global intelligence organization would have been unproductive.
Some things you kept to yourself.
Fury shrugged, drew the piece back, and ate it himself.
"Shame." He chewed through a drumstick at a measured pace.
"Mr. Lawrence. I imagine you've worked out the general topic by now."
"Vampires."
"Vampires." Fury nodded. "What happened to your company a few days ago, and I want you to know I think it's genuinely unfortunate."
"Though I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention that your company's decision to disclose vampire existence publicly has produced a degree of civilian panic that's added considerably to our workload."
"So you've come to discuss what to do about the organization that created the problem." Matthew's eyebrow went up. "Specifically, ours."
Fury raised both hands. "You've got this completely backwards."
"We don't operate that way. First: vampires are a social destabilizing factor. Disclosing them wasn't wrong. We're not here to come after you or your company."
"Then what is this?"
Fury put the drumstick down and said it directly: "Cooperation."
"That's the entirety of the reason I'm here." He settled into the explanation. "Vampire activity is driving our operational volume up sharply. They've apparently gotten the message about what's coming for them, and they're burning through whatever time they think they have left. The rate of attacks on civilians has become something we simply can't keep up with."
"At Agent Romanoff's recommendation, I looked at your company."
"Umbrella's track record speaks for itself. And you're also a direct target of their revenge operations, which gives you both capability and motivation. The division you run offers contract security services externally. We'd like to retain you."
He outlined the structure: SHIELD formally contracts Umbrella. Umbrella conducts sweeping operations against designated targets according to SHIELD's specifications. SHIELD pays on completion.
"What do you think?"
Matthew picked up the iced Coke. "It has merit." He let that sit, then: "What's the number?"
"Even government contracts come with invoices."
Fury named his price. "Fifty million."
Matthew was standing before Fury finished the sentence.
"Fifty million is the deposit!" Fury said quickly. "Eighty million total."
Matthew's footsteps didn't change.
"One hundred million. One hundred million is not a small number."
Still moving.
"One hundred fifty."
The door was getting closer.
"Two hundred million, final offer."
Matthew stopped.
"After tax," he said.
"After—" Fury's jaw moved once. "After tax."
Matthew walked back to the table and sat down.
"It seems Director Fury has a realistic read on what this kind of work is actually worth."
"Two hundred million after tax, paid in full, and Umbrella takes the contract." He lifted the Coke and drank.
He looked at Fury, whose expression had not improved. "Director, don't think the price is too high."
"Two hundred million is what you get because we have an existing relationship. Anyone else walking into this kind of supernatural clearing contract would have quoted you three hundred. You're welcome."
Fury nodded, with a face communicating exactly what he thought of this.
"Don't be sore about it, Director."
"Here's to a productive partnership."
"Cheers."
"Fm."
The practical points settled, Matthew didn't linger. Brief pleasantries, then he was gone.
Once he was out of sight, Fury sat looking at the empty chair across from him, and the expression on his face changed. The dissatisfaction drained out of it, and something rather more satisfied took its place.
Heh. Mr. Lawrence. You're still learning.
Looking at it through a businessman's eyes was the right instinct. But you underestimated what upper management actually approved for this operation.
The budget that came down for this was six hundred million.
Which meant he'd just personally retained four hundred million from a single lunch.
The only minor issue was that Lawrence had quoted higher than expected, which compressed the available margin somewhat.
The next phase was the invoice documentation. He'd need to make the paperwork solid and the intermediate steps clean. Any loose threads there could become a serious liability.
But the shape of the arrangement was genuinely good for everyone involved.
SHIELD had gained badly needed operational capacity. Matthew had a legitimate, officially sanctioned channel through which to conduct vampire clearing operations on a large scale.
The only party that didn't come out well was the vampires.
Between SHIELD, Umbrella, and the various street-level vigilantes who had apparently decided this was their problem too, vampire living conditions deteriorated fast. In just a few days, total numbers were down by two-fifths.
The Pureblood Council was alarmed. They sent communications to vampires embedded in human society at the highest levels, asking for help.
Those vampires sent back three words.
Not our problem.
They were barely keeping themselves out of reach of what was coming. They had nothing left to spare for anyone else.
As the losses mounted, the Council's anger toward Deacon Frost compressed itself into something considerably more focused.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone at the council chamber door.
"Enter." Dragonetti's voice carried the particular quality of a man who had been in a bad mood since he woke up and had no patience left for anything.
The servant who pushed the door open registered the tone. "I'll say this before anything else: if you're here about something that doesn't matter, I'll pull you apart and leave you in the sunlight."
"You won't enjoy that."
The servant's composure held by a narrow margin. "My lord." He exhaled carefully. "We've found Deacon Frost."
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