Monster Hunter Nemesis

  But as usual, Owen was about as diplomatic as a brick. “I’m not saying he’s not an asshole. I’m sure as hell not defending that, but I think Franks has a code. It might not make sense to us, but it exists, and he’s as devoted to it as you are to yours. But if MHI decides to participate in this clusterfuck, I’m going with you. I can shoot one-handed sitting down better than you can now. I won’t leave you hanging, even if we all want to commit group suicide. That said, I vote no. Not only no, but hell no!”

  Earl nodded. He’d not asked for votes, he’d asked for opinions. This wasn’t a democracy. Earl had already made their final decision, but he was interested in seeing what they had to say.

  “Two hundred and fifty million bucks versus some very questionable loyalties,” Holly said. “I’ve worked with Franks, and I’ve talked to him, but I’m still inclined to track his big ass down.”

  Earl wasn’t surprised . . . But he knew she was lying about the money. Holly was in because she volunteered her free time at Appleton, and many of those poor mentally broken folks had been forced into silence by Franks personally. She’d never admit that though.

  “For that kind of money, every Hunter in the world will be gunning for Franks,” Milo said. “Whether we get involved or not, Franks is toast. Nobody can escape that many determined Hunters.”

  “Even more reason for us to be the ones to pull the trigger,” Holly pointed out. “He’s going down no matter what. We might as well be the ones to get paid.” She jerked her thumb at Julie. “Get Julie a clean line of sight with a sniper rifle and at least we’ll make it quick and painless.”

  Earl looked to his great-granddaughter. “You’ve been remarkably quiet. What do you think, Julie?”

  Julie didn’t bother to look up from the page. “I think I don’t want my baby born with flipper hands because of your secondhand smoke.”

  “Shit.” Earl stabbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. “I forgot.”

  “We should stay away from this one,” Julie stated.

  “How come?”

  “Franks isn’t good or evil. He’s just Franks. So as long as we sit here having a moral debate and try to judge Franks like he’s a regular person, we’ll never have a clear answer. Has he done terrible things? Sure. Guilty as hell. He’s a monster that makes werewolves look cuddly. Has he done what he does because he’s fighting something worse? Probably. But that’s not why I say no.” Julie crumbled the printout into a ball, and launched it at the garbage can. She sunk the shot. “This thing has Stricken’s fingerprints all over it.”

  Bingo. Julie’s reasoning gave Earl faith that MHI would remain in good hands even if he got himself offed anytime soon. “You younger folks might not realize it, but normally, it takes time for a new bounty to make it through the system, and the bigger the reward, the longer the approvals.”

  “Exactly,” Julie said. “This has been fast-tracked. Franks just barely lost his exemption. Who else do we know with the pull to do this?”

  “Yes!” Owen jumped in. “Stricken gave Franks no choice but to break their rules in Vegas. Franks got in trouble because he was trying to help us. That son of a bitch was ready to let us all die in the nightmare world. We don’t know what really happened in Washington, but I know if Stricken is involved, I don’t want to be.”

  Holly sighed. “His last big bounty almost killed us all. I so hate that guy . . .” She’d been the one stuck outside the quarantine. She’d dealt with Stricken and Myers’ internal games more than the rest of them. “Shoot. I really wanted to build a house out of solid gold bars too.”

  The only thing Earl ever wanted to do with Special Task Force Unicorn was to get Heather back from them, and then he never wanted to hear of them again. Stricken could keep his blood money. “We’re done here then.” Earl stood up. “Send a message to all the team leads. Tell them Monster Hunter International is sitting this one out.”

  He just hoped it would stay that way.

  CHAPTER 9

  Incapable of reason, bombarded by new senses, and filled with unfamiliar pain, I reacted violently.

  The body had been tied down with leather straps. Prior experiments with the Elixir had shown that even long dead muscles would react with violent seizures. Because of the rudimentary working conditions, and the difficulty of correctly reproducing body parts in miniature, this body had been built using only parts from the biggest and fittest of cadavers. The straps were not sufficient to hold me. I tore free.

  Lightning was cascading through copper rods buried in my chest. I ripped them out. Elixir and blood were being pumped into my body by a machine. I smashed it. I roared like an animal as I began destroying the very tools that had brought me to life.

  The bellows were manned by one of Dippel’s assistants. I remember him looking at me with an expression of terror as I picked him up by the neck.

  I killed my first man only ten seconds after I had been born.

  With blood and Elixir pouring from my self-inflicted wounds, I was still able to destroy everything in my path. Dippel cowered in fear as I drove my new fists through his machines. My actions were those of a madman. Chemicals spilled, mixed, and ignited. The resulting explosion destroyed much of the tower. I escaped into the storm.

  7 Days Ago

  Franks waited, standing in the dark, bleeding on the bathroom floor.

  It was a five star hotel. The kind of place reserved for visiting dignitaries, powerful businessmen, and celebrities, so it had good security. But Franks had worked a case here once and seen their system. Circumventing it and getting into this particular luxury suite unseen had been simple enough.

  The fight against STFU had hurt him. He needed repairs beyond what he could administer himself. He needed replacement parts. He needed ingredients and time to make another batch of the Elixir of Life. Basically, all that meant was that he needed help, and he did not like having to ask for help. Franks did not have many friends—per the human concept of the word—and the few he did have would be watched closely. Hopefully the message he gave to Archer and Jefferson would get to Myers. Trying to contact Myers outright would simply get them both killed.

  In the meantime he would have to turn to someone who was off the books, someone the government would never suspect Franks of contacting.

  The problem was that everyone he knew who fit that description was a bit . . . unsavory.

  Franks was waiting in the bathroom because he couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and he didn’t want to leave an obvious mess on the carpet. Having a cleaning lady call the police would only complicate matters and put STFU back on his trail that much faster. He would have stood in the bathtub but he needed to be able to see the door. He did not like being surprised.

  The red light on the digital lock turned green as the sensor picked up the chip in the guest’s card. The door opened. A man and woman were silhouetted in the light from the hall. They were all over each other. They disentangled their limbs long enough to stumble inside. The female figure was all perfect curves and proportions. The male was of no consequence. He was even too small and too out of shape to be of use for spare parts. The shadows merged again. Shoes were kicked off. Clothing was partially removed, but mostly tangled up and stuck. The man’s attempts at seduction were like watching a monkey humping a football. The woman knew what she was doing, and was trying to guide him, but apparently it was hard to coach someone that enthusiastically stupid.

  Desperate times called for unsavory associates.

  They quit sucking face long enough for her to order, “Bedroom. Now.” Then she walked away, lithe and graceful. The man followed her, clumsy and stumbling over his shoes. His pants were around his ankles, so he shuffled like a penguin.

  Franks really didn’t have time for this. “Hello.”

  “Oh shit!” The man exclaimed. He tried to move behind his date, shielding his identity, but he tripped over his pants and hit the wall. “Who’s there?”

  “Housekeeping,” Franks said.

  S
he recognized Franks’ voice. His presence had to be very unexpected, but she covered it well. As could be expected considering her history, she was an excellent actress. “I called the front desk about the shower this morning. Is this really the best time to fix it?”

  “My apologies, ma’am . . .”

  “Don’t let him see me,” the man whispered. There was no way he could know that Franks could still hear him. He hurried and pulled his pants up. “I can’t afford another scandal.”

  “Your wife would hate that. You’d better go, Your Honor,” she whispered back. Steering him toward the door, she opened it, smacked him on the butt, then pushed him into the hall.

  “I’ll call you tomor—”

  She closed the door in the Supreme Court Justice’s face. “Really, Franks, was that necessary?”

  He came out of the bathroom. “Hello, Lanoth.”

  “For you, big fella, it’s just Lana.” She turned a lamp on. Humans would consider her to be breathtaking, but that was just to help with her soul-taking. It wasn’t like you could pin down the age of a succubus, because they simply appeared as whatever age their selected prey found most desirable. The judge must have like them in their mid twenties . . . and buxom. Tonight she was a tall, big-breasted blonde. Her dress was undone and dangling from one shoulder, but she didn’t bother to adjust it. Succubi weren’t known for their modesty. Lana gave him a sultry smile, then hurried and licked her teeth to make sure they weren’t still sharp. “What is this, some sort of surprise inspection? It’s not like I was going to eat him . . . literally.”

  “Were you going to take his soul?”

  “That shriveled thing? What would I do with a soul like that anyway? Politicians’ souls are so devalued that I couldn’t buy a decent pair of heels with what I could get for that one.” She was indignant. “If this is some sort of shakedown, we’re consenting adults.”

  Like most humans would consent if they knew they were with a minor demon . . . except he had met plenty of human males who were dumb enough to willingly hook up with a succubus. Humans could be remarkably shortsighted like that. Franks didn’t need to say anything. He just raised an eyebrow.

  “Semantics.” Lana waved one hand dismissively. “I earned my PUFF exemption years ago. I’m allowed to date. I’ve kept my part of the deal.”

  Franks snorted.

  “Okay, I was going to steal some of his life, but not enough that anyone would notice. Just a little. So he croaks a couple years faster than he normally would have. You know I’m worth it,” Lana purred.

  “Uh huh . . .” Franks walked over to the wall and lifted a picture frame, revealing a hidden camera. He’d already swept the hotel suite. “There’s two more in the bedroom.”

  “Blackmail . . . Duh. A girl has to support herself somehow. Come on, Franks, you know I like nice things. What? It’s okay when you guys do it. Do you have any idea how many spies and ambassadors I had to seduce to get my PUFF exemption, and then the MCB expects me to get a job? What am I, a peasant?”

  He wasn’t going to try to lecture a succubus about the value of honest work. “This is a personal visit.” Franks unzipped the stolen coat.

  “I’m not your succubus with benefits anymore, Franks. You blew that sweet deal, Mr. Insensitive. You were all law and order and too good for me.” Then she saw that he was only revealing the gaping claw wounds on his torso. “Oh . . . What happened to you?”

  “Long story. I need help.”

  Lana snickered. “The mighty Agent Franks needs help from little old me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since this is personal then and not MCB bullshit . . .” Lana picked up a vase full of flowers and hurled it at his face. Since he’d been expecting some sort of outburst, Franks snatched the vase out of midair. “You dumped me, Franks! Nobody dumps me.”

  The word dumped implied that they’d ever had some form of relationship. He was an unstoppable killing machine and she was a soul-leeching sex demon. They’d had a mutually beneficial arrangement until it had become inconvenient. What had she expected? Commitment? Franks shrugged.

  “That’s your idea of an apology?”

  Franks set the vase on a counter. “I don’t apologize.”

  “Why should I help you?” she demanded.

  “You owe me.”

  Succubi tended to be a little bipolar. Lana tilted her head to the side, toying with her hair, playing it coy. “Well, you didn’t banish me back to Hell when I first got caught, but you were still kind of a jerk about it. Your MCB pals chained me in a prison cell.”

  “You like being tied up.”

  “That’s different. I was dragged out of a party in handcuffs. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?”

  “You tried to seduce JFK,” Franks pointed out.

  “Please, Franks, tried? Marilyn had nothing on me. Look at this body.” Lana twirled for him. “This is my best one yet.”

  Her body was rather hard to miss, since it was designed to be lust incarnate. He may have been made out of secondhand parts, but Franks was still flesh. “Yes. It’s nice.”

  “That’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Lana strolled over and caressed his face. Her fingertips caused warmth to spread over his bruised cheek. Violet eyes bored into his. Her hand moved down across his chest, tracing the lacerations from the claw marks. A succubus could go from cold to hot faster than a microwave burrito. “Oh, Franks, how could I ever stay mad at you? I’m such a sucker for the strong silent types. And you are . . . so very strong.”

  “What happened to your wings?”

  She smiled. Her fangs were showing. “For you, Franks, I’ll regrow them.”

  * * *

  Special Agent Dwayne Myers was back.

  And there was much rejoicing, Archer mused. The difference was remarkable. Ten minutes ago the ops center the MCB had commandeered at Homeland Security had been a depressed, muted, almost sullen place. They were chasing leads and shaking the trees, but hadn’t come up with anything. The manhunt was a failure so far, the morgue was filled with their friends and brothers, and the suspect was still at large. The agents were stuck, frustrated, and grieving.

  Yet the room seemed to come alive when Myers walked in.

  Archer was by himself inside a conference room with glass walls, left there and forgotten after SAC Fargo couldn’t decide if he was telling the truth about the hospital or not, and she’d not decided what to do with him yet. Luckily they’d not closed the blinds for his debrief, so he watched the transformation without the benefit of sound. Myers came through the door, and everything just stopped. He could see the expressions brighten on all of his fellow agent’s faces. This was the man who could get them through any situation. This was the best leader they’d ever had, and if anybody could make this right, it was Myers.

  A crowd gathered around him immediately. It didn’t matter that he was no longer in charge of them, they’d always look to him for guidance. Myers answered questions and returned handshakes, then he asked a question and one of the Media Control staffers pointed directly at Archer. Myers thanked him, and walked quickly toward the conference room.

  Uh oh . . .

  Myers entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Please, no need to stand. We don’t have much time.” The former Acting Director closed the blinds, blocking the views of twenty curious agents. “Only the SAC knows I’m as much a suspected collaborator as you are. I asked for them to fetch Grant, so hopefully he gets here before Fargo hears I’m back.”

  “Sir, I don’t think Franks did this—”

  Myers held up one hand to stop him. In his other hand he was holding a small device. He waved it back and forth, scowling at the readout. “Okay, the room is clear. I don’t think Stricken is listening to us right now.”

  Archer swallowed hard.

  “I know Franks was framed. What did Franks tell you at the hospital?”

  Archer blinked several times. “How did—”

 
“I’ve known Franks longer than you’ve been alive. He would have beaten you senseless the instant he had you in that elevator, just to spare himself from having an unneeded conversation. Yes, Archer, I’ve seen the video. You’re not my only tech guy, you know.”

  “He said to make sure you weren’t followed and meet him where you caught Juan.”

  “Of course . . .” Myers smiled. “That was quite the case. Ah, to be a young field agent again . . . Those were good times. Forget you ever heard that.” There was a knock on the door. Myers opened it. Grant Jefferson had been escorted to them. “Come in, Grant. Have a seat.”

  The agent supervising Grant began speaking. “Could I get you some coffee or anything, Special Agent My—” but Myers closed the door in his face.

  “It’s good to see you, sir.” Grant sounded relieved.

  “We don’t have much time. There are very few agents I know I can trust, so I’m going to ask you boys to do a few very difficult things on my behalf. Your country needs you. Stricken has committed treason and murdered our brothers as part of a larger plot. Our mission is to prove it and stop him.”

  “Franks said—”

  “I know. Archer told me. I’ll handle that. Sadly, I think Franks has played right into our opponent’s hands. He tried to burn Franks in Las Vegas, and when that didn’t work he took further action. The only reason I can think to remove Franks is to end The Contract. I have reason to believe that may have severe repercussions, far beyond even what Stricken may imagine, but I have no evidence to prove that.”

  Archer was vaguely familiar with Franks’ deal with the government, but that sort of thing was way over his pay grade. “We were at the hospital because Strayhorn disappeared.”