“We think he may be able to corroborate Franks’ testimony,” Grant said. “The manhunt is looking for him too, but since his prints were all over one of the weapons at the scene, they’ve got the rookie down as a possible collaborator. I know Fargo thinks he snuck out of the hospital because he’s guilty. I think Stricken killed him before he could talk.”
“No. I’m certain Strayhorn will turn up. Don’t worry about that now. Listen carefully, if anything happens to me, I’m counting on you two to expose Stricken’s crimes. You know how to access all the evidence I’ve collected—”
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Archer declared.
Myers shook his head. “This is far bigger than me, than Franks, even than the Bureau. I don’t understand Stricken’s motive, and I certainly underestimated how far he was willing to go, but I know that if we don’t break from this path he’s put us on, it will take our country down a very dark road. The Subcommittee was meant as a check on unrestrained power, but I’m afraid they’ve been co-opted. I haven’t spent my entire life fighting monsters simply to replace them with something worse. If I am killed or disappear, finish the mission. Is that understood?”
They hesitated. This was well beyond the scope of their official duties. This was swimming in the deep end, with sharks.
Myers gave them a patient smile. “There’s a reason I approached you two as confidants. You are both very talented, low ranking enough that nobody of importance will pay much attention to you, but most importantly, neither one of you has close family who can be used against you as leverage.”
Archer looked at Grant, and saw that he’d gone a little green. Archer was probably a similar shade. Shit just got real. “Yes, sir,” they answered simultaneously.
“Grant, I’ve given you a few names of other agents you can trust. Henry, you know how to access my secret files. Our case needs to be rock solid or it will be dismissed. We will put the pieces together and take this straight to the President.”
“And what if he agrees with Stricken?” Archer asked.
Myers paused for a long time. They’d all been thinking it. “Then I’m afraid Franks will solve this problem his way.”
* * *
The diner had good pie, and good pie could help assuage the fact she was a virtual slave to a shadow government kill squad, and that kill squad had just gotten its ass handed to it by Frankenstein’s monster. Pie was amazing like that. Not really . . . Heather stuffed another chunk of apple into her mouth and chewed. Franks’ beating them still stung . . . though that was a really flaky crust.
The place was quiet. The lunch rush was over and the dinner crowd hadn’t started coming in yet. Heather had been killing time, sitting in a corner booth for a few hours, but since she had been continually ordering food, the staff wasn’t in any hurry to throw her out. More than anything her servers seemed impressed that a woman of her size could put down such a ridiculous amount of food. They didn’t realize that shape-changing burned a lot of calories and regenerating from injuries took even more. Franks had really done a number on her. Heather had broken damn near everything. Besides, STFU gave her a decent per diem.
She picked up Beth Flierl’s scent as soon as she entered the diner. There was still monsters on it, but now she also smelled of cheap coffee, energy drinks, and gunpowder. Apparently, Beth had been too busy to shower since the fight against Franks. When she got closer, Heather could tell that she’d not slept yet either.
“You look tired.”
The Task Force monster wrangler waved one hand dismissively. “Lots of briefings . . . Mind if I sit?”
“Sure.” Heather was in no position to tell anyone from STFU no anyway, but she honestly liked the Flierls. They seemed like remarkably decent people for this line of work. “Want some pie? It’s pretty good.”
“No thanks. I just want to go home and crash. I got your message. Considering the last time I saw you there were bones sticking out and you were coughing up blood, you’re looking well.”
“There are some benefits to balance out the homicidal rage, like the best way to heal is to eat like a sumo wrestler.”
“Eat up. The full moon is soon. You’ll be going into an STFU-provided lockup for the duration. Show up on time or we’ll have to come get you.”
“No problem. Get me an address.” Heather knew exactly when the moon would call to her. She could always hear the hum. She could probably handle changing without hurting anyone, but it was better not to push her luck. “How are the others?”
“You actually care? You barely knew them.”
“I guess I’ve got a protective streak.”
“Sorry. That came out rude. I’m just tired. Well, you hadn’t met any of the Task Force normals, and I’m not even allowed to tell you their names anyway. They fared worse than we did. Hawxhurst can’t really die, so he’ll bounce back. The Biggest will heal. His kind are very resilient.”
“Putlack?”
Beth shook her head sadly. “It’s not looking good, but we’ve never dealt with a Go Dokkaebi in the states before. We’ve got his body on ice, but we don’t know if he’ll come back.”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“Considering his curse, he really is. You never saw that thing inside of him get really angry. I don’t know if he could have made the transition to normal life even if he had gotten his exemption.” She fell silent as the waitress came by to see if she wanted anything. Beth politely told her no and waited for her to leave before continuing. “That’s the hardest part of this job. You get to know people, and at the end you have to give an honest report about if you think they’re going to be a menace to society after we cut them loose. Maybe Putlack is better off.”
“Is that your way of warning me to be on my best behavior?”
“I barely know you. Your last liaison officer thought you were fine. I think the actual phrase was pushy but sane.” Beth laughed. “By Task Force standards that is a glowing recommendation.”
Heather wasn’t allowed in any of STFU’s official briefings. “Any progress on finding our guy?” She went back to her pie, trying to act nonchalant.
“You might not have noticed, but the boss isn’t super good at sharing information. Our team is done. We had our shot. Now we’re supposed to stand down.”
Heather could tell she wanted to say more. “Come on, Beth, there’s always rumors swirling around a big investigation. You must have heard something. He kicked me off a moving train.”
“He winged my husband . . . Okay, fair enough. They’re tossing all those old tunnels, but there’s been no sign of him anywhere. He just vanished. MCB can’t find anything, but I guess that’s pushed the higher-ups over the edge. We were all a little surprised to see our guy turn up on the latest PUFF table for a lot of money.”
“Define a lot.”
“Two hundred and fifty million dollars.”
Heather almost choked on her pie.
“No, Task Force members are ineligible to collect PUFF, so don’t even think about it . . . Keep in mind who you’re working for now. The government has individual airplanes that cost more than that. As ridiculous as it sounds, that kind of money routinely disappears from budgets all the time. To the government that’s chump change, but to Hunters? The biggest company out there—which I believe your boyfriend runs—only has a couple hundred employees. Hunters will be coming out of the woodwork.”
“But still . . . That seems extreme.”
“During the last briefing we were told that our fugitive left a message threatening to kill the President.”
That didn’t fit. Heather leaned in close. “Did you get to see the note?”
“No.”
“Why would Franks do that?”
“Maybe he’s gone nuts. Something came unscrewed in that armored skull of his. I don’t know.”
“That can’t be all . . .” Heather tapped her fork against her plate. She’d been debriefed about her fight in the subway, but she’d left a f
ew things out, most importantly how she’d violated Stricken’s direct orders and talked with Franks first. She’d been beaten senseless, Franks could have ripped her head off there at the end, but he’d given her a message and spared her life instead. Everything she’d ever heard about Franks suggested that he didn’t even grasp the concept of mercy, let alone ever exercised it, so there had to be a reason. Nemesis had to be that important. The question now was did she trust Beth enough to ask about it?
As one of the monstrous volunteers, Heather wasn’t given access to any of STFU’s files. The only history she knew was what they figured she needed to know for an operation, and that was usually minimal and given at the last possible minute. The only way she would find out anything about Nemesis was if somebody told her, and since the Task Force was an untrusting bunch, the list of people who might share was very short.
“You want to say something, Kerkonen? Spit it out, because I really want to call it a day.”
“I just remembered Franks said something during our fight.”
Beth was suspicious. “So you just happened to forget this part during your debrief?”
“You know, bestial werewolf savagery and whatnot.”
“I bet . . . Except you’re the most coherent werewolf we’ve ever found.”
“Blame it on the head injuries. I had a railroad-track-shaped dent right here.” Heather was committed now. “Franks said he was innocent.”
“He sure isn’t acting innocent. Ask Putlack. Oh, wait. You can’t.”
Heather leaned across the table. “The evidence at the MCB building isn’t right. There’s more going on than what we’ve been told.”
“Why do you think that?”
“This.” Heather pointed at her nose. “Plus lots of years putting up yellow tape around crime scenes, I know what they should look like, but none of those involved something that bled green, but smelled like spider webs and bubblegum.”
Beth kept her face blank. “They’re looking into that still. Whatever it was in that elevator never got caught on video. Our boss says that Franks must have had something helping him.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that by now you’d know to keep your mouth shut and keep your head down until your time’s served. Are you trying to get in trouble?” It sounded more like a warning than a threat. “This is way over your head. Certain people in charge don’t have any patience when it comes to Task Force volunteers rocking the boat. The MCB is investigating. If there’s anything to that, they’ll figure it out.”
Heather could leave it. She could keep her mouth shut for a year, get her exemption, and walk away. Too bad she’d never been very good at being a quitter. “Franks mentioned something else.”
“Oh, come on, Kerkonen.” Beth rubbed her face with both hands. “Bestial werewolf forgetfulness again?”
“Blame it on the concussion. Whatever.”
“Fine. What is it?”
“What’s Nemesis?”
The Flierls were normally pretty good at not giving away too much to their monstrous charges, but not this time. Beth’s surprise was obvious. “Franks mentioned Nemesis?”
“He blamed the whole thing on Str . . . on our employer. He said Nemesis had to be stopped.”
“Were you two having a tea party down there or something?” She was quiet for a very long time, thinking it over. “That’s impossible. It was an illicit project back during the Cold War, and it got shut down, and shut down hard. We do certain clandestine things, but restarting that would be so illegal it isn’t even funny. Our boss might test the limits, but he wouldn’t do that . . .” She trailed off. “No way. Even dabbling in that could jeopardize the Task Force’s existence. You’ve only seen the bad, but in the big picture, we’ve done a lot of good. We’ve saved a lot of American lives and prevented some horrible things from happening. I can’t imagine that our boss would risk throwing all of that away.”
“Beth, I have to know. What the hell is Nemesis?”
“Something you should never ask about again. For your own safety, Kerkonen, we never had this conversation. I’m going to forget all about this.” She slid out of the booth and stood up. “I’d suggest you do the same.” Beth began walking away.
Heather called after her, “What if he was telling the truth?”
Beth stopped, started walking again, then stopped, and swore under her breath, before turning back. “I’ll talk to my husband. We’ll look into it, I promise.”
“How can I help?”
“This needs to be done discreetly. I’ve read your file. I don’t think you know what that word means, so you don’t do anything. I’ll be in touch.” Beth left in a hurry.
“I can be discreet,” Heather muttered. She had no idea if she’d just done the right thing or not. Oh well . . . Either Beth would rat her out, or she wouldn’t. In the meantime, she was going to find out what Nemesis really was.
PART 2
The Deal
CHAPTER 10
I wandered in the forest, incoherent with pain. It took time for my ancient spirit to mesh with my new body enough to exercise reason.
My first conscious thought was that I was dying. The body was broken. I had damaged it during my rampage. My next was that I did not want to go back to Hell where I belonged. My memories were damaged, but I knew that much for certain.
Mortals had to eat. I was mortal now. So I chased down a deer, broke its spine, and ate some of its raw flesh. Obviously that did not help my sucking chest wound, but I had only been alive for a few hours so I didn’t know any better.
So this was life? I hated it too.
Gradually weakening, my run turned into a walk, then I fell and crawled through the mud until dawn. I was nearly overcome with blood loss as the sun rose over the horizon. I had never looked upon such a thing with eyes before.
I was moved.
I did not understand beauty or majesty, but I did understand shame and regret. This should have been my world. I should have been human. I should have been born of woman, lived, died, and returned with honor. I should have been part of The Plan. Only I had thrown that away by making war against my brothers. The constant anger I had felt toward both the loyal and the rebellious was replaced with self-loathing. There was no one to blame except myself.
Now my brief mortality would end. I would die in the mud and my spirit would be cast back to Hell as I deserved.
So I lay there, dying, watching the sunrise over a world that had been meant for me, if only I had not been so filled with pride . . . For the first time I understood why I deserved the Creator’s punishment. This had been intended for me, but I had thrown it away. If I could do it over again I would have.
It turns out you need to have a heart for it to break. I did not understand the feeling. For the first time I was truly . . . sorry.
That was when I heard the voice.
I will not repeat what the messenger said to me as I lay there dying in the mud. Those words are not mine to repeat. I am not worthy.
That’s right . . . Classified. Back off.
Basically . . .
Hmm. . . .
Well . . . He made me an offer.
He knew I was not like the other Fallen. I had no desire to break The Plan. I did not want power or glory. I was strong enough to find a way into the mortal world. Though I was no longer compelled to do evil, I would never understand good. Though I would forever be incapable of love, or mercy, or kindness, or the other important lessons within The Plan, I had been one of the greatest warriors of the host, so my talents would not be wasted. I was ambivalent toward the children of men, but most of the other things who would find a way into this mortal world—whether they were outcasts from the world before or invaders from worlds outside—would come here to do harm.
The Deal He offered was simple. I would be allowed to keep the mortal shell I had stolen, but only if I used it as a weapon against the invaders. They would fight me. Someday my body would be ultimately destr
oyed, and then my accomplishments would be measured against my sins. At times I would be given orders that had to be obeyed without question. Regardless, I would never be worthy to return to glory. There would be no atonement for one of my kind. That was impossible. There could never be a heaven for me . . . But in the meantime I could avoid Hell.
That was good enough.
I accepted.
Have I kept The Deal since?
Hmmm . . .
Mostly.
3 Days Ago
The news was showing his picture again. Franks picked up the remote and muted the sound. It was all the same MCB media manipulation. It was so predictable and boring he could have written it himself. He went back to the stove and stirred the pot full of green sludge. The counter was covered in glass beakers, Bunsen burners, and ingredients. The next batch of Elixir was almost ready.
“You better not be cooking meth in there,” Lana called from the living room. “I like this place. Luxury suits me.”
He’d had Lana purchase most of the items at different locations. A few of the ingredients were rare, and any attempt to buy them locally would be flagged to tip off STFU, but Franks had thought ahead and had those things in his gnome stash. One of his cases was open on the table. Franks removed a bag filled with dried moths. They were a species native to Germany. He dumped a few of them on the cutting board and began dicing them with a knife.
“Not that I’m against you cooking meth. I love that show.” The succubus was lying on the couch, reading People magazine. She looked up at the now silent television. “It’s about you again. You’re a hit. I’m dating a celebrity.”
The succubus had a very odd definition of dating. He continued chopping up insects.
“That picture isn’t even close now.”
Franks glanced over. His MCB ID photo would not help them. They’d spent the last few days damaging his face and then forcing it to heal with the last of his Elixir. He’d changed the bone structure enough that facial recognition software would no longer pick him out of a crowd. Lana had helped. She had a good eye for human proportions and a steady hand. He suspected that she’d enjoyed repeatedly breaking his jaw, nose, and cheekbones with a meat tenderizer and then pushing the bits into new positions.