“You’re dying, Franks. I can tell.” Kurst slowly straightened his leg out, cracking the mangled joint back into place. “I’m not. I’ll get better. You’re out of your precious Elixir. You’re done.”
Franks rested his head against the cool glass of the growth tank. “Just need to . . . catch my breath . . .” He was low on blood and oxygen, and all his nonvital systems had shut down. The other demon would correct their course, put it on autopilot, then he’d come back here and finish Franks off at his leisure.
Mission failure was unacceptable.
Normally, Franks would rather die than fail a mission, and since he was dying anyway, that made this decision extremely easy. Franks pulled himself along the side of the truck until he reached the door.
“What’re you doing?” Kurst asked.
Franks opened the door. The keys were still in the ignition. He climbed up and got in. The engine turned right over. STFU kept up on their maintenance.
“No, Franks. Don’t do that.” Kurst forced himself to stand up.
Franks revved the engine.
Kurst began hopping desperately toward the truck.
Franks shifted into gear, popped the clutch, and the truck lurched forward. The wall separating the cargo bay from the cockpit looked solid, but it was mostly aluminum, and the front of the truck crumpled rather easily. His windshield shattered and Franks bounced off the steering wheel. It was a good thing old surplus military trucks didn’t have airbags. Franks threw it in reverse. Torn metal scraped along the hood as the truck pulled free. It made a beeping noise . . . for safety. That thought was particularly ironic.
The demon prince tried to catch hold of the truck, but Franks threw his door open and hit Kurst with it, knocking him aside. The demon piloting this thing had to be having a hell of a time with this much weight shifting back and forth, but Franks was about to make his job impossible. He kept backing up until his rear bumper sparked against the ramp. Franks put it in first. Now he had a running start.
But if he drove straight through the front of the plane and rode this thing back to Earth, he wouldn’t get to see the look on Kurst’s face when they crashed in a giant fireball. Franks needed a tool. He checked his pockets. The only thing he had left was the St. Hubert’s Key he’d taken from MHI. So Franks took out the thirteen-hundred-year-old holy relic and used it to pin down the accelerator. Then he got out.
The truck picked up a surprising amount of speed during its short trip across the cargo bay.
Kurst tried to catch hold, but there simply wasn’t time to pull himself into the cab and stop it before the impressive impact. The demon prince was scraped off. The plane shook so hard it knocked Franks off his feet. The front of the C-17 simply came apart. Wide swaths of blue sky appeared as a four-hundred-knot wind struck him in the face. Franks couldn’t see what happened to Thymos as the truck crashed through the bottom of the cockpit, but it couldn’t have been pretty.
And then they went into a dive.
Franks rolled, weightless, through the air. He collided with Kurst. The demon prince was raging at him, but nothing could be heard over the wind anyway, so Franks punched him in the mouth. It was a pointless gesture, since they were about to crash, but Franks enjoyed it so he hit him again. They struck the ramp and were crushed there by the G force, but Franks kept on hitting Kurst. Depending on their altitude when they’d started the dive, he might just get the satisfaction of beating the demon to death before the ground got them. He checked. The view through the massive hole in the front of the plane was of rapidly approaching fields of green. Nope. It looked like he wouldn’t have time after all.
Kurst screamed in Franks’ ear. “We will make Hell far worse for you this time, Franks!”
“Bring it.” Franks punched him again.
The C-17 exploded on impact.
CHAPTER 20
Franks found himself back in the small white interrogation room with the angel sitting across from him. He groaned. “Not this shit again.”
“Good to see you too, Franks,” the interrogator said. “Believe me, there’s things I’d rather be doing as well.”
“Is Kurst banished?”
“You are a remarkably focused individual. Yes, he is. He has been cast back into Hell.”
As much as this place annoyed him, it certainly wasn’t the Void he knew so well. “Why aren’t I in Hell?”
“You’re not dead yet.”
“Hmmm . . .” Franks leaned back in his imaginary chair.
“I don’t think in the history of the mortal universe we’ve ever seen any spirit cling to life as tenaciously as you have. Much of your body, including a significant chunk of your brain and central nervous system, were hurled from the plane on impact. The MCB found you, and one of your men had the brilliant stroke of inspiration to place your remains into the only surviving Nemesis growth tank at the STFU bunker, which amazingly enough, hadn’t been damaged in the battle. This process stabilized you. This unlikely series of events culminated in your physical body being saved in the nick of time. You could go so far as to say that this was a miracle.”
“Yeah . . . A miracle.” Franks snorted. “So He’s not done with me yet?”
“Of course not. Your side of the covenant isn’t complete.”
Interesting. He’d been told that he would perish fulfilling his part of The Deal. “I kept my kind out. I should be dead.”
“No, Franks. That’s one faction of many, and the rest are lining up to challenge us for the future of this world. We are at a crossroads. What’s coming next is much worse. The mortal world still needs defenders. I don’t understand why, but you’re among those who have been given that calling. It isn’t my place to ask questions. You’ve still got a job to do.”
“What about Strayhorn? Did he have a job too?”
“We all have a purpose, but very few of us are smart enough to see what it is while we’re still alive.”
“Why would He let something like me have a son . . . and then take him away? That’s . . .”
“Unfair?”
Franks scowled.
“Maybe it’s time for you to learn what it means to be human. You’ve taken so much from so many others, but you’ve never understood what it feels like to lose. Then again, it isn’t my place to guess. I’m just the messenger. On that note, your immortal spirit is no longer automatically condemned to the jurisdiction of Hell. Congratulations. The next time you die will be the last, and then you’ll stand before the bar and be judged like any other mortal.”
That was unexpected. Franks nodded. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
“Good. I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
“What should we do with him?”
Franks didn’t recognize that voice.
“If it was up to me, pin a medal on him. Franks has been pardoned.”
Franks did recognize that one. So Agent Cueto had lived.
“It would have been simpler if you’d just let him die.”
“With all due respect, sir, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Franks is a national hero. If you pussies on the Subcommittee had a miniscule fraction of his testicular fortitude then Stricken wouldn’t have made you his bitch.”
“How dare you!”
“Oh, did I hurt your delicate lilac scented feelings, Senator? Please, allow me to clarify. I dare because the President just named me Acting Director of the MCB. I figure that’s because he got a wakeup call that he needs somebody who’ll actually tell him when the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes, rather than just another ass kissing statist bureaucrat. If you stupid fucks had two brain cells to rub together, it might have generated enough friction for you to realize you should have been listening to Dwayne Myers this whole time, rather than a guy who looked to Heinrich Fucking Himmler as a role model! Maybe if you had pulled your heads out of your asses long enough, we might not have needed Agent Franks to blow himself to smithereens to keep the world from being balls deep
in a horde of devils! That daring enough for you?”
The Senator was totally cowed. “My apologies, Special Agent Cueto.”
“That’s Director Cueto to you. Now get the fuck out of my top secret facility before I have Agents Archer and Jefferson here remove you.”
“Very well, Director, but I’ll warn you, with an attitude like that, you’ll never get official approval for this appointment—”
“Archer!”
“Yes, Director!”
“Countdown from ten. When you reach four, take out your Taser or your collapsible baton, whichever makes you smile, and when you reach zero, use that device on the representative of the Special Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces until he departs my facility. The more violence you use, the better.”
“Uh . . . Okay . . . Ten. Nine—”
“Silently, Archer. Can’t you see that Agent Franks is trying to sleep?” Apparently the Subcommitee representative left quietly, because several seconds passed and there was no screaming. “Man . . . I can’t stand those assholes. If we don’t elect leadership with a spine next time I swear I’m going to suck start my pistol.”
Franks opened his eyes. He recognized the recovery room in the R&D section of MCB headquarters. He’d woken up here quite a few times before. It hurt to turn his head. Many of his nerve endings were not connected yet. There were a few others in the recovery room. Jefferson and Archer were posted at the door. He didn’t know how long he’d been under, but his detail looked terrible. Archer’s arm was in a cast and Jefferson’s face was still swollen and had several bandages on it. There was a woman that Franks did not recognize sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed reading something off of her phone. Cueto was on crutches and standing right next to the bedside.
“They made you Director?” Franks asked.
“Acting. Director Stark is taking an early medical retirement from the Bureau.”
“Sad day for America.”
“Indeed. About damned time you decided to join us, Agent Franks. The docs said your brain waves had returned to normal and you’d be joining us soon. Surprised it took you so long. They only had to replace three quarters of your head.” Cueto said. “If you kept sleeping on the job I was going to write you up.”
“I vowed to kill everyone that helped Nemesis,” Franks muttered as he looked toward the exit.
“Yeah. That’s why I tossed that Subcommittee moron. Dumbass doesn’t realize I just saved his life. But no more murdering right now. After we get you debriefed about your brief stint as an undercover outlaw, we’re going to sort this out, nice and diplomatic. That’s an order.”
Franks nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because there’s fifty Secret Service downstairs ready to take you into custody for threatening the President, just in case that little Post-it note stunt wasn’t really Myers’ ploy to draw out the traitor, Stricken, like we both know it was. Understand?”
“Only fifty?”
“Budget cuts,” Cueto said. The woman had gotten up and joined him. “Let me introduce Beth Flierl. She’s the new head of Special Task Force Unicorn.”
Franks nodded. Cueto wouldn’t have let her in the room with him if she’d helped Nemesis.
“Agent Franks.” She didn’t look that intimidating, but you didn’t end up running an organization of monster hit squads without being a badass. “I’m here to officially inform you that the Task Force’s mission has been drastically scaled back. Our intelligence gathering and R and D apparatus has been discontinued. I can assure you there’s no reason for you to be concerned about further STFU activities, and I hope our two agencies can quickly resume our previous working relationship. That’s it for the official statement. Personally, I lost some good men because of this mess, and I’m still pissed, but I understand why you were doing what you had to do.”
“Did you know?” He didn’t specify if he was talking about Project Nemesis or the MCB attack. Either would do.
“Only after it was too late. I got into this business because I wanted to help out monsters who didn’t deserve to be called monsters. I was trained by Kirk Conover, and I know you knew him. I’m going to put the Task Force back on track to be something he would have recognized and been proud of. I’ve hated Stricken’s mission creep for years, but I kept my mouth shut to try and help my people earn their exemptions. And just so you know, I think the reason I got this new assignment was because while you were blowing up an airfield in Virginia, I was at the White House dropping off all the evidence about STFU’s illegal activities that I’d gathered. I believe in our mission, Franks, and I wasn’t going to let Stricken destroy the good we’ve done.”
“Where’s Stricken now?”
“Missing,” Cueto said. “He’s even better at disappearing than you were. Everybody is looking for him.”
“Don’t worry, Agent Franks. He’ll be brought to justice,” Flierl assured him. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got a mess to clean up.” Jefferson politely opened the door for her, and the commander of Special Task Force Unicorn left them.
“She seems okay,” Cueto said. “Good. Because you wouldn’t believe the shit storm that’s brewing. There’s some supernatural weirdness going down right now that would blow your mind. If I’d known about half the things Myers had been worried about, I wouldn’t have ever said yes to this assignment . . . But you’re not done recuperating or whatever the hell they call it when the docs have to replace eighty percent of your body, so I’ll brief you later.” He hobbled toward the door.
“I’m ready now,” Franks stated.
“Don’t push it. If Archer hadn’t had that bright idea to stick you in a Nemesis tank, right now I’d be seeing if we’re allowed to bury nonhumans at Arlington.”
Franks gave Archer an appreciative nod. The young agent grew embarrassed.
Cueto laughed. “You’re just lucky I didn’t have them rebuild you with female parts to help meet the MCB equal opportunity quotas. Rest up, Franks, because you’re going to be real busy soon enough. Come with me, Archer. Since you’re supposed to be so brilliant, I’ve got a temporary assignment to go along with your promotion. What do you know about covering up the existence of carnivorous blob monsters?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Good. You can learn on the flight. The islands are nice this time of year.”
“Hawaii?” Archer asked hopefully.
“The Aleutians. Pack mittens.”
Jefferson closed the door behind his new boss and his fellow agent, but he stayed in the room with Franks.
“What?”
“I need to speak with you.” Jefferson came over to the bed—walking slowly so as to not reopen the many stitched-up wounds on his body—pulled up a chair, and sat down. The young agent looked physically and emotionally exhausted. It took him a moment to compose himself enough to talk. He had never seen Jefferson look contrite before. Humility didn’t look right on somebody so cocky. “I failed. You told me to keep Strayhorn alive, but I couldn’t. He was my responsibility. There’ve been too many times in my life where I just wasn’t good enough to do what needed to be done. I couldn’t get to Myers in time, and I couldn’t protect your son.”
Franks nodded. It was strange, but he understood now how it felt to fail. Franks could relate. “The mission always comes first. We completed the mission. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah . . .” Jefferson wiped his eyes with the back of his bruised hand. “I’m sorry. He was a good man.”
“Yes. Seemed like it.” Franks had never found himself wishing that he’d spoken more with someone. Myers had been his closest confidant, but he’d kept something so vital a secret for so long . . . Franks regretted never knowing his son. Regret was an unfamiliar and bitter feeling. “How did you beat that demon by yourself?”
“Turns out we met before, on that overpass in Montgomery. Different body, same demon. Go figure. She gloated about it while she was beating the hell out of me, but then, I don’t know, s
he got sloppy or something, it’s hard to remember. I must have got in a really lucky shot and she went down. I used the opportunity to saw her head off.”
Apparently Grant Jefferson’s part in The Plan wasn’t done yet either.
Jefferson composed himself. “You said there would be repercussions if I failed.” He managed to look Franks in the eye, which put him on a very short list of mortals. “Whatever you see fit to do, I understand and accept the punishment. If I’m going to get kicked out of the Bureau, I just want you to know the last couple of years it has been an honor to help protect my country.”
Punishment? He had said that, and Franks always kept his word. “I have something appropriate. I’ll speak with Director Cueto.”
Jefferson stood up. “Understood, sir.” He limped back to the door, then hesitated. Franks could tell Jefferson really wanted to ask what his sentence would be.
“Myers is gone,” Franks stated. “I require a new partner.”
Jefferson visibly paled. “Your partner?” He certainly hadn’t expected that particular punishment. “Is it too late to resign?”
“Yes. Dismissed.”
Jefferson left Franks alone with his thoughts. Kurst had been banished, but at a terrible cost. Stricken had survived. He would be dealt with in time. Despite their temporary success, the mortal world remained in grave danger, otherwise Franks would not have been sent back.
Something Myers had said as he lay dying was gnawing at Franks . . . He’d said that his descendants could use the Elixir. Descendants. Plural.
He did not understand The Plan. He would abide by The Deal. The Contract was his life. Things had changed, but he did not know what would be expected of him next. Franks turned his head enough to see a sliver of the sunset through a gap in the blinds . . .
Nope . . . Franks still didn’t appreciate beauty.
He would never be human, but maybe he could be close enough to get by. So Franks lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his next inevitable assignment.
He knew it would not take long.
* * *
Stricken sat in the dark room, listening to the waves, and contemplating his next move. A man with lesser dedication would have been frustrated by recent setbacks, but he preferred to see them as new opportunities instead. He poured himself another scotch, put his feet up, and watched the shadows of the tropical trees sway in the wind along the moonlit beach.
Monster Hunter Nemesis Page 41
