Well, that was one hell of an invitation. I pulled up a chair. Franks sat down too. Grant looked to his director, but Cueto just shook his head in the negative. Apparently, even though he was Franks’ partner, Grant didn’t have the rank, clout, or clearance for this particular discussion. Grant quickly left and closed the door behind him.
The last person at the table hadn’t been named yet, and he didn’t seem inclined to introduce himself either. He was a rather plain-looking, innocuous little bald man in a brown suit. He was old and really short in that hunched over way. Heather looked at him, like she was trying to think of what to say, but then she didn’t say anything at all.
So I asked, “Who’re you?”
“You may call me Mr. Coslow.”
“And you are?”
“None of your concern.”
Heather gave me a warning look and a little shake of her head. I trusted her and shut up.
“So why am I here? Because the sooner we get this all cleared up, the sooner I can get some stiches. I’m getting a little woozy here. I just killed a reptoid in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Who hasn’t? You’ll be fine, you big baby.” Director Cueto picked up a remote control, pressed a button, and a giant screen lit up on the wall behind him. It was a satellite image of the office park we had been staking out. “So we’re all on the same page, approximately an hour ago, the MCB executed Operation Kill Stricken.”
“That was the actual name of the operation?” I chuckled. “Who came up with that imaginative title?”
“We were going to use the official computer-generated random op name, which was Husky Duckling, but Franks insisted on this one and he’s kinda hard to debate with,” Cueto explained.
That was obviously true. It also illustrated why Franks was so bitter that the operation hadn’t lived up to its name yet.
“This was the culmination of months of investigation and cooperation between the MCB and . . . certain other government agencies, which led to the capture of this man.” Cueto pushed another button, and the image changed to that of Stricken. It was the same picture as the one on the Most Wanted board. Gaunt and haunted, yet smug. “The dickbag in question you all have had personal dealings with, so I’ll spare you his resume, most of which is bullshit made up by the CIA from back when he was a spook, because at this point literally nobody knows what the hell this guy’s actual deal is. It turns out all the official records on him were replaced with forgeries a long time ago, so nobody in the government even knows what his real name is or where he comes from, so we all call him by his obvious code name instead. The important thing to my bureau is that he’s a treasonous piece of shit responsible for the death of my friend, Dwayne Myers, and a bunch of other good agents. Ergo, fuck him.”
I was kind of liking Director Cueto’s management style.
“Intel indicated that Stricken has been collecting various magical artifacts, for some as-of-yet undetermined, but certainly nefarious purpose. We set up on this location where we had reason to believe he would be picking up one such item in person. Our raid was forced to launch early due to the arrival of this unknown subject—” Cueto changed the picture again, this time to a photo of the shapeshifter leaping out the window. It was a great action shot. “—who stole the item in question and fled the scene, only to be pursued by members of Monster Hunter International . . . who I might add, failed to file the proper paperwork with this local MCB office notifying us of any operation in the area.” He gave me a pointed look.
“Beats me. You’re going to want to talk to our Atlanta team leader, Jay Boone. That’s B, O, O, N, E. I’m just the finance guy. I don’t do the liaison stuff.”
Cueto snorted. “Uh-huh. Did you catch her though?”
I spread my hands apologetically. “How am I supposed to know? Franks took my radio and left me locked in the back of a hot car like an abused dog.”
“If your tale of woe becomes any more tragic I fully expect to hear Sarah McLachlan start singing ‘In the Arms of an Angel.’ Regardless, MCB swept in and apprehended Stricken and his accomplices. Some dumbass cultists and one lizard man got thoroughly ventilated in the process. However, before Stricken could accidentally fall down the stairs repeatedly, we were interrupted by Mr. Coslow here, who informed the MCB that it is absolutely vital for national security interests that Mr. Stricken doesn’t suicide himself while in MCB custody, for some inexplicable fucking reason.”
All eyes turned to the mystery man, who remained as enigmatic as ever. “Ours not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.” Then he tilted his head and acknowledged the director’s complaint. “Current projections indicate Stricken is of far more value to mankind alive than dead. During the coming trials, the forbidden knowledge which he has gleaned will surely be of use to us. All must play their part.”
“I’m not even going to pretend to wrap my little GS-15 brain around that mystical bullshit,” Cueto said. “Beth?”
She obviously didn’t like the state of things either, but she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”
“So—” I interrupted. “I’m guessing this creepy, bossy guy outranks you seemingly more sane and pragmatic government employees.”
“Something like that,” Cueto said. “Mr. Coslow is outside the regular chain of command, but he was brought out of retirement, due to recent events, and is acting under the highest authority.”
“Should’ve stayed retired,” Franks muttered.
“That was not my decision, nor yours, Agent Franks. We each have our cross to bear.” Coslow was tiny and fragile compared to Franks, and from the way these people were acting toward him, he had to have the clearance to know what Franks was. Except he didn’t seem to give a shit. Coslow turned to me. “Which brings us to why Mr. Pitt’s presence was requested. Before Stricken will cut a deal, he insists on speaking with one of the Chosen.”
I blanched. I sure didn’t like that term getting tossed around by a bunch of Feds who’d have no issue with dissecting my brain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I am certain of that.” Coslow reached beneath the table and pulled out a battered old leather briefcase. He popped it open and took out a handwritten journal. He immediately turned to a page near the middle and scanned down the list. “Yes. There you are. As you can see, you are not alone. You are one of many, for there are a multitude of competing factions. You are simply the one who is most conveniently placed for our needs at this time.”
Beth gave me a curious look. Apparently, this was a new revelation to her. “Owen Zastava Pitt’s been chosen in the eternal war? Really?”
“Hold on. For the record I am totally, one hundred percent human, so you can buzz off if you’re thinking about drafting me into any Unicorn bullshit.”
“I didn’t say anything like that.” Beth tried to appear innocent.
Coslow continued, like his little notebook was a pronouncement from on high. “Agent Franks has been chosen. As has your lovely bride, Mr. Pitt. Though they were both picked by drastically different factions, each has a part to play.” He read for a moment. “There are a few others currently in the region . . . Ah, it appears that Heather Kerkonen also bears the mantle of a Chosen.”
“I’m a what now?” Heather asked, obviously confused.
“Your destiny is intertwined with Earl Harbinger, my dear. I thought about calling upon him for this interview since he is in the area, except I fear his animosity toward Stricken would be too great for him to proceed rationally.”
“So I take it you’ve met Earl then,” Heather said.
“Yes,” said Coslow. “A few times.”
Director Cueto was obviously baffled. “Well, I ain’t been chosen to do shit but protect the United States of America from the forces of evil so I’m feeling a little left out here, Mr. Coslow. Could you please bring this discussion back to planet Earth now, so I can figure out how to proceed with my prisoner?”
“Of course, Director. Before Mr. Stricken will
agree to a deal, he insists on speaking with one of the Chosen. Of those currently available, I believe Mr. Pitt to be the best option.”
“You’re offering him a deal?” Cueto shouted. “Stricken orchestrated the cold-blooded murder of MCB agents!”
“I am sorry, Director. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
“That’s fucking awesome, Mr. Spock, but that don’t change the fact he turned monsters loose in MCB headquarters to slaughter my friends and gut-shoot my predecessor.”
“Told you you should’ve let me kill him,” Franks said.
“I understand your righteous anger, Director. Yet it is what it is. The Subcommittee agrees with my assessment. If you do not accept it, feel free to turn in your resignation in protest.”
Cueto was red-faced, but he stopped yelling. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.”
“As Agent Franks can attest, every day in hell is a cold one, Director,” Coslow said.
“Fine. Whatever. But let the record show that I think this is a terrible decision and am only doing this under direct orders from the Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces.”
“Do not be silly,” Coslow said. “There will never be any record of these proceedings. Do you also wish to voice your displeasure, Beth?”
“I think this is a mistake. Stricken turned my organization from a force for good into his personal mafia, and I’ve spent the last few years trying to repair the damage he did. Stricken doesn’t deserve a deal. He deserves a bullet and a shallow grave in a landfill.”
“Dissent noted—and immediately disregarded . . . Very well then. It is settled. We shall proceed. To the interrogation room then. We will listen in on the conversation between Mr. Pitt and Mr. Stricken. It should prove rather enlightening.”
“Whoa, hang on.” I held up one hand, like I was a schoolkid trying to get called on by the teacher. “My experience with Stricken isn’t exactly sunshine and roses either.”
“Yet, you remain the least likely of those present to immediately tear his head from his shoulders in a fit of monstrous rage,” Coslow said as he stood up.
Heather shrugged. “That’s accurate.”
Franks grunted. “Eh.”
“All of you are forgetting something else. I don’t work for you.”
“Then on behalf of a grateful nation, thank you for performing this voluntary service for your government, Mr. Pitt. That is the carrot. Or would you prefer I use the stick?”
Coslow wasn’t even sort of threatening in how he said that, but I couldn’t even imagine what a man who could boss around the MCB and STFU considered a stick. “Can I at least get my arm cleaned up first?”
“It is true the egg children of the Lacertus are unclean things.” Coslow reached out and touched my shoulder as he passed by. His hand was abnormally cold. “That should handle it for now.” Then he opened the door and walked out.
There was a sudden odd tingling in my arm. The best way to describe it was that it felt like there was static in my blood. Then there was an audible electric snap beneath my hastily applied bandage. I jumped. A little puff of smoke drifted out from beneath the gauze. I hurried and pulled it off, only to discover the gashes had been cauterized in angry, jagged, burnt lines. It smelled like somebody had just burned a piece of meat, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. “What the shit, man?”
But Coslow was already gone.
I’d experienced orc healing magic before, but this was like the microwave oven version to Gretchen’s slow cooker. I glared at the others. “What the hell is he?”
“Don’t look at me,” Beth said. “It’s compartmentalized. There’s still some things that are classified above my pay grade.”
“What he is, I don’t know, but his official title is the PUFF Adjuster,” Cueto said.
“Bullshit! I’ve dealt with those before,” I said. “They’re just the bureaucrats who make calls on one-of-a-kind bounties.”
“You’re missing the point. Those are PUFF adjusters. He’s the PUFF Adjuster, like the original guy who started the program.”
That didn’t make any sense. The Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund had started during Teddy Roosevelt’s administration. I looked between the heads of the MCB and STFU, but Beth just gave Cueto an annoyed look and shook her head, like he needed to shut up.
“All that is an innocuous way of saying he’s a mystical weirdo they brought out of cold storage to babysit the Subcommittee again after Stricken nearly tricked those idiots into building an army of monsters.” Director Cueto stood up. “Now come on, kid. Let’s find out how bad Stricken is about to screw us all over.”
Seeing my tax dollars at work kind of sucked.
Chapter 4
Stricken was on the other side of the one-way glass, already seated inside the interrogation room. He was dressed the same as when I’d seen him earlier, though they’d taken his tie—probably so he couldn’t hang himself with it—and at some point one lens of his funny colored glasses had gotten cracked. He looked a little worse for wear but considering how badly all the super dangerous people here wanted to beat him like a pinata until candy came out, Stricken appeared remarkably unharmed.
His hands were chained to a big steel ring on the big steel table and his ankles were chained to a big steel chair. There was an MCB agent standing quietly in each of the four corners of the room, and one more at the door. That seemed like overkill. Stricken wasn’t dangerous because of any physical strength. He was dangerous because he was a really smart, connected asshole who had zero qualms about screwing around with evil shit that was better left alone.
I was in the observation room with Franks, Heather, and Beth. The director and the PUFF Adjuster were off printing up copies of Stricken’s deal with the government. Once they had those ready to sign, they were going to let Stricken have his requested conversation with a Chosen. Lucky me.
“I’m actually kind of amazed you’re going along with all this,” I whispered to Franks.
“I don’t like it.”
“Then why not go on another vigilante rampage? You seem pretty good at those.”
Franks just glared at me but didn’t say anything. Probably because rampaging was tempting. Guards or not, Franks could have jumped through the window and squished Stricken before anybody here, other than maybe Heather, who wouldn’t be that motivated to stop him, would be able to do much about it. I’d only been joking about the kinder and gentler MCB, but there was actually something up with Franks. Maybe they had amended his mysterious contract after the whole Nemesis debacle to keep their attack dog on a shorter leash? He was being remarkably restrained all things considered.
Grant came into the room and handed me a T-shirt. “I figured you would want to look more presentable.”
My current attire was all torn up and bloody, so that was appreciated. “Thanks.” I pulled off my shirt, threw it in the nearby trash can, and took the offered replacement. Which was when I saw it had Trainee printed on it and had the MCB’s two-headed eagle seal on the back. “You asshole.”
Grant laughed. “Deal with it.”
I pulled the shirt on. Of course, it was way too small. Franks scowled at me. When we’d sewed him back together last time one of the arms had the MHI logo tattooed on it, so this wasn’t nearly as permanent.
“By the way, Pitt,” Beth said. “We’ve all been so distracted by the Stricken question, that you never said how MHI knew about the auction.”
“Nope. I didn’t.”
“Nor did you say anything about what the item was that was so important that both MHI and the reptoids chased the thief across the city to get it.”
“I already told Franks it was some dark magic stuff. I don’t know the details. Not my department. I’m just the accountant.”
“Uh-huh . . . ” Beth obviously wasn’t buying my BS. “Whatever the item is, it was important enough to Stricken to get him to risk showing his face in public. Having it in our possession might provide leverage. Heather,
call your boyfriend.”
Heather groaned. “Do I have to?” Except she didn’t have to wait for her boss’s orders to know that her protest was in vain. “Fine. I know, I know. National security.” She got out her phone. “Mind if I do this in private? You know how Earl feels about this organization.”
“Put him on speaker,” Beth said, with just a hint of malicious glee. “I can stand my ground.”
Heather hit the call button. “This is a terrible idea.”
Earl picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Heather. What’s going on?”
“There’s something I needed to talk to you about.”
“Can I call you back?” From the background noise it sounded like he was in a moving car. “I’m kind of busy on a case right now.”
“You’re trying to find someone in Atlanta.”
“How’d you know? Wait . . . This personal, or business?”
“Hello, Mr. Harbinger,” said Beth. “You are on speaker.”
Earl was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Flierl. To what do I owe this incredible annoyance? Let me guess, is this little thief I’m tracking one of your slaves?”
“No. She’s not one of mine, though I am very interested in speaking with her now. However, you need to get one thing straight. We’re under new management. I’m not like Stricken. My people are not slaves. They’re volunteers, willingly serving their country in exchange for the opportunity to earn their PUFF exemption.”
“Sure they are. I’ll be sure to pass that on to all my buddies who died in involuntary servitude while we were doing dirt for Uncle Sam . . . Dammit, Heather, it’s one thing for you to be soft-hearted enough to try and help their captives, but do not drag me back into their foolishness. I tried to warn you that you can’t trust these assholes. We can talk about this when you’re in Alabama again. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, Earl, it’s important.”
Earl really must have loved Heather because he stuck around. “Damn it. Fine. Talk.”
“We’ve got Owen here. He’s safe.”
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