Monster Hunter Nemesis (12 page)

Franks lifted the Glock and fired three rounds, sending them purposefully high. It was to slow his pursuers down and make them think. Incoming gunfire had a way of making you revert to your training. They’d think he was pinned, so they’d leapfrog forward, taking their time. Franks holstered the Glock, glad that their issued handguns were all the same model. There was no way the pistol would stay put if he just shoved it into his waist band, considering what he was about to do.

The nylon climbing rope had been piled in the wall, already tied off to a support beam. He took up the rope bundle and tossed it out the broken window. He’d left a pair of leather gloves there as well, simply because you never knew when you’d be able to get new hands, and nothing was more annoying than friction burning your palms off. Franks tugged on the gloves, took up the rope, and left the office the fast way.

* * *

All three of them had been hit by Franks’ shotgun. Kurst had a few pieces of buckshot lodged in his torso. Four had lost an eye. The Spider had gotten the worst of it though. The illusion had slipped completely, and Tsuchigumo was sagging against the wall in its natural form, twitching and spasming, as occasional gushes of green slime pumped out on the elevator’s floor. Its hairy claws clutched at the massive hole in its body as its mandibles clicked rapidly.

They were nearing the lobby. “Disguise us now or not,” Kurst told the monster. “Either way, I will live. We can fight our way out and leave you to perish, or you can stick to the plan and perhaps Stricken’s doctors can save you. The choice is yours. Make it now.”

The Spider chittered at him, but then the air seemed to shimmer and the noise filled his ears. The hideous insect visage was replaced with the young Japanese girl. The green slime turned to red blood, but she was still injured. Four appeared to be a different MCB agent, though he was still missing an eye. He put his hand to it, as if the injury was actually debilitating. Kurst knew that he would look like an actual employee, of whom Stricken had provided the Spider a photograph. Kurst picked up the Spider and cradled it in his arms, like he was carrying a wounded human. The illusion was so complete it even
felt
like a tiny human.

The doors opened.

The security checkpoint was a confused mass of excited bodies. MCB security was trying to coordinate with officers from other agencies, but there was an understandable hesitancy to involve those who weren’t cleared as to the MCB’s secret mission.

“She’s been shot,” Kurst shouted. “I need an ambulance.”

“This way.” One of Foster’s men, dressed in MCB body armor, took hold of Four and acted as if he was guiding the wounded man. “Hurry.”

The humans were looking for Franks. Any messages indicating possible assailants other than Franks would have been electronically blocked by Renfroe.

They were rushed into the parking garage. A few ambulances had already arrived. Of course, one had been prepared by Special Task Force Unicorn. Nine met them on the way. She sent him a telepathic vision of her wounding Director Stark and killing a dozen others. Foster, now dressed as a paramedic, was already in the driver’s seat. Renfroe was at the back door, but he would not come near the Spider as Kurst shoved the creature inside. Their human accomplice looked ill at the sight of the many other wounded being tended here. Kurst got in and Foster had the ambulance rolling before the rear doors were even closed.

“They’ve got Franks pinned down,” Foster told them as he turned on the siren. “The second my guys are out, I’ll blow the charges and make a mess of the place. It’ll be over soon.”

He resisted the urge to smile.
You do not understand what you are dealing with. You do not understand Franks.
Kurst knew this was only just beginning.

* * *

The ground rushed up to meet him, but Franks had so much grip strength that merely squeezing harder threw the brakes on his descent. He immediately slowed down, and then let go and dropped the last ten feet to land in a crouch.

There were enough trees around him that it was relatively dark here. There were red and blue lights flashing on the street. The metro police would be setting up a perimeter in conjunction with the MCB. There wasn’t much time before they had it locked tight.

His suit was torn and bloody. He would stick out. There were more security cameras in this city than anywhere else in the country. He needed a vehicle. However, it was one in the morning and the police would be blocking the streets. It made his decision easy.

Franks pulled out his cell phone. As soon as the response team had their shit together they would track it. He speed-dialed Dwayne Myers, and then picked the stealthiest path through the landscaping to the street. He set out in a fast walk, sticking to the shadows, while it rang. Franks could imagine “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” playing on the other side. Myers had been using the same ringtone for years. Franks liked that Myers was so consistent.

He also didn’t sleep much. “Franks?”

“Listen carefully. I’ve been framed. Someone disguised as me attacked headquarters. At least twenty casualties. No idea how many dead. They shot Stark too.” Franks rattled off what he knew. Myers was smart enough not to interrupt him. “There were at least two attackers. They weren’t human. Super speed, strength, and regeneration.” Franks quickly rattled off physical descriptions of Kurst and the other one.

“Were they—”

“Nemesis. Possibly, but much better than the last batch if so.” Franks couldn’t tell Myers about the spirit that was inhabiting the body he’d fought, because to explain Kurst was to explain himself, and there were things that even Myers didn’t need to know. “There were human assassins among the responders. I killed one.”

“STFU?”

“Unknown . . . I’m on the run.” Franks walked through the bushes. He was getting close to the nearest police car. The officer had gotten out and was looking up at the broken window.

“Franks, wait!” Myers sounded unusually desperate. He was normally cool, even in the worst situations, though this situation probably qualified as desperate. “Is Strayhorn okay?”

Why did Myers particularly care about the rookie?
“He was shot. Status unknown.”

There was a sudden bright flash, followed an instant later by a roar of sound and the rumble of a shockwave. Franks glanced up to see a fireball rolling out the side of the ninth floor. Sparkles of glass filled the air and fell like rain. Then another explosion ripped through the night, and then another. Those two were close enough that the hot wind ripped the leaves off the bushes around him.

“Explosions. Ninth, third, and first floors,” Franks reported as he kept moving. The blasts weren’t that big, maybe ten pounds of C4 each. Enough to make a real mess of the scene, but not enough to destroy the building. “They’re covering their trail.”

He couldn’t hear Myers’ response because he had a carjacking to attend to. The cop was staring at the destruction. Franks walked out of the bushes and kicked the cop in the stomach. He bent over, automatically retching, so Franks took him by the coat sleeve and slammed him into the side panel hard enough to dent it. The police officer had a triple-retention duty holster to prevent felons from snatching his gun, but Franks knew how to operate the mechanism, so he took the man’s gun, a Glock 9mm, and tossed it on the passenger seat. Then he rolled the groaning cop over and removed his spare magazines from their pouches. He tore his radio off and tossed it into the bushes. Franks got into the cop car, slammed the door, and drove away.

“I’m going after them,” Franks said into the cell phone.

“Don’t, Franks. If Stricken has taken his cold war hot, you need to lay low. Give me a chance to work this out.”

He could have been more concerned about getting himself to safety, but Franks was first and foremost a predator, and running
from
danger was not nearly as strong an instinct as running
after
it. Kurst had to exfiltrate somehow. Franks didn’t know what kind of illusion magic they’d been using, but it had been extremely powerful. There had to be limits to it though. He’d injured them, so at minimum their clothing would be bloody and they’d be leaving a blood trail. If they look like the wounded . . .

“I’ll be in touch,” Franks rolled down the window and tossed his phone out.

Franks turned right and kept going around the block. The police band was full of chatter about the incident, but as he suspected the locals were setting up a perimeter. Sadly, somebody must have seen him steal the car, because that came over the radio next, along with the patrol car’s number and a general physical description that must have just been provided by the MCB. Cop cars normally had tracking devices, so they’d be on him in seconds. There was an ambulance ahead. Franks went after it.

The old Crown Vic had a decent engine and he quickly overtook the ambulance. He pulled alongside first, but didn’t recognize the driver. He hoped to sense some tingling of magic, or perhaps the demon prince’s presence, but there was nothing. Franks pulled in front of the ambulance and hit the brakes. The driver barely had time to stop before hitting the police car’s bumper. Franks was out and walking, stolen 9mm leveled on the driver. The paramedic saw him coming and raised his hands.

Franks smashed in the driver’s side window and stuck the Glock in the paramedic’s face. “Whoa, man! I—” but Franks grabbed him by the throat and choked off the response. He stuck his head inside to see in the back, but it was just another startled paramedic and two badly injured MCB employees. Franks let go of him. The paramedic rubbed his throat. “What the hell?”

His wild goose chase had probably put those MCB employees in greater danger, but two lives were nothing compared to what would happen if Kurst reached his goals. “Get them out of here.” He got back in the police car. There were lights in his rearview mirrors. Then he heard the sirens. They had vectored in on him already. Franks gunned it.

There were two cars behind him. Franks had worked in Washington since they’d first drained the marsh, so he knew his way around the city rather well. He also had faster reaction times than a Formula 1 driver, so normally he could probably lose the cops long enough to pick up another ride, but finding Kurst was far more important than his own survival. Franks squealed the tires around a hard corner, down a block, then cut through a park, taking out a bench and a few bushes in the process. That bought him a few seconds out of their visual range. He shut off the headlights and reversed through a narrow alley as the cops’ cars went by, sirens blaring. Franks came out the other side, then went back toward MCB headquarters.

If they weren’t expecting pursuit, then they would want to take one of the fastest routes out. That presented a few options. However, if they were smart, they would want to initially leave in a direction that would make sense to any observers. Which meant they’d be heading toward a hospital. Franks picked the most logical route to the closest hospital and drove as fast as he could. Stealth really wasn’t an option at a hundred miles an hour on surface streets, so he turned on the lights and siren. Franks dodged cars, veering in and out of oncoming traffic as the opportunity presented itself. Only the lack of traffic kept him from killing anyone, though he did hit a bum’s shopping cart. The impact sent the cart flying into hundreds of pieces. He was lucky. Franks considered running over the homeless acceptable collateral damage.

There was an ambulance far ahead of him. Franks killed the lights and siren.

He picked up the radio microphone. “This is Special Agent Franks of the Department of Homeland Security . . .” Which was the ID that he used the most often when forced to work with other agencies. “Convey the following to my agency. I have commandeered a police car and am in pursuit of the real shooter. Bravo seven seven delta green.” That authentication code would be enough to get this incident flagged at the highest levels. Then, even though it wouldn’t make a difference, he had to add “Stay out of my way.”

Closing quickly on the ambulance, Franks kept cars between them. His vehicle was shorter so hopefully they wouldn’t spot him and make a run for it. It was possible this was just another regular ambulance, but it was worth a shot. Franks nearly rear-ended a town car, then slingshotted past it to come up alongside the driver’s side of the speeding ambulance.

The flashing lights provided enough ambient illumination that Franks’ improved vision could easily make out the driver’s features. The face was familiar. He recognized the STFU man.
Foster . . .

So this was a Task Force operation. This setup had Stricken’s stink all over it. Franks lifted the police officer’s Glock. To be fair, when they’d spoken in northern Nevada, Franks had warned Foster that the next STFU employee to annoy him would end up in a body bag. Shooting accurately from one moving vehicle to another was difficult in any case, but it was more difficult when you were also driving, but Franks aimed out the passenger side window and opened fire anyway.

Glass shattered. Blood splattered against the inside of the ambulance’s windshield. Franks kept on pulling the trigger as Foster jerked back and forth against his seat belt. Whoever was in the passenger seat grabbed hold of the wheel and they veered off to the side.

Applying the brakes, Franks turned hard and kept after them. The ambulance was ahead of him now. The Glock’s slide was locked back empty, so Franks dropped the mag and steered with his left hand while he put the pistol down and rummaged about on the seat until he found one of the stolen spare mags. He smacked it in, dropped the slide, brought the pistol up, put the sights into the vague middle of the ambulance and started shooting. The safety glass in front of him puckered into a crystalized mess. He could barely see. Both vehicles were weaving, so Franks made up for accuracy with volume, and he dumped the entire magazine within a few seconds.

It was difficult to see exactly what happened next, but as he was trying to reload again, a delivery truck came out of nowhere. Franks spun the wheel and stomped on the brakes, so he managed to not directly T-bone the truck, but couldn’t avoid all of it. The truck’s back bumper tore through his driver’s side and ripped the door off. The impact was jarring. Glass and debris struck him as the police car went spinning away on screaming tires.