Monster Hunter Nemesis (6 page)

As expected, their rookie was here, standing at the rail and staring into the water.

“What’s up, Strayhorn?”

The rookie jumped. He hadn’t heard Archer coming. “Just reading names. Do you guys need me for something?”

“Nope. I was coming back from a smoke break and realized that if I do any more reports right now my eyes are going to start to bleed.” He stood next to Strayhorn and looked over the badges. Archer hadn’t been in the Bureau for very long, but it was sobering how many of those shiny badges he’d known as living and breathing men and women. “I figured you’d be here.”

“How come?”

“The first time a new guy comes to headquarters, they always gravitate right to this spot. Can’t help themselves. They’ve seen the stats, read the histories in the academy, but they need to see the names to put it into perspective. I know I did.”

“That’s a lot of badges . . .” Strayhorn trailed off.

“Sure, it’s dangerous, but we’ve been around since 1902.” Archer didn’t want to point out that he’d seen the statistical analysis, and their casualty rate was higher now than it had ever been. Things were really picking up out there, but there was no need to depress the new guy already. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somebody needs to give the rookie a tour, and your training officer is a trigger puller. He probably doesn’t even know where half the cool stuff is.” Archer walked back toward the elevator and the rookie followed. “What’s the MCB’s mission, and the First Reason for that mission?”

“Is this a test?”

“Humor me.”

Strayhorn quoted from his training. “The MCB’s primary mission is to keep the existence of monsters and the supernatural a secret. The First Reason is the more people who believe in the Old Ones, the more powerful they become.”

“Correct. You might think it sounds a little crazy right now, or you might be having some doubts about our mission or our tactics, I know I was when I was in your shoes, but believe me, the first time you see a monster tree the size of this building rampaging across the countryside sucking all the light and happiness out of the world, you’ll be all in favor of doing some crazy shit too. The Bureau has four main departments to achieve our goals . . .”

“Admin and Logistics, Media Control, Research and Development, and the Special Response Team.”

“Good for you. I was still so freaked out that monsters were real that I missed half of the nuts and bolts stuff from the academy,” Archer lied. He was a nuts and bolts kind of guy. Archer slid his keycard in the reader and pushed the button for the fourth floor. “You’ll be assigned to one of those after this Franks duty.”

“What department does Franks belong to?”

“None. The Bureau just lets Franks do his own thing. Were you Special Forces or anything like that?”

“Not even close.”

“Then you probably won’t go to the Strike Team. Yeah, that’s not the official name, but we don’t call them SRT. We had that name first, but then the FBI came along and stole it. They’re our resident badasses who ride in black helicopters and go in guns blazing,” he explained as the elevator rose.

“I heard they’re pretty tough.”

“Of course. You’ve been listening to Radabaugh. They’ve got some offices here, but mostly they stage out of military bases and train at Quantico. Myers is their boss now, and his number two is this crazy guy named Cueto. You don’t want that assignment though.”

“How come?”

“They’re most of the badges in the fountain.”

* * *

Archer returned to work, satisfied that he’d done his good deed for the day. The rookie seemed like a pretty sharp kid. R&D was always a crowd pleaser, with all of the dissected monsters and equipment prototypes laying around, then they’d gone through Media Control, where the MCB worked their magic discrediting and slandering witnesses, manipulating the news, and even producing their own easily debunked conspiracy theories. Strayhorn seemed a little put off by that department, though he’d tried to hide it, but that was a fairly normal reaction. Then Archer’d turned the rookie back over to his TO and gone back to his cubicle on the ninth floor.

He found that Grant was waiting there, grey-faced and anxious. It was unusual to see Grant disheveled, let alone looking like he was about to barf in the trash can. “Man, you don’t look very good.”

“That’s because I just got off the phone with our boss.”

“What did Myers say?”

“First off, situation in Vegas is looking better. They’ve mostly got it under control and our usual media shills are doing a great job. The phone videos that popped up from the witnesses are being mocked as Photoshop.”

“Myers is like an artist.”

“He’s trying to come back as soon as possible. Second, he didn’t say why, but we’re not supposed to go anywhere near operational, especially with a rookie along, and Franks is supposed to stay put, no matter how excited he gets to kill something.”

“That makes sense I suppose.” Going on an op with Franks was a duty best left to the badass snake eaters on the Strike Team. Those guys were mostly former SEALs and SF, like Radabaugh. Archer knew he was pretty good at his job, but he couldn’t help but feel a little dumpy next to those guys.

“No, you don’t get it. A giant kaiju monster could be climbing up the Washington Monument and Myers still wants Franks to stay put. No monsters. Period. You know what that means?”

Archer had to think about it for a moment. Franks’ inclination was always to walk up to the most dangerous monster in the room and punch it in the face. Only they’d just pissed off an organization that actively recruited monsters and used them for wet work. “Whoa.”
Was Myers actually worried about an STFU setup?

Neither one of them wanted to confirm it out loud here. Their office
probably
wasn’t bugged. “Uh huh. Exactly. Nothing concrete, just Myers’ gut instinct, but Franks stays here.”

Where it’s safe and nothing can get to him.
If anything happened, he really didn’t want to be the one to try to get Franks to stay at his desk. . . . But that couldn’t be why Grant looked like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster. “And?”

Grant swallowed hard. “And finally, he ordered me to go throw my career away.”

Archer sat down across from his partner. “Wait . . . What?”

He gave a resigned sigh. “I guess this is what I get for picking a side in a battle of bureaucrats. I’m reaping what I’ve sown. Damn it. See, Henry, this is what happens when you try to do the right thing. You get screwed every single time.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Myers thinks they’re going to try to crucify Franks in today’s Subcommittee meeting. We need to shift the blame to where it really belongs. Myers wants me to tell the truth about our friends in Vegas.”

Bring up Unicorn?
“Wow.” No wonder Myers wanted Franks to stay at MCB headquarters. They were about to flip the lights on and watch the roaches scurry for cover, only these cockroaches specialized in assassinations. Exposing Special Task Force Unicorn would be like a declaration of war. The implications sank in. “Oh hell . . .” Archer suddenly didn’t feel very good either.

* * *

The day proved to be as miserable as Franks had expected, filled with paperwork, useless reports, and foolish questions from petty men. He’d been grilled by members of the Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces, various high ranking MCB officers, and was now currently facing his main accuser, Director Stark. So far this meeting had been particularly shrill, with lots of dramatic table pounding for emphasis.

“And then as I confronted Agent Franks about his illegal actions and theft he physically assaulted me!”
Table pound.
The two congressmen, their aides, and other government teat suckers and hangers-on nodded thoughtfully. The augmented guard force just stayed in their corners, nervous at this display that was way over their pay grade as their Director continued his rant. “Not only did he put my life in jeopardy, but he also endangered the MCB’s response to the Las Vegas incident. I was in command and without my leadership—”

Franks snorted.

“Don’t mock me, Franks!” Stark struck the table with both fists that time. “I’m sick of your crap. You should be in jail right now.”

He’d always thought that Stark looked like a bulldog. Animals didn’t like Franks and tended to shy away from him, but Franks had always found the bulldog a fascinating creature, all slobbery, and ugly, with ill-fitting skin and labored breathing, yet they were determined beasts. Their awkwardness made him like them as much as he was capable of liking anything. The bulldog was proof that the Creator found joy in the cumbersome.

Stark on the other hand was just an asshole.

“You weren’t in charge,” Franks stated.

Double table pound.
“Yes, I was! I had the situation in hand until your reckless actions endangered our entire operation.”

“You weren’t in charge. Unicorn was.”

The briefing room was packed with people, and they all began to mutter at that. Only a handful of them were probably cleared to know about the existence of STFU, but Franks didn’t care.

Grant Jefferson cleared his throat and leaned forward to speak into his microphone. “I believe that Agent Franks is saying that although Director Stark was present at the quarantine, the de facto command of the operation was in the hands of a high-ranking covert official code-named Stricken. Former Acting Director Dwayne Myers has obtained evidence that this Stricken was in fact aware of the full capabilities of the Nachtmar, and kept those facts to himself, needlessly causing—”

“That’ll be enough of that,” one of the congressmen interjected. The other one just looked confused.

“
Needlessly
causing danger to MCB personnel, local responders, and civilians. Dwayne Myers is currently running the Las Vegas operation, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to testify before the Subcommittee about how Mr. Stricken subverted our mission for his own ends—as soon as he returns from cleaning up Mr. Stricken’s careless mess.” Jefferson had a good stage presence. Franks recalled from his file that he’d been a lawyer once. He sure talked like one. “Agent Franks was placed in a difficult circumstance, when forced to choose between following procedure or containing a Level Five outbreak, he choose to abide by the spirit of the First Reason. If Franks had not acted decisively, then thousands of other civilians would have been exposed to the supernatural. The record needs to indicate that Franks wouldn’t have faced this difficult choice, if Special Task Force Unicorn hadn’t overstepped their bounds.”

“What is Special Task Force Unicorn?” asked one of the confused officials.

“They are a covert action group that recruits monsters to serve as soldiers in exchange for PUFF exemptions,” Jefferson answered immediately.

The conference room was suddenly very loud. Most of those cleared for this hearing were high-ranking MCB, and this was news to them.

“Whoa there, son,” the first congressman said, glancing around the room nervously. “This isn’t the time or place to get into that.”

Franks scowled.
Because everybody knows there’s no such thing as unicorns.

Jefferson gave him a nervous glance. If Stricken had the majority of the Subcommittee cowed, then they were in worse shape than expected. He turned back to their questioners. “You can’t expect Franks to defend himself if he’s not allowed to explain
why
he did what he had to do.”

“Who does this Unicorn thing answer to?” demanded one of the MCB section commanders.

“You would have to ask Mr. Stricken that, sir. But whoever it is, they need to hold Stricken accountable for his careless actions in Las Vegas.”

The chairman ordered the room to be silent. Franks was glad to see that there was still some fire in some of the MCB’s leadership. Stark was red in the face and sweating. He’d not expected his string-pullers to be so blatantly exposed.

Then a senior administrator addressed them. “Officially, there’s no record of any other agency or entity involved with running the quarantine. Rest assured that we’ll listen to what Special Agent Myers has to say when he returns tomorrow. In the meantime this is an internal MCB matter, so let the record show that Director Stark was in command the entire time.”

Franks was not amused. “So the MCB is a sock puppet for Stricken’s murder squad now?”

Though most of the room were still in the dark, there were a lot of uncomfortable glances shared around the Subcommittee’s table. One of the congressmen hurried and grabbed his microphone. “Let’s have Agent Franks write up a statement for us pertaining to any sensitive information, then we’ll reconvene this hearing tomorrow.” He banged his gavel.

“He went nuts and tried to kill me!” Director Stark shouted.
Double table pound.
They’d worked together before, so Franks knew Stark had always been a fake, hiding his cowardice behind a wall of bluster and bravado. When the shit got real, Stark could be counted on to fold, but right now they were in his element, where talking about actions meant more than the actions themselves. “What are you waiting for? I demand that Franks be locked up!”

Franks rested his big hands on the table. “Try it.”

Stark shut his mouth.

“That will not be necessary,” said one of the congressmen.

The MCB security force breathed a collective sigh of relief.

* * *

“They named you in the Subcommittee hearing, right in front of everybody. They talked about the Task Force and said that Myers had evidence, the works.”

Stricken listened carefully as his source continued describing the testimony. It matched almost exactly what another source from the same secret meeting had supplied a few minutes earlier. It was nice to have multiple moles. It kept everyone honest.

“Thank you, Elwood. I’ll remember the favor.” Stricken hung up on the congressman, then tossed the iPhone to one of his subordinates, who immediately sealed it into a bag. There were protocols in place for anything that might prove useful for future blackmail purposes.

A different man handed him another phone. “It’s Director Stark.”