Monster Hunter Nemesis (15 page)

CHAPTER 7

When this body was complete, I struck.

It had been placed on a slab, wired into several arcane machines. The awakening took a terrible amount of energy, both natural and paranormal. The later fictions based upon my creation are more accurate than the first in that respect.

Yes. There was lightning.

. . .

That’s a stupid question . . . No. The book is not very accurate. She wasn’t there. She hadn’t even been born yet. I met her while I was on a mission in London once. I think she had a thing for me . . . Yes . . . I have at times had
groupies.
Sensitive? Shelley’s romanticized account has been a pain in my ass ever since. Bring it up again and you’ll be digesting teeth.

With the Elixir of Life being pumped through the veins and the arcane animation of the tissues, the body returned to life. This would have only been a temporary victory—the creation of an empty shell—if I hadn’t been there to take advantage of it.

I do not like to admit it, but Cursed was stronger than I was. But like most demons, he was proud, and his pride made him stupid. I rushed in and cut him off. I possessed Dippel’s new body before he could. He was furious. He tried to follow me in. But I was there first, and I’d observed how humans withstood possession, so I pushed him out.

It turns out he has held a grudge ever since.

What was getting a body like? Hmmm . . .

Like putting on a glove made of fire.

8 Days Ago

Franks had been spending time in Washington, DC, since they’d drained the marsh to build the place. He would have preferred the swamp. However, because of his history with the city Franks knew the well and he especially knew its secrets. For two days after the attack, he had hidden in a chamber beneath the Rammage building. It was a historical landmark now, but Franks had been there when engineers had dug the secret bunker beneath it to stockpile gunpowder in case the Confederates had laid siege to the city. It had been forgotten after that war. Now it was a moist hole in the earth and his only company was the rats and spiders.

That suited him just fine.

Franks spent the time plotting and digging bullet fragments out of his body. There had been a field surgery kit inside the cache he’d left with the gnomes, so he had forceps and scalpels, but the angle made it extremely awkward to get everything out. Once the wound was clean, he had taken another hit of the Elixir of Life and it had burned his flesh pure. In the privacy of the hidden passage, Franks was free to scream as it ate through him, but he still didn’t, just on principle.

The Elixir was really Dippel’s greatest work. Franks’ existence was at best second place. The Elixir could heal any wound. It could seamlessly meld transplanted organs, even limbs, to a new host. It was really too bad that the mixture instantly killed most mortals who tried to use it. Even if they were anesthetized or in a coma, it still caused an agony so excruciating that it would snuff their lives out. The spirit’s hold on the flesh was tenuous at best. Something about Franks’ physical makeup enabled him to use the Elixir and live. Government scientists had never been able to figure it out. Perhaps he was too stubborn to let go, because he really knew what it was like to not have a body, and he would not go back to Hell willingly.

MCB R&D had recreated Dippel’s Elixir of Life in order to keep Franks supplied and combat effective. He’d given the recipe to them only after warning them of its effects, but of course they hadn’t listened. Many test subjects had died before they’d finally given up. To the R&D geeks, it was a chemical curiosity, a mystery. To Franks, it was the key to his continued existence. The best chemists in the world could not figure out why it worked the way it did, as its odd ingredients should not have such a miraculous effect, but none of them were as brilliant as Father had been.

The Elixir didn’t just heal the flesh and bone. When a welder put two pieces of metal together, they weren’t just stuck or glued, they were melted through extreme heat with a third molten binding metal introduced between them, and when that heat was gone, the three pieces became one. That’s what the Elixir did to his body. Some thought of Franks’ physical form as a collection of parts, but thanks to the Elixir, he was an aggregate whole. His features and his genetic makeup changed over time based upon an ever-adjusting rolling average as new parts were introduced and assimilated. The Elixir was an alchemical miracle. It made him stronger, faster, and better than any mortal man. The more he took, the more physically powerful he became, but as the fire intensified, so did the pain, and Franks was not sure exactly how far he could push before it finally consumed him.

So he’d continue using it as he always had, small amounts to repair his body, and a bit more for when he needed to do something particularly difficult.

But he was running low, so he’d better not do anything stupid.

After the physical repairs were done, Franks concentrated on plotting his dispassionate revenge. His stash had a radio. Of course the MCB had already flipped all their encrypted channels, but coasting through the local police bands and the unencrypted Fed channels gave him some clues as to the current situation. He also had a tablet that let him access the internet, though he’d had to steal an extension cord from the historical society and run it down into his secret chamber so he could charge it. He was all over the news. Franks was a suspect in multiple homicides—
they had no idea
—was armed and extremely dangerous—
yes
—and should not be approached. . . . That last bit was actually very good advice.

It was remarkable what could be learned from the internet. The Founders would have killed to have such knowledge at their fingertips, but most humans used it to watch videos of kittens or to launch birds at pigs, or other strange things. Franks really didn’t get it. The coverage of the attack helped him decide his next move.

First and foremost, Kurst had to be dispatched back to Hell where he belonged. Stricken might be a ruthless manipulative bastard, but there was no way he’d knowingly let something like Kurst into the mortal world. Project Nemesis had to be stopped.

They had underestimated Stricken. Over the centuries Franks had seen men like him come and go. They were always looking to control the uncontrollable, and they were always too clever for their own good. Such men inevitably ended up in positions of authority and their only goal in life was always to amass more. Franks had seen it happen in a dozen countries and he’d even seen glimmers of it here.

Myers had seen it too. He’d thought of Stricken as a threat, but a political one, rather than a physical one. Stricken’s power-grabbing tactics in Las Vegas had put civilians and MCB personnel in needless danger, and Myers, despite being cold and calculating, was still a moral man, who would not tolerate such behavior. Myers had set out to prove Stricken was breaking the law, all the time unaware of how far Stricken had already gone. Myers had not seen this coming, but Franks should have.

With no one to assign him mission parameters, Franks set his own. His primary target was Kurst and any others like him. If they were allowed to establish themselves here, he knew they would find a way for demons to descend on the world like a plague of locusts. Franks had entered a solemn pact to protect the mortal world from things like Kurst. Franks had broken one oath in his entire existence. He would never break another.

His secondary target was Stricken and anyone in league with him. Stricken had to die for violating The Contract, for murdering Franks’ coworkers, and mostly because Franks thought he would really enjoy seeing the look on Stricken’s face when he choked the life out of him.

Find one target, and he would find the other. In the meantime he was a fugitive. The men who should be his allies would be hunting him. Until they knew he was innocent, they would make reaching his targets very difficult. He would have to remedy that. The truth needed to get out. Myers believed in him, but they would be watching Myers. There were regular agents who would listen to his story, but they were lower ranking. Franks preferred to go right to the top.

Enough time had passed for him to make his move. They would have had no choice but to expand the scope of their manhunt. They would get help from regular law enforcement but the MCB would be limited by how much information they could share, and the cops would push back by being uncommunicative and surly. The MCB had developed a culture of secrecy and mistrust, so their capable field agents would be spread thin. An attack on their headquarters, where their brothers were murdered, by one of their own? They’d prefer to keep this in the family. They wouldn’t want an outsider to pull the trigger on this one.

He knew the regular human MCB agents’ thought processes well. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and exactly how they would react.

It felt nice being on his own. It was rather liberating.

* * *

Doug Stark was extremely high on painkillers, so when Agent Franks sat down next to his hospital bed, his first thought was that he was hallucinating. Only Franks just sat there, staring at him in typical Franks fashion. You’d think that a hallucination would actually bother to do something interesting. Franks was dressed in hospital scrubs and Stark hadn’t even known that they made them that big. He was also wearing an ID badge that had a picture of a doctor that was obviously not Franks on it.

“The docs said I’m going to be pooping in a bag for at least six months because of you, jerk.”

“It wasn’t me.”

Stark’s voice was extremely raspy. “You’re not imaginary, are you?”

“No.”

Stark repeatedly pushed the call button.

“No one is coming,” Franks stated.

Stark gave up. He’d just gone through a few surgeries. He was in no condition to do anything useful. He didn’t even think he could shout loud enough to get help. “There was a man on the door. Where’s my guard?”

“Good try. There were two.” Franks nodded at the bathroom. “In there.”

“Did you . . . ?”

“No.” Franks actually looked a little offended, like he had room to get offended, as if after killing a building full of agents, offing a couple more would hurt his reputation. “They’ll wake up.”

Maybe it was all the drugs, but he couldn’t work up enough emotion to freak out about Franks showing up like the angel of death. “Are you here to finish what you started?”

“I was framed.”

“But I saw you.”

“You saw what Stricken wanted you to see.”

“Stricken?” The drugs were slowing his brain down, but that couldn’t be right. Stricken was his benefactor. They were political allies. Stricken had pulled strings so Stark could get this job. “Huh?”

“Idiot.” Franks sighed. “There’s no time for this.” He stuck a Post-it note to Stark’s forehead. “Here.”

“Hey.” It covered one of his eyes. All he could see was neon pink. It was rather degrading.

Franks stood up. “Pass that on.”

“You could have just sent me a text or something. Jeez, man.”
Wow. I really am stoned.
“What’s the deal?”

“I got in here but you’re still alive. That should prove something. Call off your dogs. I’ve got work to do.” Franks opened the hospital room door, glanced quickly in each direction, and then stepped out without saying another word.

Stark reached for the Post-it but realized his right hand was in a gigantic cast when he smacked himself in the face with it. He finally got the note with the hand that didn’t have a bullet hole through it. He tried to read it through blurry eyes that didn’t want to focus. Franks had very small, very dense handwriting. Stark really didn’t know what to expect . . . Judging by Franks’ denial, probably not a confession, that was for sure. It took a minute for him to focus enough to make out the message.

“Oh hell . . . Nurse! Nurse!” It really hurt to yell, but even in his drug addled haze, Stark knew that things had just gotten even crazier. “Somebody!
Help!
”

Franks’ note was a declaration of war.

* * *

Infiltration was not his specialty. Franks was too big for stealth. He stuck out in crowds. His disguise consisted of some clothing that seemed too much like pajamas and a hat that was basically a colorful hairnet. He thought doctors dressed stupidly. However, he had learned over the years that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, then most people wouldn’t question your presence. Those that did question your presence, you simply rendered them unconscious and shoved them into a closet. He’d only had to do that to four people so far, so by Franks’ standards his visit to the hospital had been rather successful, but Stark would raise the alarm and the place would be swarming with MCB in a matter of minutes.

He would have made it out without further incident if he hadn’t heard a familiar voice down the hall. Slouching so he didn’t appear to be so tall, Franks moved up to the corner and peeked around. Grant Jefferson was having a heated conversation with a nurse. Archer was there as well. The two of them were some of Myers’ favorites, so they might be of use. The argument ended as the nurse stormed off, loudly cursing them.

“Yeah, well thanks for all the help, lady,” Jefferson snapped back. “Not.”

“The government appreciates your time, ma’am,” Archer added, far more politely.

They walked toward the elevator. Franks followed. He intercepted them just as the door was opening. Jefferson turned, surprised, and began to say something, but Franks just put a big hand on each of them and shoved them inside the elevator. “Keep going.”

“Shit!” Archer exclaimed as he realized what was happening. “Agent Franks!”

There was a dangerously awkward silence. He eyed the two men. Both were shocked to see him. He didn’t know if they were still on his side or not, but neither of them was stupid enough to go for their weapons if they weren’t. Fighting with Franks inside the closed confines of an elevator would not have a very high success rate. It would be safer to wrestle a bear. Franks pushed the button for the first level of the parking garage. The door closed behind him.