Room 212 had been one of the panel rooms earlier. The long table in front had been removed and someone had rolled in a television. The chairs were still in neat rows, with a single sheet of paper neatly folded in the center of each one. I picked one up. The photocopy only had a few lines on it. “The number ten million, a phone number and…” A bunch of numbers and letters.

“Coordinates,” Earl looked over my shoulder. “To the northeast of here.”

He was really good. “That’s what I thought,” I lied.

It wasn’t that big of a room, and our competitor’s leadership filled it quickly. Many of them appeared nervous. A few of the younger ones were trying to play it cool as they patted theirs sides to make sure their guns were still there. Most seemed curious. The older and more experienced Hunters looked annoyed, having gotten tired of playing games a long time ago. The big Pole from White Eagle squished in next to me. He was wearing way too much cologne. Many Hunters remained standing, and a few of our guys stood right next to the door.

The TV came on by itself, displaying a close-up of a deathly pale, very thin, totally bald man wearing persimmon-colored sunglasses and a white dress shirt that was nearly the same color as his skin. “Good evening, Monster Hunters. Welcome to Ick-mip.” Earl tensed so violently that my chair shook. I looked over to see that my boss’s teeth were clenched, his lips pulled back in snarl of hatred. “I am Mr. Stricken,” the TV said.

“You albino motherfucker,” Earl growled.

Stricken smiled. “Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Harbinger.”

That confirmed a few things. Stricken was on a live feed, we were on camera, and they knew each other. The sunglasses swiveled to the side as Stricken studied something. “Before I continue, please shut off all your electronics and recording devices…Yes…Third row…Ms. Kim. Shut it off temporarily or I shut you off permanently. If I see so much as an electrical blip in that room it’ll put me in a really foul mood. And please close the door.” Stricken appeared to be watching another screen. “Were you born in a barn? Shut it or this meeting is adjourned.”

I turned to look. Cody was closest. Our New Mexico team lead hesitated. He was an old friend of my father, the man that had saved my brother’s fingers, and one of our wiser, more experienced, and cautious men.

“This isn’t a trick. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve poisoned your breakfast…” Stricken said as he looked to the other side and read something. “Which was a jalapeño omelet at Denny’s at six forty-five this morning. Well, you’re an early riser, Mr. Cody. Now close the door. I will not tell you again.”

“Do it,” Earl ordered. Cody pulled the doors closed.