“Don’t give me any lip.” Foster was pacing nervously and checking his phone, waiting for some word from his mysterious supervisor. “You’re going down for this, Franks, you’re going down hard.”

An hour ago Franks had been swatted across the Strip by a dragon made of ectoplasm and nightmares. Bureaucratic plotting seemed inconsequential in comparison.

There was a commotion on the other side of the tent flap. Guards gave challenges, IDs were presented, and then there was a rush of apologies. The flap opened and several men entered the giant command tent. The first through were members of the MCB’s elite mobile strike team. They were hardened warriors Franks had served with many times, and behind them was an innocuous-looking, middle-aged man in a cheap suit.

Franks’ arms were chained to the chair, so he dipped his head slightly. “Sir.”

“Why is my second-in-command tied up?” demanded Dwayne Myers, the Special Agent-in-Charge of Strike Team. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Foster’s response was about as belligerent as could be expected. “Agent Franks is charged with disobeying direct orders, violating security protocols by taking a civilian witness into a monster containment area, and then breaking into the Nevada storage facility to steal seized evidence.”

“Is that true?” Myers asked.

Franks nodded. That sounded about right, but Myers already knew most of the details, since it had secretly been his idea to begin with. Franks had taken Owen Pitt to Dugway because he’d thought the Monster Hunter’s psychic powers could help their investigation. He’d taken three ancient arcane weapons from Area 51 in order to fight the Nachtmar: Lord Machado’s ax, the Attilius gladius, and the Black Heart of Suffering. That last one had done the trick, and destroyed the creature.

“When he was confronted about his actions, Franks attempted to kill MCB Director Douglas Stark.”

Franks snorted. The five men covering him with drawn weapons backed away nervously. They were only following orders, but all of them had worked with Franks at some point, so they were aware that shooting Franks might upset him.

“I’ve known Agent Franks for twenty years. He doesn’t attempt to kill anyone. Holster those sidearms and unchain him. Franks is coming with me.” Myers had recently been demoted, but had been the Acting Director before that, and he was still probably the most respected senior agent in the Bureau.

“Hold on,” Foster demanded. “Franks is in STFU custody.” It was almost like Foster thought that invoking the name of the ultra-secret Special Task Force Unicorn would strike fear into the federal agent’s heart.