“I was kind of hoping for a shirt. I put up with the shadow government for two years and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.” Heather didn’t even bother to hide the fact that she hated him. Most of his assets at least made some effort. Even his weird ones, like the guy whose eyeballs had been sucked out by a rage ghost, or the creepy-ass Spider, made some effort to suck up.

Stricken made a big show of being disappointed. “I had such high hopes for you, Heather. I took you in, gave you valuable training, and provided you with an opportunity to serve your country, and all I’ve gotten for my benevolence is attitude.”

“What do you want, Stricken?”

“I want to know why you’re poking around in Task Force business you’re not cleared for.”

She was stone-faced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been asking around about Project Nemesis.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. She was trying not to show it, but Stricken could tell she was doing the math. If he meant to do her harm, she would make a run for it, but she’d probably try to take his head off first, just on principle. “I don’t know, Mr. Stricken. What is Project Nemesis?”

“You might think you’re a good liar, but you’re not. I’m better at this than you are. Your professional lying days were limited to junkies and whores, but I routinely lie to Congress . . . Well, never mind. I suppose we’re not that different after all. By now you know Nemesis was a Cold War-era research project to build more soldiers like Franks, but he didn’t like that. In fact he didn’t like it so much he blew up the lab, killed the prototype, and murdered some of the scientists. And he got away with it too, because Ronald Reagan decided to honor some bullshit treaty dating back to George Washington.”

“I always enjoyed the History channel.”

“I find it interesting you never asked about Nemesis before you ran into Franks in the subway. Funny . . . According to your report you two didn’t exactly have a conversation, it was really more of a lopsided ass-beating. My last werewolf could have taken him.”

“Your last werewolf was a psychopath.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? Franks was tougher than expected.”

“Indeed. I wish you would have come directly to me instead of asking your handlers about Nemesis . . . Oh, don’t give me that look. Don’t worry. The Flierls didn’t snitch on you. They’re very talented at managing my little menagerie but they’re the Task Force’s resident goody-two-shoes. Luckily for them, their skills outweigh their troublesome integrity, but that’s why I keep an even closer eye on my humans than I do on my monsters. Sadly, your actions have put Beth in danger. Now she too is asking questions which are better left unanswered.”