“Nothing.” Thank goodness for the engine noise. Archer actually liked the MHI people he’d worked with, but then again, he wasn’t the one whose fiancée had dumped him to marry a magic accountant.

Grant put his phone back in his pocket. “Well, anyway, I’m sure this assignment will either be boring as hell, or we’ll all die on an op and Franks will harvest our corpses for spare parts. . . . Come to think of it, I sure hope you’re right, Archer, and I’m here because I’m good with people and not because Franks picked us out because he needs some new parts.” Grant made an exaggerated motion around his face. “Who wouldn’t want this?”

“Makes sense,” Archer responded. “Holly Newcastle did just tell me I’ve got nice eyes.” And since he was thinking of MHI people he didn’t mind working with . . . Wow. That was one enemy he wouldn’t mind fraternizing with.

“Franks goes through eyes like crazy. I hear he keeps a jar full of them in his fridge,” Radabaugh said as he looked over at Strayhorn. “That’s right. The rumors are true. Franks is built out of body parts.”

Archer was still thinking of his last oddly staffed op, so he watched the rookie carefully. He wasn’t about to get bit in the ass again.

The rookie was pretty darn good at keeping his emotions hidden. “There was some talk about him at the academy.” Strayhorn said cautiously. “Some of the guys said that he’s really Frankenstein.” Archer liked how he added the some said. The rookie wasn’t giving away whether he believed them or not, just in case the senior agents were pulling his leg.

“You mean Frankenstein’s monster, but yeah.” Radabaugh grinned. “Welcome to the big time, Rook. Dr. Frankenstein was a myth. The real mad scientist was named Dippel. The book came out way later. Franks isn’t a code name either. He named himself that because he was built in the real Castle Frankenstein.”

“I see . . .”

“I doubt that!” Radabaugh insisted. “Franks is a three-hundred-year-old, one-man wrecking ball. Anything the MCB really needs to shut down, they drop Franks on it. Boom. Done. He’s way faster, stronger, and tougher than any of us. I’ve got the top hand-to-hand combatives score in the Bureau three years running and I wouldn’t last thirty seconds against Franks. He gets blown up, we bag the parts, and the egg-heads stitch him back together . . . Few days later he’s back in the fight, mean as ever. And don’t go thinking that because he’s an antique he can’t be that badass; they’ve been making improvements on him the whole time. He can shrug off things that would kill any regular man, and when he’s moving, just keep out of his way. If we get called up for something and it turns into combat, stay behind Franks.”