Radabaugh gave him a nervous nod in the affirmative. “We forgot to mention that he’s got superhearing too.”

“Shit.” Archer turned back. The monstrous Agent Franks was walking down the center of the cargo bay, a giant bag slung over one shoulder. The loadmaster tried to give him directions to stow his gear, but he ignored her and kept walking. She took one look at the hulking brute and wisely let it go. The ramp began to rise.

Franks stopped before the agents, towering over them. He was as wide as any two of them put together and imposing as hell. His eyes swiveled over them, taking stock of his handlers—as if anybody could truly handle Franks—and scowled. Grant and Radabaugh nodded respectfully and simultaneously said, “Sir.” Strayhorn tried to say something but failed, because once in the overwhelming presence that was Franks the truth had been confirmed, and that had to be fairly unnerving.

His cold, dead eyes fell on Archer last. “Welcome aboard, Agent Franks,” Archer squeaked. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you again, sir.”

Franks merely grunted in acknowledgement. He either hadn’t heard Archer’s psych-evaluation or didn’t disagree with the findings. Franks brushed past and went forward, where he took up two of the small, uncomfortable military seats.

The agents sat in silence while the plane taxied and took off. Franks stared off into space the whole time. Awkwardness was the norm when you were working with Franks.

What have I gotten dragged into this time? There was a power struggle in the MCB and Archer had sided with the hard-ass Myers against the moron Stark, and in doing so he’d probably put himself on the bad side of a top secret black op that was up to who knew what awful business. Franks had pissed off Unicorn, so now he and a few other men got to be glorified gophers to run interference while the world’s most dangerous killing machine had to kiss and make up with a bunch of bureaucrats capable of ending all of their careers.

Something about this assignment was bothering him. Grant could be a narcissistic douche at times, but he was really smart and worked hard. Radabaugh had always struck him as a reliable tough guy. Strayhorn was a rookie and an unknown. The whole thing felt way too much like the time he’d been undercover at MHI.

For a man who hated conspiracies and lies, Archer had certainly gone into the wrong line of work.

* * *

Normally people were supposed to feel some sense of awe when they met with the President of the United States. Even if you didn’t care for the man personally, despised his politics, or wouldn’t let the fellow babysit your kids, you were still supposed to respect the office, and thus the man, but as Stricken watched the President dither over what to do next, all he could think to himself was what a chump.