Franks had given a completely honest assessment of the situation, but it seemed to give Harbinger some small glimmer of hope. “Maybe . . .” Harbinger took a long drag on his cigarette. “Stricken must’ve figured we’d do him a favor and kill each other. It almost worked.”

“I would have won.”

“Fat chance. I’m not the one spread all over a slab.” Harbinger picked up Franks’ severed hand, studied it, and then unceremoniously tossed it in the trash can. “I’ve been trying to keep tabs on Heather as much as possible. I’ve got one contact inside STFU, friend of a friend sort of thing. They’re supposed to be decent enough, so I made some calls trying to confirm what Stricken said. I’ve not heard back from them yet. If she’s still alive, I’m going to get her out of there.”

“If she’s not?”

“Then I’m going to go on a killing spree that’ll make yours look like a Cub Scout jamboree.”

Franks had expected as much, but according to the interrogator that would be bad. Telling Harbinger the whole truth was out, threatening was pointless; Franks needed to talk Harbinger out of going on a rampage. He was not good at that sort of thing. Franks preferred rampages. “If you do that, MHI is done for.”

“It’ll just be me. Not my people.”

Here goes nothing.

“That’s not how the government will see it,” Franks stated flatly. “Stricken is a high-ranking official. Even if he’s corrupt they won’t let you kill any of them and get away with it. They won’t just hang you. MHI will be declared terrorists. Stricken has allies. Give them an excuse and they will make sure all of your people die in prison.”

He might not like it, but Harbinger knew Franks was right. “Like you give a shit what happens to us.”

“A little.” Franks wasn’t about to try to explain the interview he’d just gone through, because this day had been complicated enough already. This next part was going to be very hard to say. “The world needs MHI in order to survive what’s coming.”

“What?” Harbinger started to laugh. “I never thought I’d hear something like that from the likes of you.”

“I know. I can’t stand you people. You’re sloppy and disrespectful . . . But you’re decent at your job. Put me back together and I’ll handle this.”

“What’re you proposing, Franks?”

“If Kerkonen is alive, I’ll free her. If she’s dead . . .” Franks tried to shrug, but his torso was strapped down. “Stricken has to pay anyway. He killed Myers.”