“Little of value.” Walking was extremely difficult because the new leg was not fully assimilated yet, but Franks limped toward the door anyway.

“Hey, you can’t go out in front of the Newbies looking like hamburger,” Jones said.

“Plus he’s buck-ass naked,” Pitt added. “I’ll get my emergency pants.”

Franks knew where the Hunters stored their explosives. He could probably turn Cazador into a fireball visible from space. Stupid angel. “Bring him to me,” Franks ordered. Luckily the Hunters didn’t argue, because Franks really was entirely out of patience.

By the time the Hunter from the Secret Guard of the Blessed Order of St. Hubert the Protector arrived, Franks had been given a pair of sweat pants and had managed to guzzle down another dose of Elixir.

He was an average-sized man, part Asian, part Caucasian, somewhere between thirty and fifty, and completely innocuous and forgettable. The only thing notable about him was the fact he didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see Franks’ obviously sliced apart and stuck back together body. The man didn’t look very threatening, but looks could be deceiving, and Franks had dealt with this particular shady organization before.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“You’re a hard man to find, Franks.”

“Leave us,” Franks ordered the MHI staff.

“Don’t tell me what to do. It’s my shack,” Anderson protested, but Jones and Pitt dragged him from the room. “But I want to see what the mystical monk does.”

Franks waited until the door was closed. “Show me,” he ordered.

The man reached into his motorcycle jacket and lifted out a gold medallion. Franks didn’t need to look at it for long to feel that it was real, and if this man wasn’t ordained to be wearing it then it would have turned molten and burned through his skin. Franks nodded for him to continue.

He put the medallion away. “I’m Michael Gutterres.” He talked like an American. He didn’t try to shake hands. That was good. Franks was tired of meaningless pleasantries. “You know who I’m with.”

“Yes.” The Secret Guard had a nominal relationship with the Vatican, mostly for finances and recruiting, but they didn’t really answer to anyone there unless they felt like it. They mostly did their own thing, kept to themselves, and stayed out of mortal affairs. They existed for one reason and one reason only: to stomp on anything off The Plan. If it had snuck in from another world, the Secret Guard had a problem with it. In that respect, Franks had been uneasy allies with them for a very long time.

“So you know why I’m here.”

“To try to kill me if I’d broken The Deal.”