Grant Jefferson and Tom Strayhorn were also in the little seedy hotel room. It was the kind of hotel frequented by hookers, drug dealers, and the terminally cheap. The other two agents were staring at the phone as well, but nobody made a move. Being listed as co-conspirators to a wanted terrorist murderer had been especially hard on Grant, and he actually looked more physically worn down than Strayhorn, who at least had a good excuse for looking beat, what with the multiple gunshot wounds and field-expedient organ transplant.

“You going to answer that or what?” Grant asked as he picked up the remote control and muted the television.

Normally Grant would jump at taking point and being the higher-ups’ go-to guy, but Archer suspected Grant was suffering from a little bit of depression. Throwing your entire career away and putting your life and freedom in jeopardy in a futile noble gesture to save your boss who was going to die anyway had that very understandable side effect. Archer wasn’t exactly feeling super optimistic himself. But Archer was sitting closer to the phone, so he picked it up. “Hello?”

“I’m heading back.” Sure enough, it was Franks. “Get ready.”

They were going to make a move. “Did you find that thing you needed?” Archer asked as he put Franks on speaker.

“Yes. And I have help. Get more.”

Archer’s background was in crypto-commo. Normally criminals and spies were purposefully vague over the phone to avoid using any keywords that would send up red flags to the monitoring software. For Franks, being cryptic was just normal conversation. “Uh . . . You mean . . . what?”

“Get more.”

“You’ve lost me there.”

“Rule number two.”

Archer wasn’t sure what that meant. The first thing that popped into his head was the MCB’s vaunted First Reason, but that was all about justifying their sometimes harsh methods. Except right now the only people who were intimidated were his agents. He wasn’t sure what rules Franks was talking about, but apparently Strayhorn did.

“Got it,” the rookie said. “Any requests?”

“Bring everything. Oh-seven hundred.” The call terminated.

They’d discussed rallying points beforehand, so they knew where to go and now when to be there, but Archer had no clue what the other part was about. “What rule is he talking about?”

“It’s something my dad used to say. He picked it up from his MHI days,” Strayhorn explained. “Rule number one of a gunfight, bring a gun. Rule number two of a gunfight, bring friends with guns.”

“Friends . . . Like we’ve got so many to choose from. Franks wants us to bring the cavalry,” Grant muttered. “Apparently he’s not been watching the news. The whole world thinks we’re criminals. Nobody is going to help us. Myers gave me some names, but even then the MCB is more likely to shoot us on sight than send a tac team to help out.”