“If I trusted you more, I’d ditch you and be there in half the time.” Gutterres patted the Ducati’s fuel tank like it was a loyal horse. “You need to get yourself a better set of wheels, Franks.”

Franks knew how to ride a bike, but he’d needed room for his case, and if Gutterres kept annoying him, he’d need the trunk space to hide a body. He climbed back into his car.

“And I thought they were exaggerating when they said you weren’t much for talking. What are you going to do if—”

Franks closed the door in his face, put the car in gear, and drove away. He made sure to give it too much gas so the tires would spin and pelt the Hunter with gravel. In his rearview mirror he saw Gutterres give him a remarkably rude hand gesture for a holy warrior.

He was right though, sticking to back roads made for a much longer trip, but truthfully, Franks needed the time to get his repaired body in order by forcing down another dose of the Elixir every hour. The new parts were assimilating quickly, but he was not operating at peak efficiency. His new arms had not been properly conditioned. His new bones had not had time to harden. Much of him was still held together with thread, wire, and staples. He was on his way to face one of the strongest demons to ever escape from Hell, wearing a body that was a perfectly tuned, high tech vessel designed for war, while Franks doubted if he’d be able to bench-press even a mere seven hundred pounds without blowing something out.

Jefferson, Archer, and Strayhorn had better have come through for him or else this was going to be a very short and messy operation.

Hours later he reached the rally point. He’d picked an old country church in a wooded, rural area in central Virginia. There was a small stone monument on the side of the road in remembrance of a Revolutionary War battle. That particular battle was a minor footnote in history, but it had been a pivotal moment for Franks.

Franks spotted six black MCB vehicles parked in the clearing behind the boarded-up building, including one of the large armored trucks used by the Strike Team. So either his agents had performed better than expected, or the MCB were here to arrest him, but realistically, if this was an elaborate takedown he would have expected more of them, as well as air support. He turned onto the dirt road, drove past the posted snipers and spotters, and pulled in behind the armored truck.