They moved away from the truck and curious ears. “What the fuck happened to your face? Is your cheek held on with a staple gun? What did that to you?”

“Werewolf.” Franks had worked with this man before, and even died with him in Natchy Bottom. Cueto had been recruited from the Army, and had been one of Myers’ oldest friends and confidants. If Jefferson had persuaded him, then they were set. If Cueto was unconvinced, then the Strike Team would kill them all. “Have you been briefed?”

“Barely. They told me that Stricken created some supersoldiers, but they’ve been possessed by devils straight out of Hell.”

“Yes.” He was glad Cueto’s men were here, but he didn’t like that they had shared the real dangers of Project Nemesis. It wouldn’t take too much of a leap for the government to figure out that Franks was one too.

“Yeah . . . I can’t believe that son of a bitch Stricken would pull a false flag against the MCB. Archer’s been going over the evidence with me. There are too many parts where the video doesn’t match up with the forensic evidence, but they’ve been keeping the details from the rank and file. I knew it was bullshit. There was no way you were behind that attack . . . There were way too many survivors.”

Franks nodded. He appreciated the compliment.

“So what’s Myers’ plan?”

Since he didn’t know what lies Jefferson had constructed, Franks wasn’t quite sure of that either. “We take down Nemesis. Expose everything.”

“To those pussies on the Subcommittee? How’re we going to do that?”

“A raid.”

“On what?”

“No idea yet.”

“We’re on our own. I don’t even have my air assets. There’s no backup. Without orders from on high, you realize I’m aiding and abetting right now. If we move on this with you, we’re committing I don’t even know how many felonies. Not just me, all my men. They’re volunteers, Franks. This is off the books. We’re hanging our asses out in the wind because we trust you, and that’s asking a lot, but if Myers says this is how it is, then that’s how it is . . . I was hoping he’d be with you.”

“Myers is dealing with the higher-ups now,” Franks said, and he meant every word of it.

Cueto studied him for a long time. “You’d be a right-hard bastard to play poker against . . . Level with me, Franks. Dwayne is dead, isn’t he?”

Franks paused. There was no use in dragging this out. “Yes.”

“I’ll give it to Grant. The kid’s got skills, but you can’t bullshit somebody with a twenty-year career in professional government bullshitting.” Cueto sighed. “I thought something was up.”

“Why are you here then?”