“Look, Franks, I have to do this. Myers raised me and saved my life. You can’t tell me I’m too close, or I’m making it personal, because we both know the real reason why you’re here. Stricken killed my dad, he killed my training officer, he got me shot a few times, and I’m pissed off, okay? I want to be there when you put Stricken in the ground. I want to help. I need to help.”

Franks really could use another capable gunman. “I don’t have time to babysit. Jefferson. Come here.”

He ran over. “Yes, sir?” He saw that Franks was talking to Strayhorn. “I warned him not to come but he wouldn’t—”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir.” Jefferson snapped to attention.

“The rookie stays with you the whole time. He is your responsibility. If he dies, I’ll be disappointed.”

“Wait . . . What does that entail?”

“If he dies, you’ll be punished,” Franks stated. “I’ll think of something appropriate.”

The very nervous MCB agent asked, “What if I die?”

“Shit happens.” Franks turned and began walking back to the command truck.

Jefferson must have forgotten about Franks’ excellent hearing, because he whispered to Strayhorn. “That’s just what I needed, bodyguarding the Son of Frankenstein.”

“Kiss my ass, Grant. If I’m the Son of Frankenstein that means you and Archer must be Laurel and Hardy.”

Franks surveyed his team. The Strike Team was solid, and they trusted his leadership enough to be here despite great personal risk. The Secret Guard and their Swiss muscle were an unknown, but if they fought half as well as the ones who’d tried to take Franks back in Germany, they’d do. This was as good as it was going to get.

It was time to send Kurst back to Hell.

* * *

The disembodied demon’s report had been intriguing. Franks was approaching the bunker. He would arrive at the Nemesis facility soon, and he would not be alone. He promised the demons he would reward them for their loyalty by granting them bodies, then dismissed them. Kurst had not planned on making his move against Stricken this quickly, but his hand was being forced. It was one thing to hunt for Franks, but something else entirely to be hunted by him. These new bodies were too good, and the ability to make more of them was far too important to the future of the host to leave it entirely in Stricken’s care.

They had observed their human controllers and made their contingency plans well in advance. They were outnumbered and unarmed, but it wouldn’t matter. The humans put far too much faith in their implanted kill switches. Kurst gave the telepathic order. Today is our day. Each of you knows what to do. Inform me when the command center has been taken.