A real leader needed to be decisive. He needed to declare a clear objective and then do everything necessary to seize that objective. This president lacked those necessary traits, that spine, that strength of purpose. He was uncertain, and Stricken couldn’t abide uncertainty in a commander. The President was shrewd enough when it came to normal politicking, but when the subject turned to supernatural threats, he was in way over his head. He’d once confided to Stricken that when he’d been briefed about the existence of the Old Ones, it had felt as if he was drowning in an angry sea. That had been music to Stricken’s ears. He’d served in one capacity or another in six administrations now, and none of this man’s predecessors had been nearly this easy to manipulate. When someone felt like they were drowning, anyone who could throw them a lifeline would be seen as a savior. Myers had been too honest in his assessments, and the truth was too frightening to a soft man like this. Stricken, on the other hand, was more than willing to massage the truth, to throw that comforting lifeline. Of course, the President saw it as a lifeline. Stricken considered it a leash.

“Myers is partially correct. We do need something with Franks’ capabilities, but that doesn’t change the fact that the MCB’s best asset is aging and shows signs of serious mental deterioration. He’s a ticking bomb and he will go off eventually. Whether you deal with Franks now or not, the fact remains that he will need to be replaced someday. Either he loses his mind and causes something that we can’t cover up, or eventually something destroys him. That’s why it’s so vital that you approve my Nemesis Project right away.”

“That again?” The President leaned back in his chair. “You really expect me to approve the creation of an army of Frankensteins?”

Frankenstein was the creator of the fictionalized monster, not the monster itself, you fucking illiterate, but Stricken just gave the President a patient smile. “Nemesis assets would only be partially based on what we’ve learned from studying Franks’ physiology. This technology is far superior. Franks is the Wright brothers’ plane and these would be Predator drones. Give them a mission, turn them loose, and no matter what happens there’s no bad press for you and no grieving families on TV. Everyone wins. Let me try a prototype out. My operations are so secret no one will ever know if it doesn’t work out.”

“Try them out? According to this Franks contract there aren’t supposed to be any. Ever.”