“I misspoke. We’d have to build some first, and I’d need approvals for that, obviously. But if they work like they think I will, I promise you’ll want to use them for everything else. A squad of these and Las Vegas never could have happened. Since these assets would be starting with a clean slate, they are programmable for complete loyalty. They simply can’t go rogue.”

“Unlike Franks,” the President muttered.

This was too easy. “For what we can accomplish with them, Nemesis assets are a bargain. The only thing that kept the previous administration from implementing my plan was this thing.” Stricken picked up the contract and gestured at it dismissively. “This is ancient history. This is tradition blocking progress. It’s a contract, not a suicide pact.”

The President didn’t have to mull it over nearly as long that time. “I’ll think about it and give you my decision later.”

“Of course, sir.” That was a little disappointing, as he was tired of waiting, but Stricken could tell the President would come around. He’d come around and order Franks terminated eventually, but Stricken had more important things to do than wait around for the inevitable. He would go with plan B, and once that was done, the President would look back on this conversation and kick himself for not heeding his Special Advisor sooner.

“No matter what I decide, Franks deserves our respect. If he’s to be retired, I want this nice and clean, nobody gets hurt.”

Like that was going to happen. “Whatever you decide, I’ll take care of everything.” Like I always do.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

There were very few people who called him by his real name. He preferred his codename, Stricken, as it had gravitas. He’d been using that name since he’d started his career murdering KGB operatives in back alleys in Bucharest. “Good luck with your press conference, Mr. President.”

“I’ve got the White House press corps eating out of my hand. I could tell them Las Vegas has been attacked by escaped circus monkeys and they’d run with it. That’ll be all.”

Stricken rose from the chair and adjusted his suit, trying not to look smug. This was a temporary hitch. The decision had been made a long time ago. Fate had just required Stricken to guide everything to its inevitable conclusion.

The President leaned back even further in his chair and put his feet up on the Resolute desk. It was a false show of confidence. Stricken knew it. The President might have known it too, but it didn’t matter, whatever made it easier to think he was really the one calling the shots. “I’ll have to think more about this Nemesis proposal of yours. Get me a proposal written up. What you’re talking about would be incredibly controversial. If it were to get out, heads would roll.”