“I knew Stricken was planning on killing me. I was too much of a loose end. I kept records of everything so I could blackmail Stricken into letting me go, but when I thought I was going to die on that ladder, I sent it.” Renfroe sat on a log in front of them. “Oh well. Do what you’ve got to do.”

“Back up, kid,” Earl demanded. “What did you send?”

Renfroe seemed honestly surprised that they hadn’t shot him yet. “Stricken thought I was scared of him—well, yeah, who wouldn’t be?—but I’m better at this than he ever expected. He thought he had me blocked, but no way, man, I put back doors in the back doors. The unedited security video of Foster’s guys in action, MCB has it by now. I’ve even got the audio logs and voiceprints of Stricken giving the orders. Nemesis production? Sent. Every dirty black op you can think of, all sent. The only thing I didn’t reveal was the identities of the other poor suckers like me coerced into working there. That’s it. Everything I know has been dumped so you don’t even need to waste your time torturing me.” Renfroe closed his eyes. “Make it quick.”

“I’m not going to—” Heather began to speak, but Earl held up one hand.

“Who did you send all this to? The news?”

“Those wimps? They’ll do whatever they’re told. I dumped it all on the internet. It’s on a thousand sites by now. Sure, I know most people will think of it as extra crazy conspiracy theory stuff and dismiss it, I mean, who believes in monsters, right? But the people who know, the decision makers behind STFU, that crazy lady who got Stricken to relaunch Nemesis, they’re exposed. They get it. They just got served. And best of all, they’re going to murder the hell out of Stricken when they catch him. He’s not weaseling out of this.”

Earl gave a low whistle. “About that hideout in Mexico . . . I think I just found somebody who’s gonna need it a whole lot more than us.”

* * *

We are almost there, General.

Thymos’ report was not comforting. Almost there was not good enough. Kurst could barely see. That chemical had badly burned his eyes, and then Franks had utterly devastated his body. Too much energy had been expended. He needed time to heal. Kurst should have been invincible, but Franks had still bested him. Franks’ body was an archaic design. Victory should have been inevitable. The only other explanation was that Franks was the better warrior, and that was unacceptable.