“Silently, Archer. Can’t you see that Agent Franks is trying to sleep?” Apparently the Subcommitee representative left quietly, because several seconds passed and there was no screaming. “Man . . . I can’t stand those assholes. If we don’t elect leadership with a spine next time I swear I’m going to suck start my pistol.”

Franks opened his eyes. He recognized the recovery room in the R&D section of MCB headquarters. He’d woken up here quite a few times before. It hurt to turn his head. Many of his nerve endings were not connected yet. There were a few others in the recovery room. Jefferson and Archer were posted at the door. He didn’t know how long he’d been under, but his detail looked terrible. Archer’s arm was in a cast and Jefferson’s face was still swollen and had several bandages on it. There was a woman that Franks did not recognize sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed reading something off of her phone. Cueto was on crutches and standing right next to the bedside.

“They made you Director?” Franks asked.

“Acting. Director Stark is taking an early medical retirement from the Bureau.”

“Sad day for America.”

“Indeed. About damned time you decided to join us, Agent Franks. The docs said your brain waves had returned to normal and you’d be joining us soon. Surprised it took you so long. They only had to replace three quarters of your head.” Cueto said. “If you kept sleeping on the job I was going to write you up.”

“I vowed to kill everyone that helped Nemesis,” Franks muttered as he looked toward the exit.

“Yeah. That’s why I tossed that Subcommittee moron. Dumbass doesn’t realize I just saved his life. But no more murdering right now. After we get you debriefed about your brief stint as an undercover outlaw, we’re going to sort this out, nice and diplomatic. That’s an order.”

Franks nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Because there’s fifty Secret Service downstairs ready to take you into custody for threatening the President, just in case that little Post-it note stunt wasn’t really Myers’ ploy to draw out the traitor, Stricken, like we both know it was. Understand?”

“Only fifty?”

“Budget cuts,” Cueto said. The woman had gotten up and joined him. “Let me introduce Beth Flierl. She’s the new head of Special Task Force Unicorn.”

Franks nodded. Cueto wouldn’t have let her in the room with him if she’d helped Nemesis.