The cafeteria was quiet this time of night. There were only a handful of MCB staff sitting around plastic tables and their conversations awkwardly died off when they saw Stark and his bodyguards enter. He got several polite nods of greeting, but that was it. Stark knew he wasn’t a popular choice for director, but he was the boss, damn it. What did a man have to do to get a little respect around here?

Myers had gotten respect from the rank and file. It just wasn’t fair. The official record had proclaimed Stark as the hero of Copper Lake, his getting the nod for directorship was a no-brainer. Stark was a rock star. Yet, if Myers had come into the cafeteria in the middle of the night, then he would have been welcomed with smiles and handshakes. So how come they had loved Myers, but didn’t like him? It was a mystery. The cappuccino machine was off, which was just another annoyance on a long list of annoyances. “Damn it, Bill. Get me a Dr Pepper,” he snapped at one of his bodyguards.

Bill did as he was told. The other one stayed at Starks’ side. Maybe that was part of the problem . . . Myers had never had a security detail, but he’d only been acting director. Stark was important, so he rated guards, a driver, functionaries, and perks. That’s just how it was when you reached the pinnacle.

No, he knew that the real problem was that Myers was sabotaging him. Very few people in the MCB were cleared to know about STFU, but enough people knew that something shadier than normal was afoot, and they suspected that their new director was working with the mysterious Task Force. Some would even go so far as to call him a puppet. It had to be Myers with his crazy conspiracy theories about Stricken and his bunch taking over the MCB . . . Myers was poisoning the well, saying that the only reason Stark had gotten the job was because Stricken had greased the skids. Hell, just today one of Myers’ people had screwed up Franks’ hearing just to embarrass him.

The night shift didn’t rate real food, so Stark picked a bagel out of the plastic bin and a packet of cream cheese, which was when he spied Agent Radabaugh trying to slip from the room unnoticed. Radabaugh was one of Myers’ loyalists. It was too bad, since he had a reputation for being a solid man in the field. He’d love nothing more than to fire every agent who liked Myers better than him, but it was almost impossible to fire government employees, so Stark played it cool. “Hey, Greg. Hold on for a second.”

Radabaugh paused. “Good evening, Director Stark.” He had a coffee cup in each hand.

“Is one of those for Franks?”

“Yes, sir.” The agent appeared to be very uncomfortable.