Monster Hunter Nemesis (31 page)
Read Monster Hunter Nemesis Online
Authors: Larry Correia
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Urban
There was a knock on the door. His secretary stuck her head in. “Mr. Stricken, Heather Kerkonen is here for her appointment.”
“Send her in.”
The redheaded werewolf came into the office and his secretary closed the door behind her. Kerkonen really was a good-looking woman, though her nose was too big, and it wasn’t like something capable of regeneration could get plastic surgery. But right now she was too apprehensive to be pretty. She had never been summoned to the STFU command center before, probably had never had a clue where it was, or if a central physical location even existed at all. Stricken liked to think of his assets as mushrooms, where the best way to grow them was to keep them in the dark and feed them shit.
“Impressive place. I expected the big office, but I kind of figured you’d have a view.”
“Figuratively speaking, most of my career has been underground. Why should it be any different now that I’ve reached the top? Please, have a seat, Heather.”
There was a single chair in front of his desk. She eyeballed it like it was a trap. Her body language suggested she had probably been expecting tarps on the floor to catch the blood. Heather was playing it cool, but she was nervous. He could tell she was testing the air, using her heightened werewolf senses to see if he had brought any help. He hadn’t. He really didn’t need to. Brute force was for suckers.
She sat down. “You wanted to see me?”
“No. I had you brought to my top secret lair for kicks.” Stricken tapped his long, thin fingers on the desk rhythmically. “I figured maybe you’d want a commemorative snow globe from our gift shop.”
“I was kind of hoping for a shirt.
I put up with the shadow government for two years and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.”
Heather didn’t even bother to hide the fact that she hated him. Most of his assets at least made some effort. Even his weird ones, like the guy whose eyeballs had been sucked out by a rage ghost, or the creepy-ass Spider, made some effort to suck up.
Stricken made a big show of being disappointed. “I had such high hopes for you, Heather. I took you in, gave you valuable training, and provided you with an opportunity to serve your country, and all I’ve gotten for my benevolence is attitude.”
“What do you want, Stricken?”
“I want to know why you’re poking around in Task Force business you’re not cleared for.”
She was stone-faced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been asking around about Project Nemesis.”
Heather’s eyes narrowed. She was trying not to show it, but Stricken could tell she was doing the math. If he meant to do her harm, she would make a run for it, but she’d probably try to take his head off first, just on principle. “I don’t know, Mr. Stricken. What is Project Nemesis?”
“You might think you’re a good liar, but you’re not. I’m better at this than you are. Your professional lying days were limited to junkies and whores, but I routinely lie to Congress . . . Well, never mind. I suppose we’re not that different after all. By now you know Nemesis was a Cold War-era research project to build more soldiers like Franks, but he didn’t like that. In fact he didn’t like it so much he blew up the lab, killed the prototype, and murdered some of the scientists. And he got away with it too, because Ronald Reagan decided to honor some bullshit treaty dating back to George Washington.”
“I always enjoyed the History channel.”
“I find it interesting you never asked about Nemesis before you ran into Franks in the subway. Funny . . . According to your report you two didn’t exactly have a conversation, it was really more of a lopsided ass-beating. My last werewolf could have taken him.”
“Your last werewolf was a psychopath.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? Franks was tougher than expected.”
“Indeed. I wish you would have come directly to me instead of asking your handlers about Nemesis . . . Oh, don’t give me that look. Don’t worry. The Flierls didn’t snitch on you. They’re very talented at managing my little menagerie but they’re the Task Force’s resident goody-two-shoes. Luckily for them, their skills outweigh their troublesome integrity, but that’s why I keep an even closer eye on my humans than I do on my monsters. Sadly, your actions have put Beth in danger. Now she too is asking questions which are better left unanswered.”
As expected, that shook her. Kerkonen was predictable. Her psych evaluation had nailed it on the self-sacrificing tendencies and how she was extremely protective of others. “Beth had nothing to do with this. Franks mentioned Project Nemesis. I was curious. That’s all.”
“So curious that your deceased former STFU handler’s login was used yesterday to access classified operations files. And this happened to occur on a computer at an STFU safe house where you were being locked up that night because of the full moon?”
“I don’t—”
“Bullshit!” Stricken slammed his open hand against his desk. It made the werewolf jump. “I’ve got a guy that reads electrical impulses with his mind. You were caught red-handed.”
He could tell Kerkonen wanted to say something else but she held it back. Inherently honest people were such easily manipulated chumps. She was pissed. She knew
something
, but confronting him with it would only dig her grave. STFU wasn’t the type of outfit that issued reprimands, it issued bullets. Kerkonen had probably gleaned enough to figure that Nemesis had been reactivated without authorization. If she was as smart as he thought she was, she’d probably even figured out that something was up with the hit on the MCB.
Too bad . . .
He’d been hoping to get some use out of her. Werewolves that were actually sane enough to be operationally valuable were few and far between.
“You got anything to say for yourself, Kerkonen?”
“No,” she growled.
She was going to make a run for it. He could tell. Knowing her, she’d probably memorized where all the guards were on the way through the bunker, and calculated how fast she’d need to move before they got the place entirely locked down. It was a good thing he’d already made his move.
Kerkonen stood up so fast she knocked over her chair. She took a halting step toward his desk, but was having a hard time standing. The effects of the neurotoxin were kicking in.
He held up his hand. The remains of the capsule he had smashed against his desk were glittering on his palm. “Odorless, even by werewolf standards. This stuff is a pretty nifty little concoction they discovered during Decision Week. Don’t worry. I’m immunized against it, but it does a real number on lycanthropes.”
“You son of a bitch.” Kerkonen reached for him, the ends of her fingers had begun growing into claws, but she was having a hard time since by now the room was spinning and she was probably looking at three of him. He had to hand it to her though, she almost got him. Launching herself across the desk, her claws tore four deep gashes through the leather of his chair. Only he’d already disappeared and was standing a few feet to the side.
“How?” Heather spotted him, but she was so dizzy that she couldn’t let go of the desk without collapsing.
“Precautions, Kerkonen. I have access to every contraband magical artifact the government has ever confiscated. I was doing this sort of thing before you were born. I’m not stupid.”
Heather was much tougher than expected. In testing, a few aerosolized molecules of this stuff had knocked out even a strong werewolf in thirty seconds. Her regeneration rate was impressive. He would have brought more of the stuff, but this was the only capsule in STFU’s inventory. Procurement was a bitch when it came to alchemical solutions made from rare flowers that bloomed only on out-of-the-way mountaintops under a full moon. So he reached into his suit, pulled out the tranquilizer gun and shot her in the chest.
Heather looked down at the dart. “I’ll kill you.” Her words were slurred. It took her a couple of clumsy tries to pull the dart out, but it had already delivered a dose of drugs sufficient to drop a rhino.
“You’re not walking this one off, Red. I had this stuff worked up in case I ever needed to put down Adam Conover.” It was hard to use tranqs on humans to take them alive, since a dose sufficient to take them out in a timely manner was also strong enough to possibly kill them, but werewolves were absurdly resilient, so you could go a little nuts with the chemistry. “Don’t worry. I’m not killing you yet. You still might be useful.”
Her knees buckled. She hit the desk, then slid to the floor and lay there gasping for breath. Barely conscious, her body was stuck mid-transformation. She wasn’t quite so pretty now, all deformed with fangs and body hair.
The door opened. His secretary stuck her head inside. “Is everything alright, Mr. Stricken?” She saw the werewolf sprawled on the carpet, but didn’t show much of a reaction. She’d seen stranger things working here. “Would you like the cleaners to come up?”
“Have the boys stick her in a holding cell. We’ll torture the shit out of her to make sure she hasn’t talked to anybody else. And get me a new chair. This one has holes in it.” Stricken kicked Kerkonen in the ribs, just to make sure she wasn’t faking. This really was a disappointment for him.
A werewolf is a terrible thing to waste. . . .
But that made Stricken think of something. There was another werewolf out there he was acquainted with who was supposedly the biggest baddest werewolf
and
Monster Hunter around. Yet he had—surprisingly enough—not gotten in on the hunt for Franks, and Stricken had been so very personally disappointed by that. Looking at Kerkonen’s body gave him an idea.
“Will that be all?”
“One other thing, Sarah, get me the phone number for Monster Hunter International. I need to make a call.”
CHAPTER 14
Darmstadt, Landgraviate of Hesse-Darmstadt,
Holy Roman Empire, 1709
“Send out the monster, Dippel, or we will break this door down!”
Most of the angry mob was armed with torches and farm tools. They did not concern him. It was the men in front, dressed in weathered steel breastplates and helms, armed with pikes, swords, and firearms who interested him. He could recognize that those mortals had the spirits of warriors. He’d fought them in the before time. Did they not understand that he was no longer their eternal foe?
“They’ve come to destroy you, my son.” Konrad Dippel was disheveled and filthy from his escape from the mob and flight through the forest.
He peered through the narrow window at the force arrayed against Castle Frankenstein. “Who are they, Father?”
“Fools who do not understand the importance of science!” Konrad Dippel raged. “They would destroy that which they cannot comprehend! They are hunters of monsters, and a dread beast has been preying upon the village. Women and children have been devoured. They have heard rumors of your existence, and now they blame you for these atrocities.”
He thought of The Deal which had been struck. If it was an intruder, it had to go. “What if I were to destroy this other monster for them? Would they accept me then?”
“They will never accept you. I will not see my work undone by these shortsighted fools. You must flee from this place. Run away, and never return.” Dippel unlocked his son’s chains.
He studied his naked wrists and marveled at the small measure of freedom. He could have snapped his manacles long ago, but he’d been waiting for this day. “I will save the village,” he stated. “I will destroy the other. The humans can accept me or fear me. I do not care.”
“You cannot face the Hunters of the Secret Guard, my son. Go north and hide. They will not follow you into the frozen wastes. Please, you must escape,” his desperate father begged. “Do not allow my life’s work to come to naught.”
“I will not,” he answered. Father did not understand his true purpose. Father had given him a mortal form and prepared him for the world. He had been taught the word
gratitude
, but he had never really understood what it meant until now. He would never see Konrad Dippel again. “Goodbye, Father.”
He walked straight toward the main door.
“Not that way! The Hunters will destroy you.”
“They will try.” He decided that he did not care for these . . . Monster Hunters.
He flung the door open and entered the world.
Today
Franks saw the sign.
CAZADOR, ALABAMA, POPULATION 682.
He had driven here from West Virginia, sticking to back roads whenever possible, wearing another man’s skin stretched over his face whenever he’d had to use the freeways or highways that might have had traffic cameras. The mask had itched. He had ditched his last car and stolen a new one in Tennessee. He suspected that he was clear. It was doubtful that STFU would expect him to go here of all places. Why would a monster go directly into a den of Monster Hunters?
The drive had given him time to think. It was time wasted that would have been much better spent destroying his enemies. Thinking caused doubts to form, doubts about his strategy, doubts about his decisions, and most of all, doubts about The Deal. He was allowed to exist as a tool for taking life, not creating it. He had a son. What did that mean? Franks wasn’t big on looking for deeper meaning.
The Creator had a sense of humor. Franks did not like being the butt of some cosmic joke. It really ticked him off.
Franks passed the country road that would take him to the MHI compound. The item he required was there. He had seen it stored and forgotten in their tunnels during his battle for the ward stone. The Hunters obviously did not know what they had in their possession. To them it was probably just another magical trinket, discovered on some mission and hidden away with the rest of the items they were afraid of, but too stupid to understand. He could simply go there now and take it, but to do so would certainly end in a direct confrontation against MHI. Not that he would mind that so much, but it was not conducive to achieving his current mission, and there was the possibility, however small, that they would be able to best him. Then nobody would stop Kurst, and that was unacceptable.
No. He would be . . .
diplomatic.
Franks intended to
ask
for the item. It was an unusual strategy. He took a different country road. There was one particular Hunter who owed him a favor. Franks would call in the favor. This particular Hunter had a certain sense of honor. He would probably cooperate. If he didn’t, then things would get interesting.
His destination was an old plantation mansion. It was well hidden in the trees, but Franks had been here before. He parked in the open and got out. Trying to sneak up would only make the Hunters twitchy. The house had been fixed up. They had done an extensive renovation since the last time he’d been here, which was understandable since that night the Hunters had been using rocket propelled grenades and flamethrowers against a vampire inside.
The lights were on. Someone was home.
Good
. If they had not been, then he would have had to go to their headquarters where he’d be dealing with an unknown number of extremely jumpy Monster Hunters. This was better.
Though he was not wearing a proper suit, Franks had used some baby wipes to clean the dried blood from his face in order to be presentable. He’d thrown the dried-out skin mask out the window somewhere outside Montgomery for the wildlife to eat. He went right up the porch to the front door and rang the doorbell. Then he knocked too, and Franks was incapable of knocking softly, so it was more of a pounding. The solid feel told him that the door and frame were armored.
The Hunters inside must have had a hidden camera on the porch, because when they saw who it was there was a loud buzzing noise. Latches released, and heavy metal shields clattered down to seal off every window of the mansion. Now that was a home improvement that Franks could appreciate.
There was an intercom next to the door.
“Franks?” The voice belonged to Owen Zastava Pitt. “Is that you?”
“I like your shutters.”
“Yeah. They’re new. We’ve been tricking the place out. And before you try to kick them in, Julie’s at a firing port watching you with an M-14 right now. So what the hell are you doing here?”
“Requesting sanctuary.”
There was a really long pause. “No kidding?”
He knew that MHI had done it before. Occasionally a supernatural creature ended up on the PUFF table that MHI didn’t think deserved to be on there, and they would ignore, or sometimes even hide the things. “You did it for that wendigo and his big dumb monkeys.”
“What’s hiding one more big dumb monkey from the government? Oh, that’s right. You
are
the government.”
“Not currently.”
Pitt sounded rather exasperated. “Dude, Franks, they’re offering a lot of PUFF for you right now. You really shouldn’t be here.”
“This is only temporary. MHI has a St. Hubert’s Key stored in your catacombs.”
“A what?”
“It is an iron bar with a Latin inscription. Give it to me and I will leave.”
“Wait . . . That almost sounds like you’re asking nicely.” Pitt began to laugh. “Holy shit. I didn’t think this day would ever come. What’s the magic word?”
Franks cracked his knuckles. The exterior walls weren’t
that
thick.
“Easy there, big guy. Are you innocent?”
“No.”
“Okay, stupid question. Let me rephrase that. Did you go nuts and blow up MCB headquarters?”
Pitt was an incorrigible smartass with deep-seated psychological issues against authority figures, but he was one of the only mortals Franks had some tiny measure of respect for. They had killed a god together. Pitt could handle some of the truth. “Stricken framed me.”
“He needed you gone so he could launch Project Nemesis.” Once again, the Hunter was smarter than he looked. Franks’ reaction must have been visible on the camera. “Interdepartmental squabbling of you government types isn’t my problem, but I had a little conversation with Stricken in Las Vegas. The dude’s a psycho.”
“Yes.”
“So Stricken’s a ruthless murderer with the full power of the federal government backing him, and you expect me to let the one guy he wants dead more than anything into my house?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you go ask your buddy Myers for help?”
“Stricken had him killed.”
“Oh . . .” The light on the intercom went off for several seconds. When it came back on, Pitt was quieter. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
There was no need to be sorry. Myers had died trying to fulfill a mission. That was far more than most mortals ever achieved. “Stricken will murder anyone who helps me.”
“No wonder you usually just boss people around. You suck at asking nicely, Franks.”
Perhaps he should have just used his usual straightforward method. People made everything so complicated. This was a perfect example of why Franks was forced to have a partner capable of dealing with foolishness. Myers had always told him that the best way to get something was to make them an offer they couldn’t refuse, only Franks suspected he was quoting a movie because he always spoke in an odd voice when he said that. Perhaps Myers was right, and he did have something MHI could not refuse. Pitt was a warrior, and warriors had loyalty to each other.
“I offer a trade. You had Hunters MIA in Las Vegas. I can help you find them.”
“What?” That had taken Pitt by surprise. Apparently Franks had guessed correctly. “Are VanZant and Lococo still alive?”
“Doubtful. But help me and you can go look for yourself and be sure.”
There was a much longer pause this time. Pitt was probably speaking with his wife. Even his improved hearing could not pick them up through the thick walls. Franks waited a minute, and then pounded on the door again.
The intercom lit up. “Hold on, damn it,” Pitt snapped.
Franks stuck his hands in his pockets. He had very little patience for dealing with people in general, and Monster Hunters specifically. Luckily for Pitt and Shackleford, they made their decision before Franks got bored. There was a loud clack as the door was unbarred.
It swung open. Owen Pitt was waiting for him; one arm was in a cast, but he had a pistol in the other hand. He was polite enough not to point it at Franks, but they both knew what it was there for.
“Don’t make me regret this . . . Come in.”
The Shackleford family estate was a very large home. Much of it was being renovated. The MCB dossier on Julie Shackleford said that she liked to
fix things
. Appropriate, for someone drafted by the mysterious Guardians. He doubted she understood what those marks meant, but explaining it to her wasn’t his problem. The MCB didn’t grasp the implications either. They just thought she had picked up some funky curse, which wasn’t too uncommon a problem among Monster Hunters. If she ever became an issue, then Franks would have to take action, but that particular cosmic faction wasn’t his responsibility.
Shackleford was waiting for them in a sitting room. By human standards, she was a beautiful woman, nearly attractive enough to give a succubus competition. She was also extremely dangerous. It wasn’t just the big rifle in her hands—she seemed more inclined to shoot him than Pitt was—but also the black lines barely visible on her neck. The Hunters had no idea what they were in for.
“Make it quick, Franks, and then I want you out of my house,” Shackleford said. She was decisive. Franks appreciated that.
Pitt stopped and stood in the doorway behind him. The Hunters were uneasy around him.
Good.
That meant they were paying attention. “I’d offer you a seat, but I’m guessing you’re not going to be here that long.”
Franks looked Shackleford in the eye. “I need that device.”
She’d listened to the conversation on the porch. “What does it do?”
“It finds demons.”
“That would have been really handy to know before. Thanks for sharing.”
These were not the sorts of things MHI should trifle with anyway. The Key would point him toward demon spirits. Not just the ones inhabiting Nemesis bodies, but the legions of eager spirits who would be congregated around wherever Stricken was growing new bodies, jockeying for position, just like he had himself so long ago.
“Why didn’t you just take it before?” Pitt asked.
“I didn’t know I would need it.” There was no need to elaborate about Kurst. If he’d turned it over to the government, Stricken would have it now and it would be useless to him. Besides, leaving it with MHI had been safer than stashing it with gnomes.
“You can have your saint whatever thingy as soon as you tell us how to get our guys back from the nightmare realm.” Julie said.
“Deal.” He took out a pen, and wrote down an address. Shackleford was scowling at him. It took Franks a moment to realize it was because he was using the top of her antique piano as a writing surface.
“You are such an ass,” Shackleford said.
“Go to this place.”
“What’s there?” Pitt asked as he walked over and studied the defaced piano.
“Multidimensional research facility that works with the MCB. They traced the Las Vegas portal.”
“How’s that supposed to work? We just show up and ask for a trip to the nightmare world?”
Franks shrugged. “Not my department.” He leaned on the piano. “Where’s my Key?”
“Earl’s there. I sent him a message,” Shackleford said. “Don’t worry. I kept it cryptic. I figured Stricken reads our mail. So while we’re waiting, what’s going on?”
“Classified.”
“Oh screw you, Franks!” Pitt shouted. “Are you kidding me? All this crazy stuff happens, you’re on the PUFF list, and you show up in the middle of the night telling us Myers is dead, and your answer is
classified
?”
“Yes,” he answered, but the Hunters kept on glaring at him. It was an odd feeling. Franks was used to mortals giving him disapproving looks, but for once, he was actually moved by them. He had about as high an opinion of these two as he did of anyone currently alive. He needed to tell somebody about Nemesis. He might be destroyed, and somebody would need to off Kurst before he took over the world. His agency had been compromised, so that left the private sector, and he’d already ruined MHI’s best competitors. “Fine . . . I’ll brief you.”
