stuck working a trade show in Vegas and see what happens.” Jefferson stuck his head in a corner. “Grant Donald Jefferson. Agent five-two-two-niner-three.” There was a chime of recognition.
Franks put his eye against another hidden scanner in the wall. The retinal scan matched the last eyeball on record. Keeping his various part swaps updated in the database was a pain. “Franks. One.” The voiceprint matched and a green light activated on the back wall. The fake paneling slid aside, revealing a metal door. It took a minute for it to roll aside like a heavy steel gear.
“I was told all this security is relatively new, implemented right before I joined the Bureau.” Jefferson was still trying to make awkward conversation. “I heard they had to extensively remodel the building after a cinder beast snuck in and burned a chunk of it down.”
“Classified.”
“I heard you were the one that killed it.”
It had destroyed two whole floors of headquarters before Franks had caught up. It had given him third degree burns on much of his body and ruined one of his lungs before he’d twisted its flaming head clean off. However, the remodeling afterwards had given him the opportunity to secretly add a few things to the building to satisfy his paranoia. “Classified.”
“Bet that was wild . . .” Jefferson took a drink of his coffee. Humans were so annoying, with their need to communicate. Luckily for him the secret door was open. On the other side four armed men were waiting to greet them.
“Good morning, Agent Franks, Agent Jefferson.” The senior man seemed extremely nervous. “I’ve been asked to have you both disarm.”
Franks raised an eyebrow.
The four guards took an unconscious step back. The first swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry, sir. Director Stark just implemented a new policy. No weapons in headquarters beyond the first level. Only the designated security team is allowed to carry weapons upstairs.”
That was new. It was stupid and it totally missed the point of defense in depth , but Stark was an idiot. “Hmmm . . .”
“Sorry, sir. I’m really, really sorry, and this is nothing personal, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way and—”
“Locker?” A couple of the men quickly pointed, just glad that Franks was mad at Stark instead of them. He went over, opened one of the lockers and began shoving Glocks and magazines inside.
“I’m sorry, sir. Edged weapons and explosives too. The Director’s memo was very specific. Nothing deadly.”
“Should I cut my hands off?”
“That wasn’t on the memo.”
Franks glowered at him. The agent gave an involuntary shiver, but Franks went back and tossed the folding knives inside as well. This had to be related to his choking Stark unconscious in Vegas, like disarming Franks would make any difference if he really felt like murdering someone. Bullets just meant he didn’t have to chase them down first. He slammed the door shut and took the key. Jefferson had brought fewer guns, so was already disarmed and waiting.
Now Franks was really in a foul mood.
* * *
The MCB memorial for those who had fallen in the line of duty took up a lot of space on the first floor. It was a marble fountain, and it was really the only thing vaguely ornamental in the whole building. The badge of every agent who had been killed in action since their founding was inset into the base of the fountain, and they were shiny under an inch of clear running water. There were a lot of badges.
As expected, their rookie was here, standing at the rail and staring into the water.
“What’s up, Strayhorn?”
The rookie jumped. He hadn’t heard Archer coming. “Just reading names. Do you guys need me for something?”
“Nope. I was coming back from a smoke break and realized that if I do any more reports right now my eyes are going to start to bleed.” He stood next to Strayhorn and looked over the badges. Archer hadn’t been in the Bureau for very long, but
Franks put his eye against another hidden scanner in the wall. The retinal scan matched the last eyeball on record. Keeping his various part swaps updated in the database was a pain. “Franks. One.” The voiceprint matched and a green light activated on the back wall. The fake paneling slid aside, revealing a metal door. It took a minute for it to roll aside like a heavy steel gear.
“I was told all this security is relatively new, implemented right before I joined the Bureau.” Jefferson was still trying to make awkward conversation. “I heard they had to extensively remodel the building after a cinder beast snuck in and burned a chunk of it down.”
“Classified.”
“I heard you were the one that killed it.”
It had destroyed two whole floors of headquarters before Franks had caught up. It had given him third degree burns on much of his body and ruined one of his lungs before he’d twisted its flaming head clean off. However, the remodeling afterwards had given him the opportunity to secretly add a few things to the building to satisfy his paranoia. “Classified.”
“Bet that was wild . . .” Jefferson took a drink of his coffee. Humans were so annoying, with their need to communicate. Luckily for him the secret door was open. On the other side four armed men were waiting to greet them.
“Good morning, Agent Franks, Agent Jefferson.” The senior man seemed extremely nervous. “I’ve been asked to have you both disarm.”
Franks raised an eyebrow.
The four guards took an unconscious step back. The first swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry, sir. Director Stark just implemented a new policy. No weapons in headquarters beyond the first level. Only the designated security team is allowed to carry weapons upstairs.”
That was new. It was stupid and it totally missed the point of defense in depth , but Stark was an idiot. “Hmmm . . .”
“Sorry, sir. I’m really, really sorry, and this is nothing personal, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way and—”
“Locker?” A couple of the men quickly pointed, just glad that Franks was mad at Stark instead of them. He went over, opened one of the lockers and began shoving Glocks and magazines inside.
“I’m sorry, sir. Edged weapons and explosives too. The Director’s memo was very specific. Nothing deadly.”
“Should I cut my hands off?”
“That wasn’t on the memo.”
Franks glowered at him. The agent gave an involuntary shiver, but Franks went back and tossed the folding knives inside as well. This had to be related to his choking Stark unconscious in Vegas, like disarming Franks would make any difference if he really felt like murdering someone. Bullets just meant he didn’t have to chase them down first. He slammed the door shut and took the key. Jefferson had brought fewer guns, so was already disarmed and waiting.
Now Franks was really in a foul mood.
* * *
The MCB memorial for those who had fallen in the line of duty took up a lot of space on the first floor. It was a marble fountain, and it was really the only thing vaguely ornamental in the whole building. The badge of every agent who had been killed in action since their founding was inset into the base of the fountain, and they were shiny under an inch of clear running water. There were a lot of badges.
As expected, their rookie was here, standing at the rail and staring into the water.
“What’s up, Strayhorn?”
The rookie jumped. He hadn’t heard Archer coming. “Just reading names. Do you guys need me for something?”
“Nope. I was coming back from a smoke break and realized that if I do any more reports right now my eyes are going to start to bleed.” He stood next to Strayhorn and looked over the badges. Archer hadn’t been in the Bureau for very long, but
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