“Yes, he possesses abilities of planewalking, but not powerful enough to transport us to where we will need to go.”
“Understood,” she said, and placed a hand on Peaches’ head. “He is still young, and bonded to Kali’s Chosen. This is a good bond.”
Peaches rumbled as his eyes began to glow. A moment later, he barked, shattering most of the concrete around us. We stood untouched in the epicenter of his sonic blast. The Transporter patted Peaches on the head.
“I have him,” she said. “I will be able to bring you all back safely. Do you know the request?”
Monty let me go and I stood unsteadily on my own. He traced a violet rune I had never seen in the air and the Transporter nodded.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” Monty said, forming a large, green teleportation circle beneath us. “I am in your debt.”
“Your payment covers your debt,” she said. “Come visit me when you are finished. We will see if you have truly found balance.”
“I shall,” Monty said, gently maneuvering me into the circle. “May your paths always be clear.”
“May your casts be ever true,” she replied.
"We're ready," Monty said.
"Not yet," she answered, "but you will be."
The last thing I saw was her reaching again into the large box which floated gently in front of her. She reached in and pulled out another piece of chocolate. With a smile and another wink, she waved an arm in our direction.
The subway twisted and disappeared.
NINE
“Make the call,” Monty said when I opened my eyes. “You have very little time.”
I had five minutes left before the number Ramirez gave me would be useless. I pulled out my phone and looked around. It took a few moments for me to realize we were standing in the main room of an empty Randy Rump.
“Why are we—?” I asked, looking around. “Where’s Jimmy?”
Monty pointed to the phone in my hand and made a speaking gesture, insisting I get on with it. I saw him pull out his phone as he stepped away.
I dialed the number and waited for the call to connect.
Three rings later, a gruff voice answered.
“Strong, I thought I was going to have to convince you further.”
It was Peter ‘Pitbull’ Douglas.
The voice brought back a flood of memories. Douglas was the commander of Shadow Company. He was an ex-military officer who believed the means, no matter how horrific, justified the ends. He was the primary reason I had been “asked” to leave Shadow Company.
We didn’t exactly see eye to eye on who deserved death. I drew the line at non-combatants; he drew the line where he damned well pleased, and I had crossed it one time too many.
“Douglas,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Convince me for what?”
“We have a mission,” he growled, his voice a rough baritone of glass and sandpaper. “We need one more.”
“You have a mission, I don’t.”
“This one is off the books,” Douglas continued, ignoring my answer. “FODS from the top.”
FODS stood for ‘Fully Operational Disavowal Status’. It meant that Shadow Company could do whatever it needed to do to complete the mission, except get caught doing it. If discovered, they would be disavowed—basically, abandoned.
If this mission came from the top, it usually meant someone or something powerful needed to be eliminated. With Shadow Company, it was usually someone non-human.
“All Company missions are off the books,” I said warily. “What makes this one special?”
“The targets, or specifically the target,” Douglas answered. “Balfour.”
“What’s a balfour?”
I noticed Monty had turned in my direction at the mention of the name. His expression was one of concern, mixed with curiosity.
“Not what, who,” Douglas said, gruffly. “That’s as much as I’m willing to share over this line. Not that I don’t trust you…”
“You don’t.”
“Damn straight I don’t. Let’s meet to discuss the details.”
“Pass,” I said, actually shaking my head. “I’m not Shadow Company. Not anymore.”
Douglas gave me a short, rough chuckle. I could practically see the unlit cigar in his mouth as he shifted the phone around.
“Bullshit,” he replied, calmly. “Once Shadow Company, always Shadow Company. You’re part of the family. Besides, I’m not the one asking.”
“Who is?” I asked. “Who wants an incompetent, trembly handed, blind dead-eye on a FODS mission?”
I wasn’t holding a grudge, but I still remembered Douglas’ words when I was asked to leave Shadow Company. They’d stung then, and they stung now.
“Rott is,” Douglas said after a long pause. “I was against calling you in on this, but George insisted. Says you owe him and you’re the best dead-eye he knows.”
“Fuck you,” I said, the words thick in my throat. “It’s one thing to go through all the cloak and dagger shit—contacting Ramirez, the limited use phone, and the rest. I get you can’t help yourself, but using George’s name to justify your actions is sad…A sad and desperate joke, that no one finds funny.”
I was about to hang up when another voice came over the phone.
“It’s not a joke,” the voice said. “You’re the best man for this job.”
George Rott.
“You’re dead,” I said in shock. “You were taken apart by an entropy bomb. I was there. Who is this?”
“It’s me,” George said. “You saw an explosion that took out the Kragzimik, yes. I thought I was dead, too, except I landed several blocks away—barely alive. Somehow, the synthetic entropy bomb altered me.”
“Impossible,” I said, barely above a whisper.
For a few seconds the synapses in my brain forgot how to fire. George had been torn apart with the Kragzimik. I had seen the explosion.
“Improbable,” Rott said. “Not impossible. I’ll explain it when we meet. I need your help, Dead-Eye. Balfour is a major threat.”
“I don’t even know who this Balfour is, much less what kind of threat he poses.”
“He’s a dragon,” Rott said, with barely masked rage. “That should be enough.”
“It’s not,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry about—”
“I’m going to hand the phone to Douglas now,” Rott said, cutting me off. “I expect to see you tonight.”
“I’m retired.”
“Not according to Rott,” Douglas
