“How did you…? I mean, I saw you explode.”
“I honestly thought I was dead,” Rott said. “When I regained consciousness, no one knew who I was and then I realized why.”
He pointed to his face.
“The combination of the synthetic entropy bomb, the Kragzimik, and you must have combined to create this transformation,” Monty said. “You were somehow spliced with the energy instead of destroyed by it.”
Rott nodded.
“The Kragzimik unleashed some energy there, right at the end, before I detonated the bomb, and I was caught in the blast. It killed the dragon and I came out like this. It was perfect.”
“How is this perfect?” I asked. “You don’t know what happened to you, to your body. For all you know you could be dy—”
“I know exactly what happened,” Rott interrupted, his voice sharp. “I was born again, given a second chance. Don’t you see? That dragon died, but I lived. This was meant to be. I am meant for a greater purpose. I have a calling. I rose from the ashes and flames of a dragon, like a phoenix.”
I looked deep into Rott’s eyes and realized that this had been more than a physical transformation. The man that he had been was gone, replaced with a zealot. I could guess what this “calling” was, but I needed to hear him say it. I needed to know how far off the cliff into madness he had stepped.
“A calling?” I asked, modulating my voice. “What calling, exactly?”
“Don’t you see?” Rott asked. “I can blend in with them. I’m not as powerful as one of them, but I could infiltrate their enclave and pass for a dragon. Now, I can attack from within. I can make them pay for what they did to Cassandra, and you’re going to help me.”
Rott had stepped into Wile E. Coyote territory. He was so far off the cliff, he didn’t know he was hanging in mid-air. I didn’t want to think about what would happen when he realized the ground was gone.
The crash was going to be spectacularly fatal. I almost felt sorry for him; this entire crusade had been born in grief. The loss of Cassandra had set him off, and the explosion with the Kragzimik had finished the process, destroying his mind.
“Help you?” I asked warily. “How can I help you? You’re the one with the now perfect disguise. Dragons can sniff me out a mile away.”
“You’re right. I can get close, and I have, but none of us can take the shot,” Rott said. “You can. I can get you the ammunition and firing solution you need to make it one and done. One shot, one kill.”
“This Balfour is a dragon. Bullets don’t really work on them. Trust me, I’ve tried—they bounce off.”
“Normal ordnance would, yes,” Douglas said. “But we have something special for Mr. Balfour.”
Douglas put a large round on the map. Black wisps of energy floated off its surface. It reminded me of my entropy rounds, but I had never seen one designed like this—much less a .50 caliber round created for a Barrett M82.
“Where did you get that?” Monty asked, concerned. “Who made this for you?”
“That is a need-to-know situation,” Douglas said. “And you don’t need to know.”
“What is that?” I said looking at the runed round. “It reads like an—”
“That is a runed entropy round, keyed to Balfour’s DNA,” Douglas said, with a sense of satisfaction. “It cost a small fortune to produce and we were only able to make a handful, but you only need one.”
“It’s a dragon killer,” Rott said, his voice soft. “I can finally get some justice for Cassandra.”
“Cassandra’s killer is dead,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Slif is dead. I should know, I was there when she exploded.”
“The dragon that killed my little girl is a symptom,” Rott said. “I’m going to remove the sickness. It starts with Balfour.”
“Where does it end?” I asked. “Are you planning to kill all of the dragons?”
“Yes, except I’m going to let them kill each other,” Rott said. “Balfour will be the catalyst. By the time I’m done, they will be tearing each other apart.”
“What about the collateral damage? You start a civil war, people will die.”
“They deserve to die if they sympathize with dragon scum,” Rott snapped. “There will be the loss of some innocents, but that can’t be helped. This is a war. War is messy. There will be casualties.”
I stared at Rott and then glanced quickly at Monty. He gave me a look that said Don’t even bother, he’s a lost cause, before coughing into his hand.
“How are you going to get close to him?” I asked. “He probably has the best security on the planet.”
“He’s an entitled self-important prick,” Douglas said. “He would never drive his own vehicle. That’s why we’ll be driving it for him.”
“I will be his driver when he picks up his vehicle at his restaurant,” Rott said. “I’ll make sure you have your shot. You just have to make sure you don’t miss—this time.”
TWENTY-ONE
Douglas explained the plan to me.
I had to admit that it was clever, yet not too clever, and simple enough to have few moving parts, which gave it a chance of succeeding. A high chance.
Rott had managed to insert himself into Balfour’s driver pool. I don’t know how he managed it, but tomorrow night Cecil would deliver the Duezy to the TINY. From there, Rott would drive Magnus to an annual enclave meeting, where only the leaders of the enclave would be present.
En route to this meeting, Balfour would have a fatal meeting with one of the special entropy dragon killer rounds. Rott would stage it to make it look like the Obouros Enclave ordered a hit on Balfour and succeeded. It was a classic because it worked, even though a part of me really wanted to ask if we could frame Guilder instead.
I doubted they would get the reference and it would only serve to piss them
