“This little debacle has already cost me millions,” Webmistress said. “Possibly billions, as well as the goodwill of important and dangerous clients.”
“That is neither my fault, nor… more importantly… is it my problem,” Rhyme said placidly.
“It is if I choose to take it out on you,” Webmistress said. “Which I can… and will, if you don’t give me a compelling reason not to. Leave the head, alive and in good condition, and I’ll give you and my treacherous ex-right-hand-woman safe passage…”
“You think I give a damn about Janie?” Rhyme said. “At the moment? I’m sure I’ll find an occasion to torment her some more in the future, but I’ve got my eyes on the prize right now: the transuranic meteorite. You’re offering safe passage as though you’d be doing me a favor by ushering me out of your hair, when every passing moment you spend dealing with my presence is more money lost and more goodwill burned… and if you press me too hard, it will all be for nothing. The doctor and I have been hitting it off famously, but make a move against me, or fail to agree to my terms, and I’ll scramble Humpty-Dumpty’s yolk so badly that all the king’s horses and all the king’s clones won’t have a chance of putting him back together again.”
“Drossen, can’t you do something?” Webmistress asked.
The cyborg head laughed.
“The young lady seems to be doing quite well enough on her own,” he said.
“It’s your brain she’s talking about frying!”
“Yes, and I’m quite sure she means it,” Drossen said. “If you have any use for me, I suggest you take her bargain.”
“Oh… very well,” Webmistress said. “But only so that things can start getting back to normal.”
“Good,” Rhyme said. “I’ll give you two weeks to acquire the meteorite. I’ll watch the news… I will contact you for delivery arrangements once you have it. In the event of my incarceration, I expect you to keep it safe for me.”
“Hold on… what exactly are its properties?” Webmistress said.
“That’s the question, dear Webmistress,” Rhyme said. “That’s exactly why I want it.”
“I’m not holding an exotic radioactive lump of space rock in my base for anybody,” Webmistress said. “That never ends well.”
“But it’s not radioactive,” Rhyme said. “Transuranic denotes that it occurs after uranium in the periodic table, though in the case of this meteorite the term is applicable in other ways, too. Most of those elements are unstable and thus subject to radioactive decay, but the Waukegan specimen is part of the fabled Island of Stability.”
“And what’s so special about it, exactly?”
“It has shorter lines than the Island of Adventure,” Rhyme said. “You’re the Webmistress. You don’t care why the villain wants something. You merely get it for them.”
“Don’t presume to tell me my business, Rhyme,” Webmistress said. “If you don’t want to tell me what you want the meteor for, then I can’t imagine I’d enjoy your intended use for it.”
“You needn’t worry,” Rhyme said. “My plans for the meteorite involve only a single target. If you must know, I plan on fashioning it into a bullet.”
“A bullet?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve already devised the gun.”
“And what are you going to do with this single bullet?”
“I’m going to shoot the person most responsible for the death of my father,” Rhyme said. “Other than my mother, who’s already dead. I’m going to shoot Champion.”
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