Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(15)

Arms overflowing, Kristoff lunged forward and spilled documents onto his desk. “I’ve got it—the link we were looking for between Lorelle and weapons development. Here are hard copies of everything. Transcontinental Power and Light’s 10-K filing with the SEC, last year’s proxy statement and annual report and its quarterly corporate-earnings conference calls. I’ve marked the relevant pages and typed up a report.”

Formed in the latter part of the nineteenth century, Transcontinental Power and Light, Inc., was one of the nation’s largest investor-owned utility companies. The Dark Fae King was the largest individual shareholder.

Dragos picked up the 10-K filing and began to flip through it. The U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission document was thick, some 450 pages in length and dense with statistics, tables and graphs.

Urien Lorelle and he shared so many differences of opinion. Lorelle’s utility company was partial to mountaintop-removal mining. Dragos preferred mountaintops to stay where he could see them. Urien’s fleet of aging coal-burning power plants emitted over one hundred million tons of carbon dioxide annually. Dragos preferred to breathe clean air when he flew. Urien wanted to see him dead. Dragos preferred to see Urien not just dead but utterly destroyed.

“It’s because you prefer to live in an Other land. You don’t care how much you pollute this side of things, you anachronistic bastard,” he muttered. He said to Kristoff, “Summarize.”

His assistant said, “Transcontinental has set up a partnership called RYVN, the acronym—well, it doesn’t matter. RYVN has applied for a Department of Energy grant to clean up an old Energy Department site in the Midwest that produced nuclear fuel and defense applications back in the fifties. RYVN says they want to explore building a new electricity-generated nuclear plant on the site, along with new contracts with the Defense Department.”

His eyes flashed lava hot. He hissed, “Defense applications.”

Kristoff nodded, dark eyes bright. “Weaponry.”

The financial documents he held smelled like printer ink and paper, but Dragos scented the blood of an imminent kill.

“Get a hold of our DOE contact,” Dragos said. “Make sure he knows to reject RYVN’s grant application and why. After you’ve done that, I want you to destroy the RYVN partnership. When that’s gone, go after the individual partners and dismantle them one by one. Head the project yourself.”

“Right,” said Kristoff.

“No mercy, Kris. When we’re done, no one will dare partner with Urien on something like this again.”

Kristoff asked, “Project budget?”

“Unlimited.” The Wyr-bear turned to go, and he added, “And Kris? Make sure they know who shut them down. Especially Urien.”

“You got it.” Kristoff gave him a grin.

So many differences of opinion between him and the Dark Fae King. So much hate, so little time.

Just then Rune appeared in the doorway wearing torn jeans, combat boots and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. The gryphon’s tawny hair was windblown. He carried two drinks in a cardboard box drink holder, a plastic bag and a bulging manila folder under one arm. He dumped out the contents of the bag. Packets of Twizzlers tumbled across the desk.

Dragos tore open one packet. Rune shoved straws into the drinks, gave him one and kept the other.

“I’ve got the footage,” said Rune, gesturing to the folder under his arm. “Do you know what we’re looking for?”

“Make prints of anyone who buys Twizzlers and cherry Coke Slurpees and bring them to me. Just those two things, nothing else. It will be a female, although she may be in disguise.” Dragos bit into a red rope of candy. He stared in disgust at the remaining half in his hand and threw it in the trash can. Then he picked up the drink and sucked on the straw with caution.

Rune burst into laughter at his expression. “I said you wouldn’t like it.”

“So you did.” He slam-dunked the Slurpee. “Apparently you will be watching the tapes for someone with no taste.”

“This shouldn’t take long. Thank the Powers for fast-forward,” Rune said. He swiped up a few of the Twizzlers packets, winking at Dragos. “Since you don’t like them,” he said, and left.

Dragos went back to work, but his concentration had splintered for other matters. He kept three wide-screens on the opposite wall on different news channels. His other three assistants came and went. The ticker tape headlines of one channel caught his attention and he turned the volume up. The preliminary cost estimate for the property damage he caused that afternoon was already in the tens of millions.

The news crew conducted interviews of pedestrians. One woman said tearfully, “Forget about property damage. I heard that sound earlier today and I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life. I want to know if Cuelebre is going to pay for that!”

He pushed the mute button. It was turning out to be one expensive damn penny.

Outside the wall-sized windows, early evening fell into full night. Then Rune came loping back into his office, paper in his hands.

“I’ve got it, got her,” his First exclaimed. “Lots of people bought lots of crap, but only one woman bought only Twizzlers and a Slurpee. What are the odds?”

Dragos leaned back in his chair. He felt a pulse of dark anticipation as Rune handed him the paper. He shuffled through all of the photos. They were of a fixed scene of the 7-Eleven’s registers and the glass front doors. Rune threw his large frame into a chair and watched as, with an impatient shove, Dragos wiped clear the large expanse of his desk and began to lay the photos out one by one.