Star Wars: Scoundrels (52 page)

“As long as your door doesn’t end up at the bottom,” Han said as he helped them out of the tunnel onto the ground.

“Not a chance,” Zerba assured him. “The cabinet was off-center, and Hijarna stone is a lot denser than duracrete. Same principle as loaded chance cubes.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Han said. A stutter of muffled explosions came from the direction of the mansion, and he turned to see a multipassenger speeder truck zoom through the gap the safe had made in the spike-ring fence and head across the grounds toward them.

Behind it, a barrage of fireworks was pelting the mansion walls.

“Nice,” Zerba said approvingly. “No chance they’ll burn the place down, I suppose.”

“Probably not,” Han said. “But it ought to keep what’s left of security inside, where they won’t bother us.”

“Unless that’s some of them now,” Kell warned, pointing a still unsteady finger toward the incoming vehicle.

“That’s just Chewie,” Han assured him.

“You sure?” Kell asked.

Han nodded. “I know his flying style.”

Just the same, it wouldn’t hurt to check. Keying in his suit’s telescopics, he zoomed in on the speeder truck. It was Chewbacca, all right, with Lando and the twins riding behind him.

There was no sign of Eanjer.

Frowning, he keyed for more enhancement, in case he’d missed Eanjer sitting in the shadows in one of the rear seats. But the man wasn’t there. Frowning a little harder, Han shifted his attention to the grounds behind the speeder truck, then to the mansion. Still no sign of Eanjer.

He was checking the mansion’s windows to see if the other might be trapped inside when something above the windows caught his eye.

There was a man sitting on the roof.

Han bumped his telescopics up a bit. Not only was the man sitting calmly up there, but he had a set of electrobinoculars pressed to his eyes. Some kind of observer?

But those weren’t ordinary electrobinoculars, Han realized as he focused on them. They were small and compact, the kind a person could stick in a side pocket without them even being noticed. The expensive kind that a senior Imperial officer might use.

A senior officer, or an Imperial agent.

Casually, Han looked away. Dozer had speculated earlier that Eanjer’s contact might be an Imperial. It looked like he’d been right. “You get everything?” he asked Zerba, pulling off his helmet and popping the catches on his torso armor.

“Right here,” Zerba confirmed, patting the hip pouch around his waist. “Blackmail files, a few other assorted data cards, and all of Eanjer’s credit tabs.”

“Good,” Han said, dropping the arm and torso armor onto the ground. “Let me have it. Kell, give me a hand getting out of this thing, will you?”

In the reflected light he saw Zerba frown. But the other merely unfastened the pouch and handed it over.

The armor was off and Han was rummaging through the pouch when the speeder truck braked to a halt beside them. The door popped open and Chewbacca growled.

“Yeah, almost,” Han said. “Where’s Eanjer?”

“He stayed behind to turn a few more of the fireworks launchers toward the mansion,” Lando said, climbing out the other side and striding over to Han. “He said he’d get to the rendezvous on his own.” He held out his hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my share now.”

Han winced. He’d guessed that Lando would pull this stunt. “How about we wait until we’re all at the rendezvous?” he suggested.

“How about you give it to me now?” Lando countered. “Then I can skip the rendezvous and get on with life.”

“What’s he talking about?” Zerba asked.

“He wants to trade his share of the credits for the blackmail files,” Han said.

“Can he
do
that?” Kell asked, frowning.

“Yes, he can,” Lando said firmly. “We’ve already agreed. And no offense, Han, but you’ve got a bad habit of losing the take to other people. So let’s have it.”

There was no way around it. “Fine,” Han said with a sigh. Pulling out the blackmail file box, he handed it over.

“Thanks,” Lando said, sliding it inside his police tunic. “Now, if you’ll kindly drop me at my airspeeder, I’ll be on my way. The rest of you, it’s been fun.”

A moment later they were inside the speeder truck and Chewbacca was heading toward one of the exits. There were probably still security guards on duty, but Han wasn’t expecting them to make trouble. Not with one of Villachor’s own vehicles.

He was more worried about Lando, and what Lando would say.

And what Lando might do.

“About one point seven-five meters, dark hair, dark skin, number-three-type mustache,” Dayja said hurriedly into his comlink as the airspeeder drove through the gate and out into the bustling city traffic. “He’s got the blackmail files, and if he has any sense, he’ll be taking them off Wukkar as soon as he hits the spaceport.”

“I don’t suppose you have a name,” d’Ashewl said. “There are a lot of ships on the ground right now.”

“I don’t know any names except Eanjer’s,” Dayja said. “But I think we can narrow it down. His ship will probably be something small and one-man—I got the feeling that he showed up a little later than the others and alone. From his grooming style, he’s probably the sort who loves the better things in life but can’t quite afford them, so look for a ship that was once high on the snob list but currently looks a little threadbare. Arrival time will be nine days ago, with probably a twelve-hour window on either side.”

“Got it,” d’Ashewl said. “What’s he wearing?”

“This’ll kill you,” Dayja said, ducking back as one of the fireworks pelting the mansion splashed fire up onto the roof nearby. “He’s in an Iltarr City police uniform. But I doubt he’ll try to get through the spaceport that way.”

“I would hope not,” d’Ashewl agreed. “Anything else?”

“He’ll be in a hurry,” Dayja said. “In fact …” He paused, running the numbers through his head. Taking the stolen speeder truck to where a proper escape vehicle was undoubtedly parked, transferring to that other vehicle, driving to the spaceport, getting to his docking bay, firing up his engines … “He should be calling for a lift slot in either thirty-two or fifty-five minutes, depending on whether he comes in with an airspeeder or a landspeeder.”

“Okay,” d’Ashewl said. If he was surprised or skeptical at Dayja’s estimates, he kept it to himself. “You want him picked up on the ground?”

“Better not,” Dayja said. “I don’t know what shape Villachor and his organization are in right now, but we can’t risk one of his people at the spaceport getting in on this before we have him secured. Have the
Dominator
grab him after he passes orbit.”

“I’ll call Captain Worhven right away,” d’Ashewl said. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to be handed yet another unexplained task.”

“Part of his job,” Dayja said. “Anything new on Aziel?”

“Unfortunately, we had to let him go,” d’Ashewl said. “Prince Xizor was kind enough to provide him with diplomatic credentials. But there was just enough evidence that the cryodex was originally stolen that I was able to hold on to it as evidence.”

“Perfect,” Dayja said. “If we can grab the blackmail files, we’ll have the lock
and
the key. The Director will be pleased.”

“Never mind the Director,” d’Ashewl said with a grunt. “Lord Vader will be pleased.
He’s
the Empire’s future.”

“Maybe,” Dayja said cautiously. The last thing he wanted right now was to get embroiled in yet another political discussion. “Get a tap into the spaceport tower feed and put the
Dominator
on alert. I’ll be there as soon as I can grab an airspeeder from Villachor’s garage.”

“I assume you’ll want to be in on the interrogation yourself?”

Dayja smiled tightly. “You just pick him up,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Eanjer had expected to come though the job alive. He hadn’t been nearly so sure about the rest of the team.

He was also more than a little surprised that the scheme had actually worked.

The docking bay was quiet as he slipped through the door. He’d worried that Han and Chewbacca might get here ahead of him, despite the fact they had to drop the others off at the vehicle switch point. But the
Falcon
was sitting silently in the backwash glow from the nearby city, its lights and systems dark and cold.

Briefly he wondered what the others would think when both he and Han failed to show up at the rendezvous. They’d probably conclude that the two of them had cooked this whole thing up between them, with no intention of ever sharing the millions in those credit tabs with anyone else. They would be furious, vow revenge, and do all the other things people did in those situations.

And they would talk. They would certainly talk. With luck, whatever was left of Han’s blotchy reputation would never recover.

Not that Han would be needing that reputation. Not anymore.

He found a spot where he could sit comfortably and watch the entire section of open ground between the docking bay entrance and the
Falcon
’s ramp. Resting his hold-out blaster in his lap, he settled in to wait.

The last of the others had been dropped off, Han had ditched the borrowed speeder truck, and he and Chewbacca were finally ready to hit the spaceport themselves.

Chewbacca rumbled. “I know, I know,” Han said irritably. Chewbacca had been giving him the same disapproving look for the past hour. “It’ll be all right. Trust me.”

Chewbacca rumbled a final comment and then went silent.

Han sighed. He was right, of course. Lando was going to be furious. Or worse.

But there’d been nothing else he could do. Not with that Imperial on the roof watching the whole thing. “He’ll get over it,” he told Chewbacca firmly. “They’re not going to do anything to him. Not without any evidence.”

Chewbacca growled the obvious.

“Sure, except that he’s not just going to leave the box sitting out in the open,” Han explained patiently. “Look, it’ll be okay. Lando and me go back a long way. He’ll get over it.”

Chewbacca didn’t answer.

There were two approaches when dealing with a sudden and overwhelming Imperial presence, Lando thought distantly. One was to continue along in calm and perfect innocence, an ordinary citizen of the Empire with nothing to hide. The other was to throw power to the sublight engines and make a run for it.

In retrospect, he should have made a run for it.

“I don’t understand any of this,” he insisted to the two hard-faced Fleet troopers standing between him and the door of his ship’s lounge. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done. Can you at least tell me what the charge is?”

The troopers didn’t answer. But then, aside from ordering him to open his hatch after he’d been tractored into the Star Destroyer’s hangar bay, and then further ordering him into the lounge, neither of his guards had said a word.

With a sigh, Lando gave up this latest effort at communication. Clearly, they were all waiting for someone, and nothing was going to happen until that someone arrived.

It was going to be a long, long night.

Across the docking bay, the door latch clicked open. Eanjer raised his blaster, sighting along it with his good eye.

And lowered it again as a cleaning droid shuffled into the bay, its four arms scrubbing industriously at the walls and floor.

He checked his watch, frowning. Han was late.

The lounge door opened, and to Lando’s surprise a masked, hooded, and cloaked figure stepped into the room. “Good evening,” he said, stopping between the two troopers. “I apologize for the delay. I trust you’ve been comfortable?”

“Quite,” Lando said, feeling his heart sink. No uniform, no badge, his face shrouded, and walking freely around a Star Destroyer. Some kind of special agent, then—Intelligence, Ubiqtorate, maybe even Imperial Security Bureau.

“Good.” The man gestured to the troopers. “Wait outside.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them said. Together they left the room.

The man waited until the door had closed behind them. Then he pushed back his hood and cloak and pulled off his mask. “So much for that,” he said briskly as he rubbed his forehead. “Sorry about the theatrics, but for reasons I won’t go into I can’t show my face aboard this ship.”

“I understand,” Lando said, his heart sinking even further. The man facing him was young. Far younger than he’d expected. Terrifyingly young.

Because the young were always ambitious. And in the murky universe where these people operated, there was only one way for young agents to climb up the ladder: by bringing in trophies to present to their superiors.

Enemies of the Empire. Real ones, or merely plausible ones.

This just got worse and worse.

“Now, then,” the young man said, dropping his mask on the side table and settling into the chair facing Lando. “Let’s start with introductions. I’m Dayja, and you’re—well, let’s just call you Lando, shall we?”

“Whatever you want,” Lando said, stifling a grimace. So much for the carefully constructed false identity and ship’s ID he’d flown in under.

“Good,” Dayja said. “Well. It’s late, we’ve both had a very busy day, and I’m sure you’re at least as tired as I am. So what do you say we make this quick and easy, and you just give me the box.”