Star Wars: Scoundrels (15 page)

“Three guesses as to which of the eight this is,” Kell murmured.

“You have any idea who stole it?” Bink asked.

“A possible thief was identified,” Winter said. “But we never found out whether he did in fact steal it, and if he did, who he then delivered it to.”

“I assume that the others were shut down when that one went missing?” Lando asked.

Winter nodded. “They were still occasionally used for minor purposes, but all top-level diplomatic encryption was immediately shifted to other methods.”

“Wait a minute,” Tavia said, frowning suddenly. “You said only
one
cryodex was stolen?”

“She’s right,” Zerba said, sitting up a little straighter. “You just said you need two to send a message. What use could anyone have for just one?”

“Maybe he already had access to one of the diplomatic instruments,” Bink suggested doubtfully. “No, that doesn’t work. If he already had one, why bother stealing another? He could just decrypt whatever diplomatic dirt he wanted to read and send the message to whoever else wanted it.”

“I don’t know the motivation behind its disappearance,” Winter said. “The reason we never learned what happened was that the presumed thief died shortly after being arrested.”

Kell shivered. “Lovely.”

“What did you expect?” Dozer muttered. His voice was dark, his brooding eyes locked on the tall glass of ale he’d poured himself the minute they’d arrived back at the suite. As near as Han could remember, those were the first words the man had spoken since they’d all driven away from the Lulina Crown Hotel.

“What do you mean?” Tavia asked.

“I mean of
course
he died in custody,” Dozer growled, glaring at her. “I’m surprised he didn’t die on the way
to
custody. These people are evil, Tavia—pure, unstrained evil. They’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.” He dropped his gaze back to his drink. “Including us.”

“Whoa,” Bink said, peering closely at him. “Is that Dozer the formerly nerveless ship booster I’m hearing?”

Dozer shook his head. “You weren’t there, Bink,” he said. “You didn’t face him. Didn’t hear him. Do you know that I came within a sabacc wheel of giving the whole thing away? And for no reason other than that he asked nicely.”

“You
didn’t
give us away, did you?” Zerba asked anxiously.

“You think we’d all be sitting here if I had?” Dozer bit out. “But I came close. Way too close. And I’ll tell you something else.” His gaze flicked around the room, settling at last on Eanjer. “I’m not sure this is worth it anymore. If they figure out who we are and what we’re up to, we’re dead. We’re just dead.”

“They’re not Jedi, Dozer,” Eanjer said soothingly. “You ran into Falleen pheromones, that’s all. They use them to manipulate you into—” He waved his good hand. “I don’t know. Their best friend, their slave—whatever. The point is that you didn’t break, and now that you know what you’re facing you can fight it.”

“What if I can’t?” Dozer shot back. “Or what if one of the rest of you gets picked up and
you
can’t?”

“We’re still talking a hundred sixty-three million credits,” Bink reminded him. “For that kind of score, I, for one, am perfectly capable of resisting a whole roomful of Falleen.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dozer countered. “Because I’m not.”

Chewbacca rumbled.

“Yeah, let’s not jump off any roofs here,” Han agreed. “Dozer’s right—having a Falleen involved could mean trouble. But Bink’s also right—there’re a lot of credits on the line. Enough for all of us to make brand-new lives for ourselves if we want.”

“It’s like when that perfect hand comes along,” Lando murmured. “You have to see it, recognize it, and bet big.”

Han frowned, wondering if that was some sort of dig at him. But Lando was merely gazing thoughtfully down at the center table.

Anyway, Lando was the least of his worries right now. All of Dozer’s ranting about his newly minted nervousness was starting to seep into the rest of the group. If the man didn’t shut up, he might unravel the whole thing.

And if the group fell apart, so did the job. They would all scatter back to their own lives, and any chance for Han and Chewbacca to get free of Jabba would be gone.

He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not just because a Falleen was involved. Absolutely not because Dozer had taken delivery of a case of cold feet.

“Let’s take a few minutes,” he suggested. “Go wander around the suite, stare out at the city, get a drink, do whatever you want. Think about it, and we’ll meet back here in an hour. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lando said, standing up.

“And if anyone has a contact in law enforcement, you might try calling them,” Rachele suggested as the rest of the group rose from their chairs and couches. “Now that we know we’re dealing with a Falleen, there may be some official information out there as to who and what we’re up against.”

“Good idea,” Han agreed. “You’ll be calling some people, too?”

She gave him a tight smile. “I already have a list.”

Dayja’s plan, once he reached the balcony, had been to attach a probe link to the window, listen to whatever the people inside were saying, and try to figure out who and what they were.

He wasn’t expecting to arrive at his destination just as the party was breaking up.

But breaking up it was. The whole group—nine humans, one Wookiee, and one near-human, probably a Balosar—were on their feet, wandering off in different directions across the conversation room, apparently heading for different corners of the suite.

Dayja muttered a curse as he backed to the side of the balcony, out of view from the windows. The car he’d spotted had been watching Marblewood, all right, and had followed an unidentified convoy from there to the Lulina Crown Hotel. The tracker had then returned here, after which he and most, if not all, of his gang had left and reassembled in the hotel across the park from the Lulina Crown. Some had then left, others had gone around to the front of the hotel, and finally the whole group had returned here to the suite, which Dayja had tentatively identified as their main headquarters.

That was a lot of running around for one day, especially given that it hadn’t produced any results that Dayja had spotted. And if it hadn’t been for that late evening explosion at the Lulina Crown, Dayja might have decided he had better things to do and left the group and their activities for the local police to deal with.

But the explosion had taken that decision off the table. Bombings were typically associated with theft, kidnapping, murder, or serious property damage. But this blast hadn’t been connected with anything on that list. That fact pushed the odds inexorably toward the conclusion that the incident had been a diversion.

But a diversion for what? D’Ashewl was currently sitting in their hotel suite sifting through the police data, but so far he hadn’t spotted any crime that the blast might have been intended to confuse, distract from, or cover up.

Still, Dayja had no doubt that these people were involved. So he’d tracked down their suite, found a currently empty room three floors above them, and rappelled down to their balcony.

Only to find his would-be unsuspecting informants closing down for the night.

He was still trying to decide what to do next when he noticed one of the suite’s occupants, the one with the medsealed hand and half-medsealed face, heading toward the balcony door.

Dayja dropped his hand to his hidden knife, his mind racing. He could run, he could hide, or he could attack.

Or he could do what he’d come here to do.

He waited until the other man had come all the way out onto the balcony and settled down with his elbows on the railing, gazing at the lights of Marblewood across the way. Then, keeping an eye on the window beside him to make sure they weren’t interrupted, Dayja took a couple of steps toward the newcomer. “Good evening,” he said quietly.

For a fraction of a second the man didn’t react, as if his ears were having trouble sending a warning to his brain. Then, like a sudden gust of wind, a shiver ran through the man’s body. He twisted half around toward Dayja, his single good eye going wide. Either the man had the slowest reactions in the galaxy, or else he had so much pain medication in him that he was living in a permanent fog. Given the sheer area of medseal involved, Dayja guessed it was probably the latter.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, his voice tight. “No—stay there.”

“Relax—I’m not going to hurt you,” Dayja soothed, taking another couple of steps forward. “I just want to talk.”

The man’s single eye flicked a glance toward the glass, the prosthetic eye implanted in the medseal glittering hypnotically in the haze of city lights. “About what?”

“You.” Dayja gestured toward the empty conversation room. “Them. Your interest in Avrak Villachor. That sort of thing.” He raised his eyebrows. “You
are
interested in Villachor, aren’t you?”

The man’s tongue flicked briefly across his upper lip. “Are you one of his men?”

“Hardly,” Dayja assured him dryly. “My name is Dayja. What’s yours?”

The man’s eye flicked to the window again. “Eanjer.”

“A local name, I see,” Dayja commented. “Interesting. How about your friends? Most of them are from out of town, aren’t they?”

Eanjer frowned, his eye darting around the balcony as if he’d suddenly remembered where they were standing. “Where did you come from?” he asked. “How did you get up here?”

“Oh, let’s not talk about me,” Dayja chided. “Let’s talk about you and your friends. What are you all doing in Iltarr City?”

Eanjer’s face hardened. “Looking for justice.”

“That’s good,” Dayja said encouragingly. “That’s very good. You see, I’m also a seeker of justice.” He focused on the pupil of Eanjer’s remaining eye, knowing that the first and most honest response would come there. “I’m with Imperial Intelligence.”

Again Eanjer’s eye widened. This time, Dayja was close enough to see the pupil widen along with it.

Widen, but then quickly return to its former size. The revelation had startled the man, but he’d recovered quickly. “Can you prove it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dayja said, throwing a look of his own through the glass. Sooner or later, one of the others was bound to wander back in. It wouldn’t do for him and Eanjer to be standing here chatting when that happened. “Tell me, are you confined to this suite? Or can you come and go as you like?”

Eanjer snorted under his breath. “The latter, of course,” he said. “Did you think I was a prisoner?”

Dayja shrugged noncommittally. “Do you play pool?”

Once again Eanjer’s single pupil widened briefly before returning to normal. “Yes. Why?”

“There’s a table in the library downstairs: second floor, just off the tapcaf,” Dayja told him. “It’ll be a nice, private place to talk.”

“I’m sure it will,” Eanjer said, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I just want to talk,” Dayja assured him. “Maybe compare notes a little. I have the feeling you have information I could use.” He smiled slyly. “I
know
I have information
you
can use.”

Eanjer took a deep breath and straightened to a decision. “All right,” he said. “I’ve got an hour before we’re supposed to reconvene.”

“Good,” Dayja said, backing toward the end of the balcony and the ghost burglar harness waiting for him there. “I’ll meet you in five minutes. If you get there before I do, rack up the balls and choose yourself a cue.”

Over the years, Dayja had spent a fair amount of time in pool and five-pocket rooms like the one off the hotel tapcaf. But given the fact that most of those visits had been to gain information or do surveillance on a suspect instead of actually trying to master the game, he’d never gotten especially good at it.

Still, against a man with a medsealed and possibly alien prosthetic arm, he figured he had a pretty fair chance.

To his mild surprise, he didn’t. Not even with Eanjer playing left-handed and having to balance the end of the cue awkwardly across his bandaged wrist.

But that was okay. In fact, it was more than okay. Dayja had long since learned that competitive sportsmen talked more freely when they were winning.

And Eanjer’s talk was well worth listening to.

“A hundred sixty-three million, eh?” Dayja commented as he watched Eanjer set up for another shot. “That’s an awful lot of credits. And you said it was going to be split eleven ways?”

“I said it was going to be split evenly,” Eanjer corrected. He tapped the cue gently against the chaser, and Dayja watched as the white ball bounced into the stripe-three and sent it dropping neatly into the corner pocket. “I never said there were eleven of us.”

“My mistake,” Dayja said. “Still, it seems to me that you should get more than just a single share, given that they were your credit tabs to begin with.”

Eanjer shrugged. “A hundred percent of nothing is nothing,” he said as he walked around the end of the table. He lined up the cue against the chaser, aiming for the stripe-six this time. He drew the cue back to shoot, but before he could do so there was a flicker and the stripe-six abruptly went black. Simultaneously, at the other end of the table, the blackball flickered and became the stripe-six.

Eanjer swore beneath his breath. “Too bad,” Dayja commiserated. “But it could have been worse. I’ve seen the blackball turn just as the shooter was about to hit the chaser, with no way he could stop in time. At that point, all the shooter can do is curse as he follows through and watches his own shot lose him the game.”

“And then listen to the cackling of his opponent, I suppose,” Eanjer said, giving Dayja a baleful look as he repositioned his shot. “Let’s slice to the end, shall we? Are you looking to make the deal a twelve-way split?”

“Not at all,” Dayja assured him. “I’m not interested in Villachor and his ill-gotten credits. All I’m interested in is his visitor … and his visitor’s own little treasure.”

“And what exactly might this mysterious treasure be?”

Dayja pursed his lips. This would be risky, but not as risky as taking on Villachor and Qazadi all by himself. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “I’ll tell you all about the prize, and lend you any quiet support I can, provided you bring it to me once you’ve raided Villachor’s vault. In return, you’ll promise not to tell the others where you got the information, and you’ll keep me informed of your progress.”