Star Wars: Scoundrels (31 page)

“So we just make sure they’re all too busy to respond?” Lando asked, looking at Han. “Is that the plan?”

“Mostly,” Han said. “Is that everything, Rachele?”

“Yes,” Rachele said. “Oh, except that the room directly above the vault is the guard ready room, where Villachor’s security people hang out when they’re not on duty.”

“Luckily, most of them
will
be on duty during the Honorings,” Han pointed out. “Thanks, Rachele. At least now we know what we’re up against.”

“Yeah,
I’m
sure going to sleep better tonight,” Dozer growled.

“Glad to hear it,” Han said in that innocent, not-quite-sarcastic tone he did so well. “That’s it for tonight. Better get some sleep—tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

Standing up, he walked over and sat down beside Rachele, murmuring to her and gesturing at the holo. The others, taking the cue, got up and filed out.

Lando waited until everyone else was gone. “A word?” he asked.

“Sure,” Han said, turning away from his quiet conversation.

“You want me to leave?” Rachele asked.

“No, I’d appreciate your input,” Lando said. “Bink said earlier that you or Dozer was going to have to take my place.”

“Yeah, she did,” Han agreed. “You want to put in your vote?”

Lando nodded. “I vote for me.”

Rachele blinked. Han’s face went into unreadable sabacc mode. “You just got grabbed,” he reminded Lando.

“
And
got sprung,” Lando countered. “I’m with an organization who doesn’t think twice about luring senior Black Sun officials away, remember? A failed kidnapping shouldn’t even throw me off my stride.”

Han turned to Rachele. “What do you think?”

“He has a point,” she said reluctantly. “Especially if Bink’s right about Villachor himself not being involved. Whoever was behind the grab will still have to work around Marblewood security,
and
they’ll now have to work around Lando’s group as well. And since they don’t know the size or extent of his team, they’ll need to tread carefully.”

“But you’ll certainly need more security.” Eanjer’s voice came from the hall.

Lando turned, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Hadn’t it been clear that he’d stayed behind because he wanted to talk to Han alone?

Apparently it hadn’t. At least not to Eanjer.

“Something we can do for you?” Han asked, way more politely than Lando would have.

“I was thinking about security for whoever goes back into Marblewood,” Eanjer said, coming the rest of the way into the room. He looked like he was planning to sit down, but he glanced at Lando’s expression and apparently thought better of it. “It occurred to me that the weapons cache Winter found for you might also have some smaller blasters we could borrow.”

“We don’t need any more blasters,” Han assured him. “Whoever goes in will just take Chewie with him.”

Eanjer’s single eye widened.
“Chewie?”

“Sure, why not?” Han said. “There were plenty of Wookiees there the other two days.”

“Wookiees
are
in high demand as bodyguards for the Iltarr City elite,” Rachele confirmed.

“Yes, but—” Eanjer clamped his lips tightly shut. “Look. I know you have to play confident in front of”—his eye flicked to Lando—“everyone else. But this is insane. You can’t possibly believe that we can quietly break into something like that.” He nodded at the holo floating overhead.

“You got a better idea?” Han asked.

“A direct, frontal assault,” Eanjer said bluntly. “We bring in more of your friends, hit the place while security’s busy with the Honorings—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Lando interrupted. He’d never really liked Eanjer, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on exactly why. Now he knew. The man was an idiot. “Who do you think we are, the Five-oh-first? An attack on Marblewood would be instant suicide.”

“Of course it would be risky,” Eanjer countered. “But remember the payoff at the end. You can hire a lot of mercenaries for a hundred sixty-three million credits.”

“Credits on hand, yes,” Lando countered. “Credits promised isn’t so good a draw.”

“I know,” Eanjer said. He huffed out his breath. “But I don’t see any other way to get in.”

“Me neither,” Han said. “Lucky for us, we don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” Rachele asked.

“I mean we don’t have to get in,” Han repeated patiently. “All we need is for Villachor to bring everything
out
.”

“What?”
Eanjer demanded, his eye narrowing. “Oh, come on. Villachor’s not going to just bring the credits and files out and hand them to you.”

“I didn’t say he was,” Han said. “But if he thinks the vault’s under threat, he’d have a good reason to move everything to a safer location. That’s when we take it away from him.”

“No,” Eanjer insisted. “We can’t do it that way.”

“Why not?”

Eanjer’s eye flicked to Lando. “Because it won’t work,” he said, speaking as if trying to explain something to a five-year-old. “He might—
might
—move the blackmail files if you worry him enough. But he’s not likely to bother moving the credits.”

“Well, then we just get the files,” Han said. “I thought we decided they’re more valuable on the open market than a few credit tabs anyway.”

“Not without a cryodex they aren’t,” Eanjer insisted. “No, if we’re going to pull this off, we have to actually get in there. We
have
to.”

“Fine. Opinion noted.” Han looked at Rachele and Lando. “Anyone else have thoughts they want to add to the pot?”

Something in his tone warned Lando that the proper answer was no. “Maybe later,” he said. “I’m thinking I’ll grab a quick snack—assuming Dozer’s left anything for the rest of us—and get to bed.”

“Me too,” Rachele said, tapping her datapad and shutting off the holoprojector. “Except for the snack part. Good night, all.”

Lando half expected Eanjer to follow him into the kitchen and try to argue some more against Han’s new plan. Luckily for Eanjer, he didn’t.

Lando and Eanjer disappeared down the hallway. Han waited a couple more seconds, just to be sure, then turned back to Rachele. “Can we be ready in two days?”

“Not a chance,” she said. “Zerba’s still working on the silk tear-away outfits, and Tavia and the others only have about half the scramblers they’ll need.”

“And there’s still no way to test them?”

“Not unless you want to try one out during the Honoring of Moving Water the day after tomorrow.”

Han shook his head. “Too risky. What we get to see, they get to see.”

“Yes.” Rachele studied his face. “It’s starting to come apart, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Han admitted. “Maybe a little. I never bought into this whole Qazadi story that Eanjer’s buddy pitched, at least not the part about him being one of Xizor’s top people. But if he’s really the guy in charge now, he might bring down the hammer faster than we thought.”

“But it might also force Villachor’s hand,” Rachele pointed out. “I realize that this whole side-switching offer was just so we could get Tavia’s data card into the vault, but if we can genuinely talk him into defecting, we might get the credits and files with a whole lot less work.”

“Not a chance,” Han said firmly. “Not now that one of the Falleen has stepped in. Whoever it is, he’s pretty well showed that he can commandeer Black Sun’s assets on Wukkar. If he even suspects that Villachor’s thinking about jumping ship, that’s it for Villachor. He has to know that.”

“I suppose,” Rachele said, still eyeing him closely. “Which also means there’s no way you can talk him into transferring the files elsewhere, because that move would look exactly the same as him absconding with them.”

“Nope, no chance of that, either,” Han agreed.

“So why did you tell Eanjer that was the new plan?”

“Mostly to see his reaction,” Han said, standing up. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t let Tavia sleep in—we’ve only got four days until the fire honoring, and we’re going to need all the scramblers we can get.”

“I’ll make sure she and the others are up with the sun,” Rachele promised. “What are you going to do about Villachor? He’s expecting to meet Lando’s boss at the Honoring of Moving Water the day after tomorrow.”

“I guess I’ll have to stall him,” Han said. “We can work that out tomorrow.” He headed toward the hallway and his room.

“So did you?” Rachele asked.

“Did I what?”

“Did you find out whatever it is you were looking for with Eanjer?”

Han grimaced. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “Turn out the lights on your way to bed, okay?”

T
he work of gearing up for the Honoring of Moving Water had been going on all day, and from the occasional glimpses Dozer had caught through the suite windows it looked like it was going to be as spectacular as the previous two Honorings had been.

But that was for tomorrow. Right now, for the next few minutes, the only thing on Dozer’s mind was the Marblewood security guard getting tiredly out of his landspeeder in front of his home in a middle-class part of the city.

Han had assured him the man wouldn’t simply shoot him down on the spot. That wasn’t the way even Black Sun dealt with people doing odd but nonthreatening things. Han had promised that the man would simply listen, take the package, and let Dozer walk away.

Han was always persuasive. But he wasn’t always right.

Especially given that they knew nothing about the guard except that he worked the early morning shift at Marblewood. They didn’t know his name, his history, or anything else. They hadn’t even known his address until Dozer followed him home.

Fortunately, with Rachele and her computer available to backtrack the address, they now also knew his name was Frewin Bromly.

He was working on getting a satchel out of the backseat, his bright blond hair shaded by the airspeeder’s roof. Dozer walked up behind him and cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

Bromly was every bit as good as one would expect from a man who worked for Villachor. He dropped the satchel back onto the seat and spun around in a smooth, fluid turn that left him facing Dozer with his hand in easy grabbing distance of his holstered blaster. A single, equally fluid glance took in Dozer and the entire area around him. “Yes?” he asked, his tone perfectly neutral.

“Quickline Courier Service,” Dozer said, tapping his nameplate. “Got a package for Frewin Bromly. That you?”

“Yes,” Bromly said, his eyes narrowing. “I haven’t ordered anything.”

“All I know is that I was hired to bring this to you,” Dozer said, lifting his security case and popping the lid. “Here we go.” He pulled out a small wrapped package and held it out.

Bromly made no move to take it. “What is it?”

“How should I know?” Dozer countered. He held out the package another second, then squatted down and set it on the driveway. “Fine. You don’t want it, just leave it there. I’ve got a schedule to keep. Have a peaceful evening.”

He straightened up, gave Bromly a polite nod, then turned and started back down the driveway toward his landspeeder.

“Hey!”

Dozer stopped, his throat tight. “Yes?”

“I don’t want it,” Bromly called. “Come back and get it.”

“Can’t do that,” Dozer said. “You don’t want it, give it away or feed it to the fish. Whatever you want.”

He started walking again, his entire back a mass of tense muscles. Sooner or later, probably before Dozer was out of sight, Bromly’s curiosity would get the better of him and he would open the package.

And while five hundred credits didn’t qualify as a windfall, it should be more than enough to grab some serious attention. Both from Bromly and, eventually, from Sheqoa and Villachor.

He half expected Bromly to chase him back to his landspeeder. But again, the man had been well trained. Either Dozer was an innocent courier, in which case confronting him wouldn’t gain him anything, or else he was part of a serious bribery team, and anyone who so blatantly tried such a thing on a Black Sun guard surely would be smart enough to have arrived with backup.

No, Bromly’s best move right now would be to take the package inside and immediately call in the incident to his superiors at Marblewood.

Or he could just pocket the credits. But that really would be too much to hope for.

Still, Dozer had two other guards on his list to follow home as their shifts ended. Maybe one of them would be gracious enough to accept the bribe.

Hopefully, none of them would be discourteous enough to shoot him in the back.

Sheqoa had never liked the Festival of Four Honorings. Even as a kid he’d found the spectacle too long, the venues too crowded, the food too weird, and the shows alternating between bombastic and boring. As an adult, he’d learned to enjoy some of the food and, even more, some of the drinks. Still, he’d continued to find the shows long and predictable.

As head of Marblewood security, he’d learned to utterly hate the event.

He understood why Villachor liked to host one of the celebrations. It raised his status among Wukkar’s upper echelons, which in turn brought more unsuspecting flies within range of Black Sun’s webs. The Festival also provided perfect cover for clandestine meetings with those flies who were already trapped, as well as giving anonymity to potential new contacts with arms dealers, smugglers, and spice merchants. If the price for all those meetings had been merely the cost to feed and entertain a sizeable fraction of Iltarr City’s population, he would have considered it credits well spent.