Star Wars: Scoundrels (8 page)

And striding in past her as if he owned the place came Lando Calrissian.

“Hello, everyone,” he said, smiling that easy smile of his as he looked around the room. His gaze flicked to Han, turned quickly away. “So what is this job, exactly?”

It took Han a second to find his voice. “Rachele, can I see you a minute?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay casual.

A slight frown creased her forehead, but she nodded and headed toward an alcove off to the side that had been set up as a study. Han followed, listening with half an ear as Lando and the others began renewing acquaintances or making introductions as needed.

Rachele stopped just inside the study and turned around. “Yes?”

“What’s he doing here?” Han demanded in a low voice.

Rachele’s frown deepened. “You told me to invite him.”

Han stared at her. “When?”

“I got a message three days ago,” she said, her voice suddenly gone mechanical as she belatedly caught on. “Right after you messaged that you’d picked up Bink and Tavia.” Her face screwed up in a wince. “You didn’t send it, did you?”

Han sighed. Chewbacca. Or maybe Bink—she’d always had a thing for Lando. Maybe even Mazzic, figuring that loaning them Winter and Kell gave him the right to help with the rest of the guest list. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Did I happen to mention that he hates me?”

“I don’t think he does,” Rachele said. “Not really. He told me he’d been thinking it over, that maybe what happened wasn’t completely your fault.”

“Completely?”
Han retorted, feeling anger stirring inside him. Not a single microgram of either of those fiascos had been his fault. “Nice. Good thing we don’t need him. You brought him, so you can go back in there and tell him—”

“He needs the credits,” Rachele said quickly.

Han snorted. “Lando
always
needs credits.”

“I’m serious,” Rachele said. “I think this time he’s genuinely desperate.”

Desperate enough even to work with a man he hated? Han turned and looked back at the group, still in the midst of friendly chitchat. If Lando was desperate, it sure didn’t show in his face.

But then, it never did. If there was one thing Lando was good at, it was hiding whatever dark secrets were churning around inside him. Which was what made him such a good—and annoying—gambler and con man.

And, he admitted reluctantly, why he would be such a good front man for this job. Far better than Dozer.

“You can take his payoff out of my share,” Rachele offered. “Like you said, he’s here because of me.”

For a moment Han was tempted. But it really wasn’t Rachele’s fault.

Besides, if this worked, there would be plenty to go around. “No,” he told her. “Whatever we get, we split it equally. That was the deal.” He took a deep breath. “You were starting to say something about Villachor’s mansion?”

“Yes,” Rachele said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. That had been a very awkward position for her to be in. “He’s been having visitors—”

“Don’t tell me,” Han interrupted, putting his hand on her back and guiding her gently back toward the conversation room. “Tell everyone.”

It took a minute to close down the conversations and get everyone seated, and two minutes more to collect Bink, Tavia, and Eanjer from the other ends of the suite. “As I started to say earlier,” Rachele said when everyone was finally assembled, “Winter, Kell, and I have been watching the traffic in and out of Villachor’s grounds, and we’ve spotted an interesting pattern. First, a group of three heavy landspeeders goes in through the western gate and they all park by the south wing’s private entrance. One person gets out of one of the vehicles—which vehicle it is seems to be random—and goes inside.”

“Could you tell who he is?” Dozer asked.

“Who, or what?” Bink added.

“He was humanoid, but that’s all we could get,” Kell said. “The entrance’s awning was always deployed, and the landspeeder drove right up beneath it. All we could get from this angle were shadows, and they weren’t clear enough for anything beyond basic shape.”

“Can we use a punch sensor?” Tavia suggested. “If the awning’s thin enough, that might get you a better view.”

“Punch sensors are traceable,” Dozer said. “We don’t want Villachor backtracking us here.”

“We’re far enough away, and in the middle of a group of high-rise buildings,” Tavia pointed out. “As long as you keep the punch short, odds are slim that he could find us.”

“It doesn’t matter, because punch sensors won’t work,” Winter said. “Marblewood has an umbrella shield that extends all the way down to just above the outer wall. If turbolasers can’t get through, punch sensors certainly won’t.”

Dozer waved a hand. “Of course they won’t,” he said apologetically. “Sorry—I should have figured he’d have something like that in place.” He nodded to Rachele. “Please, continue.”

“Ten to thirty minutes after those landspeeders arrive, another landspeeder comes in, a different one each time,” Rachele said. “A single person gets out and goes in through the main entrance.
Those
visitors we’ve gotten clear looks at, and so far they’ve always been important officials connected to either the government, industry, or financials. About an hour later that visitor comes out and drives away. Ten to fifteen minutes later, the passenger from the other landspeeder comes out through the private entrance, and the convoy also leaves.”

“It’s been happening three to four times a day,” Kell added. “There’s usually an early morning visit, then one around midday, one in the evening, and one day there was also one just before midnight.”

“The interesting point is that they’re the same three landspeeders each time,” Winter said. “The ID tags are different, but the landspeeders are the same.”

“As are the passengers, we assume,” Rachele said.

“How do you know they’re the same landspeeders?” Zerba asked.

“They have the same small scratches, dents, and other marks,” Winter said.

“You’re sure?” Dozer asked.

“Very sure,” Winter said. “Rachele has good electrobinoculars, and those details come through very clearly.”

“Sounds like Villachor’s playing host to some kind of ongoing meetings,” Bink suggested.

“He’s trying to find a slicer to steal my credits,” Eanjer said blackly. “Probably brought in someone from off world who’s taken advantage of the Festival crowds to slip into the city. If we don’t get in there quickly, we’re going to lose everything.”

“Steady,” Bink soothed. “Rushing off before you’re ready is a recipe for disaster. Besides, if this visitor is Villachor’s personal slicer, why isn’t he staying at Villachor’s place instead of coming and going?”

“And why the parade of local officials coming in to see him?” Tavia added. “No, there’s something else going on.”

“How do these officials look when they come out?” Lando asked. “Happy, angry, depressed?”

Winter and Kell looked at each other. “Nothing, really,” Kell said. “They just look—I don’t know. Normal.”

“You say there’s usually a midday visit?” Lando asked, standing up and walking over to the window. “Which direction do they come from?”

“Northwest, usually,” Winter said, going over and standing beside him. “They come into view along one of those streets up there, then head down the wide avenue along the outer wall, then go in through that gate, the one in the southwest corner.”

“And they leave the same way?”

“They leave through the same gate, but then take various routes back to wherever they’re ultimately going.”

“Have you tried following them?” Han asked.

“I didn’t think it would be safe,” Rachele said. “I’m guessing they have someone running high cover, and we need to have more than just a couple of trackers if we’re going to tail them without being spotted.”

“Well, we’ve got a decent-sized group now,” Han said, crossing to the chair beside Bink and Tavia and sitting down. “Winter, keep an eye out—see if they run their usual schedule. The rest of you, come over here and let’s see what Rachele’s found out about Villachor’s place.”

“It’s going to be a short demo, I’m afraid,” Rachele said as the others came back to the conversation area and sat down. Lando, Han saw with private amusement, was heading toward the seat between Bink and Tavia until Tavia noticed and scooted just far enough toward her sister to close the gap. Lando didn’t even hesitate, but smoothly changed direction and sat beside Zerba instead.

“Here’s the basics,” Rachele said when everyone was seated. She did something to her datapad, and a large multifloor schematic appeared in the air over the holoprojector. “Villachor’s mansion was originally built a hundred fifty years ago as the sector governor’s new home. You’ll note the rough
aurek
shape of the building: straight-edged north and south wings facing west, with northeast and southeast wings branching off from the center section behind them.”

“Let me guess,” Dozer said. “The governor’s name began with that letter?”

“His wife’s name, actually,” Rachele said. “The governorstead was moved again eighty years later, and the mansion went through a variety of owners until Villachor bought it eleven years ago.”

“Are these schematics up to date?” Bink asked.

“Mostly,” Rachele said. “As far as I can tell, none of the previous owners did anything drastic to the building. The biggest renovation was those skylights over the entry atria and the wings, which were installed about fifty years ago. But none of the basic structure or layout was changed until Villachor took over.” She keyed her datapad again, and the view zoomed in on a large ground-floor room near the southern end of the building’s south wing. “This is the junior ballroom. Villachor’s first—and biggest—renovation was to turn it into his vault.”

Lando whistled softly. “What does he keep in there, small starships?”

“I gather that most of it’s still empty space,” Rachele said. “We know he’s armored the walls and ceiling somewhat. Not all that seriously—I looked at the old material requisitions, and I’m guessing there’s no more than four or five centimeters of warship-class hull plate in place, with the door made of the same material. Nothing to sneer at, but not as bad as it could be. Unfortunately, the whole vault’s also magnetically sealed, and there’s probably a layer or two of sensor shielding in there, too.”

“You said the armoring is just on the walls and ceiling?” Dozer said. “Nothing on the floor?”

“There might be some down there, too,” Rachele said. “But given that the entire south wing sits on ten meters of solid stone, I doubt he bothered.”

“The walls shouldn’t be a problem,” Zerba said, one finger prodding thoughtfully at his lower lip. “Even at your upper estimate it shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes for me to carve us our own door.”

“Even with the magsealing?” Kell asked.

Zerba nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What
could
be a problem is if the plating is honey-trapped,” Bink warned. “Even something that thin has plenty of depth to work with.”

“What’s a honey trap?” Eanjer asked.

“Honeycomb-style booby traps,” Bink explained. “You put pockets of explosives, acid, or pressurized poison gas inside your walls so that whoever’s behind the cutting torch gets a lethal surprise halfway in.”

“It’s all the rage among the better class of paranoid criminal bosses,” Dozer added dryly. “What about it, Kell? You have any experience with those? Or do you just blow things up and leave the defusing to others?”

“No, I can do both,” Kell said, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “I can probably handle any explosive traps we find, provided Zerba doesn’t set them off before I can get there.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not so sure about the acid and gas, though.”

“Actually, I doubt the walls will be our biggest problem,” Rachele said. “It looks like what he’s got
inside
the room will be the real challenge.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Lando asked.

Rachele made a face. “That’s the problem,” she admitted. “No one knows. At least, no one I can get to.”

There was a moment of silence. “No problem,” Han said. “Just means the first job is to get someone inside to take a look.”

“Yes,” Rachele said uncertainly. “Only no one’s allowed in there. There are guards on duty at the vault doors around the clock—armed
and
armored—and Villachor’s the only one they’ll let in.”

“Or Villachor and a friend,” Han said. “It has to be set up so he can bring someone else in if he wants to.”

“Only one way to find out,” Dozer said. “Which of us gets to be Villachor’s new best friend?”

“No contest,” Lando said, smiling at the twins. “I nominate Bink.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” Bink said, smiling sweetly back at him. “I just
love
making new friends.”

“You really think he’ll fall for that?” Eanjer asked, sounding confused.

“I’m quite certain he won’t,” Tavia said stiffly, countering Lando’s smile with a frosty look of her own. “May I suggest instead that we send in Zerba and his lightsaber to cut a peephole in the wall? We could set up a recorder and see what exactly goes on in there.”