"But..." was He floundered.
She lifted her eyebrows. "What, just because Horn's chased me halfway
across the Empire you think I should be willing and eager to let him get
vaped?"
"Something like that, yes."
She shifted her gaze away from and back to the boutique. "Strange as it
may seem, Garm, over the past few years I've gotten sort of used to having
Horn on my tail. He's a pretty good opponent, you know, well worth matching
wits against. I rather enjoy that sort of challenge."
She smiled wryly. "Besides, I know that if he's the one who brings the
hammer down on me, I'll be treated fairly. In Palpatine's grand new Empire
there aren't a lot of enforcement types I would trust that far."
"I'm glad we're on the same side on this," Bel Iblis said, some of the
tightness lifting from his chest. Arkos had known little about this woman
except her name, but her airy confidence, deviousness, and pocket-picking
talents had created in his mind the stereotypical fringe image, someone
willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. The fact that casual
murder, or even collateral murder, was apparently outside her ethical
boundaries made working with her considerably more palatable to his own
conscience.
In fact, it made her no worse than some of those he was already fighting
alongside in the Rebellion. Maybe even no worse than the average. "So what
now?" Moranda bit gently at her lip. "Were you able to get any details on the
choke-collar?" she asked. "Design, manu facturer-anything?"
Bel Iblis searched his memory. "All I could see was that it was black,"
he said. "Oh, and it had what looked like a small keylock to the left of his
throat."
"Interesting," she said thoughtfully. "Probably aJostrian design, then-
they use straight mechanical keylocks to keep anyone from scanning along lock
frequencies and unfastening it."
"So we can't do anything?"
"I didn't say that," she said, still thoughtful. "Keep watch here-I'm
going to pop into t little electronics shop over there."
"And then?"
She patted his hand. "Trust me."
"I was right," Isard said, tapping keys on the quiet-drop's computer.
"Those Defense airspeeders were indeed responding to your friend Savich."
"Does it identify her by name?" Hal asked. Isard threw him a contemptuous
look. "Of course it does. And she included her ID listing and associates
profile, too. If you're going to ask stupid questions, Horn, keep your mouth
shut."
Hal clamped down firmly on his tongue as Isard turned back to the
computer with a snort. She had been becoming progressively more ill-tempered
as the day wore on, and finding that their last known link between Arkos and
the Continuum Void manager had flown the nest had apparently been the last
click. The anger and frustration and bloodlustwere simmering barely beneath
the surface, held in check by sheer force of will.
And if something didn't break soon, Hal suspected, some of that bloodlust
could very well expend itself on a convenient CorSec inspector whom she was
clearly starting to consider less than useful to her.
He swallowed, the movement of his throat constricted noticeably by the
unyielding noose around his neck. What in the name of Vader's tailor was in
that missing datapack, anyway?
And then, at his belt, his comlink beeped.
Isard spun around as if she'd been stung. "What's that?" she demanded.
"My comlink," Hal said.
"I know it's your comlink," she bit out icily, sliding out of her chair
and stepping over to him. "Who knows you're here?"
"Only Colonel Nyroska," Hal said, pulling out the device. "Do you want me
to answer it?"
"Of course," she said, stepping close to him. "Maybe he's got a line on
Savich."
"Hello, Inspector," a cheerful female voice replied. "It's Moranda
Savich. How are you?"
Hal felt his breath catch in his throat. "How did you get this frequency?
"
"Oh, don't be silly," she chided. "You registered it when you arrived on
Darkknell, remember? Unfortunately, your friend the Imp didn't do that, at
least not under a name I could find. Is she there with you, by any chance?"
"I'm here," Isard spoke up, glacially calm. "You have my datapack?"
"Sure, if you have my money," Moranda said. "The price is one million, in
Imperial currency."
Hal looked furtively at Isard's face, wondering if she was approaching
meltdown yet. But to his surprise, the eyes gazing back at him were as calm
and cool as any he'd ever seen. With at least a potential handle on the
situation now, her earlier frustration and irritation had evaporated in! -
plete professionalism.
"You have a rather inflated opinion of what it's worth," Isard said.
"I'll pay you a hundred thousand."
Moranda sniffed audibly. "That's pretty chintzy, even for an Imperial. If
you don't want to play, I'm sure someone else will."
"Like Colonel Nyroska, for instance?"
"Exactly like Colonel Nyroska," Moranda said approvingly. "That's right-I
forget sometimes how adept you Imps are at slicing into official computer
systems. You wouldn't happen to have noticed if he's pulled together his
million yet, would you?"
"He's started making inquiries," Isard confirmed calmly. "I can assure
you, though, that you'd rather deal with me."
"My plan is to deal with the top bidder," Moranda said pointedly. "Still,
I'm sure Imperial Intelligence can bid higher than a backwater fuel stop like
Darkknell."
"Most certainly," Isard said, her voice almost silky with implied menace.
"Along with that hundred thousand I can also guarantee you the chance to leave
here with your skin intact."
"Don't make me laugh," Moranda sniffed. "I've eluded Inspector Horn for
years-you think I can't do the same with Imperial Intelligence?
"No," Isard said flatly. "I don't think you can."
"Hear me shaking," Moranda said. "Here's the deal. I'll give you and
Nyroska an hour to put together your packages-cash only, of course. Then I'll
meet you both at the Number Fourteen warehouse in the Firtee Cluster north of
town, and one of you will leave with the data pack. Clear?"
"Very," Isard said softly.
"And don't insult my intelligence by trying anything cute," Moranda
warned. "I'm quite good at this sort of game. One hour, and come alone."
The comlink clicked off. "Certainly we'll come alone," Isard agreed, as
if talking to herself as she sat back down at the computer. "We wouldn't want
the inconvenience of witnesses, would we?"
"What are we doing?" Hal asked as she began keying the terminal.
"I am clearing out the potential ground clutter," she told him.
"Specifically, I'm sending Colonel Nyroska's entire contingent on a little
impromptu training exercise."
Hal felt his jaw drop. "You aren't serious. There's no way he won't catch
something that blatant."
"Let him," Isard retorted. "By the time his squawks get anyone's
attention the datapack and I
will be long gone."
Hal grimaced. "Leaving him with nothing to do but find someone to pin the
blame on. Me, for instance?"
Isard favored him with a cool, dispassionate look, then turned back to
the computer. "Think of it as your opportunity to provide a unique service to
the Empire."
"Yes," Hal murmured. "Of course."
"I can't say the General's exactly thrilled by the situation," Barclo
reported, clicking off his comlink. "But he is rather intrigued by it. He says
that if you can prove this datapack is genuinely worth a million, he can have
the money ready in two hours."
"Good," Nyroska said, clicking keys on his computer. "Well, well: the
backtrack on our big blond cipher down in the morgue just came up empty. Which
means his ID was completely phony."
"Big surprise," Barclo grunted. "Half the ID'S in south Xakrea are
probably phony."
"Yes, but not of this quality," Nyroska said. "His tracked all the way
back to Coruscant before it petered out. That means-was
He broke off as his comlink beeped. "Here we go," he said, picking it up.
"I'll bet you your next promotion this is her." He keyed it on. "Nyroska."
"Colonel?" an unfamiliar human male voice said. "My name is-well, never
mind that. I'm an associate- - former associate, rather-of the woman you've
been dealing with on this datapack matter."
"I see," Nyroska said. "What can I do for you?"
"You can get me out of this mess, that's what," the other said nervously.
"This whole thing's gotten completely out of hand. Did you know she's actually
caret baiting an Imperial Intelligence agent? This is getting way too
dangerous, and I'm ready to cut my losses and get out."
"I applaud your wisdom," Nyroska said. "Get me the datapack, and I'll see
to it that you walk away."
There was a pause. "Yeah," the caller said at last, a little uncertainly.
"Problem: I don't actually have it myself. But I can finger her for you, and
she does know where it is. She'll be coming back to a tapcafe right next to
something called the ClearSkyes Boutique, and she'll be back any minute now.
Get over here fast, okay?"
"We're on our way," Nyroska promised. On the last word, the comlink
clicked off.
"Well?" he added to Barclo.
"Could be a feint," Barclo said, frowning at his board. "On the other
hand, the trace puts him in that area. I'd say it's worth checking out."
"Agreed," Nyroska said, keying his computer. He paused, keyed it again.
"What in-his"
"What is it?" Barclo asked.
"My troops," Nyroska said, waving at the computer. "They've all been sent
out to the spaceport."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know," Nyroska gritted, slapping at the keys. "They're phony
orders-they have to be. The General wouldn't have pulled them without alerting
me first. But the orders show proper authorization, and they're locked in." He
swore. "And the troops are locked incommunicado, too."
Abruptly he got to his feet. "Ten to one it's a delaying tactic by our
datapack thief," he ground out. "And I have no intention of being delayed.
Grab Thykele from the outer office, and let's go."
"You think three of us will be enough?" Barclo asked, pulling his blaster
from a desk drawer as he stood up.
"We'll make it enough," Nyroska said grimly, checking his own blaster and
jamming it into his holster. "This time she's not getting away."
They had left the boutique and were heading across the street when Hal's
comlink beeped again. "Do I answer it?" he asked.
"Probably better," Isard grunted, getting a grip on his arm and leading
him over to the side of the street beside their landspeeder. "Savich may not
be finished playing her little games yet."
Hal pulled out the instrument, giving the area around them an automatic
once-over as he did so. There'd been some turnover in the tapcafe's clientele
since they'd gone inside the boutique, and a half block farther down the
street a couple of Kubaz were unloading a speeder truck, but nothing else
seemed to have changed. "Horn."
"Hello, Inspector," Moranda's voice came back. "Just wanted to see if you
and your Imp were still on schedule."
"We're working on it, yes," Hal said.
"Good," Moranda said cheerfully. "I also wanted to tell you that I've
talked now with Nyroska, and he's ready to offer me two million."
"Is he, now?" Isard put in, glaring at the comlink in Hal's hand as if it
were a display Moranda could see her through. Down the street, one of the
Kubaz dropped a crate onto the street with a loud thud. "Now you listen to me,
you little walking dead woman," she bit out. "And listen closely."
She began voicing an exquisitely detailed threat, a recitation Hal would
normally have paid close attention to if only for professional interest. But
in this case, he wasn't even listening. Isard, her full attention focused on
her anger and pride and threats, had apparently missed completely the fact
that the crash of that dropped crate had been echoed faintly on Moranda's
comlink carrier.
Which meant that Moranda was here somewhere.
Slowly, carefully, Hal let his eyes track across the area, studying every
visible face and searching windows and doorways for less than visible ones.
His gazes fell on a woman about Fifteen meters away at one of the tap - cafe
tables, her face in profile to him as she gazed meditatively at the distant
mountains rising over the cityscape, a mug held to her lips. She was the right
height and build, but he could see both hands clearly enough to tell there was
no comlink palmed in either of them. Unless she had the device clipped to her
collar or something...
"I get the point," Moranda put in, cutting off Isard's threat. "Here's
the route I want you to follow to the warehouse. Listen closely, and don't
interrupt."
She launched into a detailed list of streets, corners, turns, and
backtracks. As she did so, the woman at the tapcafe table set her mug down and
stood up, digging a coin out of her hip pouch and dropping it on the table.
She turned toward Hal and Isard and started in their direction, glancing back
and forth between the various business signs lining the street.
And there indeed was no comlink fastened to her collar, nor a telltale
bulge beneath her jacket where one might be hidden. Listening with half an ear
to Moranda's instructions droning on from his comlink, Hal shifted his
attention back to the doorways around the area. She had to be here somewhere..
..
"Hal?" a woman's voice called excitedly. "Hal Horn?"
He wrenched his eyes back to the woman approaching them. She was looking
at him with wide eyes, her mouth gaping open in a happy grin of recognition.
"It is you," she said, now almost bounding as she closed the distance toward
him. "Well, I'll be a mynock's breakfast. Allyse Conroy-remember? How are you?
"
"Uh," Hal said, glancing in confusion at Isard as he searched his memory
in vain for an Allyse Conroy. "I'm..."
Isard plucked the comlink from his hand. "We've got trouble," she cut
into Moranda's monologue. "Call us back in ten minutes." Without waiting for a
response, she clicked off.
"Imagine running into y here on Darkknell, of all places," the
approaching woman said, her grin if anything even bigger than it had been.
"How are Nyche and Corran? He's what, sixteen years old now?"
"Eighteen," he said, flinching back as she raised her arms for a hug. But
her ebullience was hardly to be stopped by anything as simple as a flinch, and
the next thing he knew she had her arms around him, pressing her body tightly
against his. "Ah-Allyse-was.."
"It's so good to see you," she said, her voice oddly muffled as she spoke
into his shoulder, her face pressed against the left side of his face, her
breath disconcertingly warm on his neck. "How have you been these last few
years?" Hal glanced past the side of her head. Isard had now stepped around
behind her and was giving Hal the same kind of look she'd just been giving the
comlink. "Actually, Allyse, I'm kind of busy right now," he told her, trying
to diplomatically ease her away from him. A waste of effort; her arms merely
tightened all the harder around him. "In fact, I'm in the middle of something