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“That means nothing,” Qui-Gon said. “For experts like Cohl and Havac, this hall is as permeable as a Podrace finale. They would have no trouble getting inside.”

Tiin compressed his thin lips. “The only thing we can do is be prepared to defend the Supreme Chancellor.”

Qui-Gon glanced in Valorum’s direction. “Will he permit us to get any closer to him?”

“No,” Adi said. “He gave explicit orders that he doesn’t want the proceedings disrupted—nor does he want us by his side. He wants the Jedi to be seen as impartial in this trade dispute.”

“Nevertheless, we can’t stand here, waiting for something to happen,” Tiin growled. “We should divide and look around; locate the trouble before the trouble finds Valorum.”

Obi-Wan, who had been standing quietly throughout the exchange, noticed a familiar look come into Qui-Gon’s eye. It was as if Qui-Gon’s gaze was fixed on some invisible presence the living Force had highlighted.

“What is it, Master?” he asked quietly.

“I can feel him, Padawan.”

“Havac?”

“Cohl.”

The tiny, dingy booth assigned to the Eriadu Free HoloDaily consisted of a couple of rigid chairs, a control console of dust-covered flatscreen displays and holoprojector pads, and a large single-pane window that looked out on the hall.

Havac stood by the window, staring down at the mostly seated crowd while he mounted a holocam in its stand. Behind him, and armed with blasters they had secreted in the summit hall weeks earlier, sat two of his human confederates. One of them wore a wrist comm.

When Havac had trained the holocam on the Trade Federation’s arc of seats, he attached a scanner to the cam head. Then he aimed the device, which resembled a directional microphone, toward the trumpeters on the floor of the hall.

“Any word from the spotter team?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Not a chirp,” the man with the comlink replied. “And Valorum has been here for over ten minutes. What do you think happened?”

“The likely explanation is that they were discovered.”

“Why do you say that?”

Havac turned to face the pair. “Because I notified the authorities about Cohl’s freighter, and left the holoprojector behind to be found.” He waited for smiles of revelation, but when none appeared, he added, “It was the only way to ensure that the authorities would be kept occupied while we went about our business here.”

“Then Cohl has also been found—or his corpse, at any rate,” the one with the comlink said.

The other man looked doubtful. “Suppose, as you say, the spotters have been found out, and they decide to cut a deal by telling what they know—credits or no credits.”

Havac shrugged theatrically. “They know me as Havac, and no ‘Havac’ has been cleared by security to attend the summit. The credit transfers to Cohl’s hired hands can’t be traced directly to us. The safe house will be empty by the time they lead the authorities to it. We’ll be long gone from Eriadu before anyone is able to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle.”

Clearly meant to restore confidence, Havac’s discourse failed to have the intended effect. If anything, the two men looked even more skeptical than before.

“Is our shooter in place?” Havac asked impatiently.

“Out on the walkway—just waiting for the music to begin.”

“What do you want us to do with him afterward?” the one with the comlink asked.

Havac considered it. “He’s a misfit with a counterfeit identity badge and a blaster, who has just fired at the delegates. You’ll be a public hero if you kill him—or at least see to it that he falls from the walkway.”

“No loose ends,” the same one said.

“As few as possible.”

* * *

Back on his alloy crutches, but still wearing a small flag fastened to the front of his robe that identified him as a veteran of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict, Cohl hobbled from the turbolift that had carried him and Boiny to the hall’s main pedestrian level. From here it was possible to ascend to the perimeter walkways that accessed the media and security booths in the upper reaches of the domed building.

They were headed for the array of lifts when a voice called out behind