Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 02_ Omen - Christie Golden [52]
The woman was not Jaina.
Oh, at first it looked like her, but the mouth was too wide and the nose too pinched. And the voice—there was nothing wrong with the audio receiver. It was the voice itself that was wrong.
Quickly Tyrr directed the droid to maneuver to the opposite side. Was Jag—
He zoomed in on the scar, and realized it was cleverly applied makeup. Doubles. They had gotten doubles. It was a fine old tradition, and he’d fallen for it.
It was all Tyrr could do not to pound his fist on the table in frustration.
It’s all just smoke and mirrors, darling;
A pretty lie, and nothing more.
Smoke and mirrors, indeed. It was time to take off the gloves. His ratings needed a boost. He needed a scoop, a story that would eclipse anything else.
And he was determined to get it.
THE SMALL, NONDESCRIPT SPEEDER WAS WAITING OUTSIDE THE REAR door. Tahiri Veila opened the doors and Jaina and Jag jumped inside, barely making it before Tahiri lifted off.
“How’d it go?”
“Smooth as shimmersilk,” Jaina said.
“Catch any in the net or was it just a good general slip?”
“Javis Tyrr followed us,” Jag said. “At least we know he’s wasted an evening.”
Tahiri smirked a little. “Good. He’s tried to interview me, you know.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jaina said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “You’d boost his ratings through the roof.”
Jag clicked on his comlink. “Hoth, this is Gaunt. Is the bantha in position?”
“In the cave as promised,” Winter Celchu replied. “Ready to travel.”
“Great. Mynock has been effectively neutralized for the evening. Operation Caranak will proceed as planned.”
“Good luck. Hoth out.”
Jaina listened, her lips curving in a smile. Jag had come up with the name mynock to describe their parasitic journalist. It was just perfect. She sighed and leaned against him. One more “bantha”—speeder—to pick up, and the mission would be accomplished. She and Jag would spend the night under aliases in a small, out-of-the-way inn halfway around the planet.
“By the way,” asked Tahiri, “why Operation Caranak?”
“A caranak,” Jag said, slipping an arm around Jaina as she rested her head against his shoulder in the backseat, “is an aquatic fowl native to Endor. It is notoriously difficult to domesticate.”
Tahiri was silent, then she said slowly, “ … a wild goose?”
“Just so.”
Another pause and then, “And they say you don’t have a sense of humor, Jag.”
“They,” said Jag, his voice completely serious, “do not have a sufficiently good espionage network.”
THE SOLOS’ PRIVATE APARTMENTS, CORUSCANT
“I’m worried about Allana,” Leia said. She was curled up next to her husband, her petite frame nestled against his larger one as they spooned together in their bedchamber. They had opted to leave the large, military-grade-thickness transparisteel viewport open. At all hours of the day or night, they could watch the colorful, constantly changing images of Coruscant traffic. Some might have found the view stressful. The Solos, with their love of vessels, found it reassuring. “What about her?” Han mumbled. He had almost fallen asleep, but he could feel the tension, the wakefulness in his wife’s body. “She dealt okay with the spiders on Kessel. Just like a Solo granddaughter should.”
“I’m not talking about repercussions from Kessel,” Leia said. Her voice was soft, quiet, and Han could barely hear her. He frowned and propped himself up on his elbow, gently turning her to face him.
“This some kind of Force thing?”
“No, not at all. In fact the opposite.” Leia sighed. “Han, she needs something … ordinary. And we’re most definitely not.”
“Well, you got that right, but neither is she. She was born the Chume’da, the heir to the Hapan throne. She’s the daughter of Tenel Ka and Jacen Solo, two very powerful Jedi. She’s about as far from ordinary as you can get.”
Leia sighed and snuggled against him, idly stroking his chest. “Even so, when she was Chume’da, she had her routines. Her place. Her droids.”
“She has droids