Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [114]
He shrugged. But easy isn’t the object of this exercise—escape is. Escape I will.
32
Nawara Ven traced a talon through the ring of moisture left behind on the table by his mug of lomin-ale. I shouldn’t be here. This is madness. He drank more of the bitter and spicy ale. This is insane.
By rights he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a tapcaf, much less a dim, smoke-choked place like the Hutt Haven. The prosecution had rested its case and had left Nawara in a serious bind. While the evidence presented had been, for a large part, circumstantial, it was a mountain of circumstance. He had character witnesses, but nothing to refute the basic facts upon which the prosecution was basing its case, which meant he ultimately had nothing.
Which is why I’m here. Two hours earlier he had received a message requesting the meeting. He would have ignored it, but it had been signed “Hes Glillto,” the name Lai Nootka had assumed on his last trip to Coruscant. Whistler had gotten the name from Iella, and that had prompted the droid to flag the message when it came through to Nawara. Whistler also reported there was no way to trace it back to the sender—it had come through a public terminal.
It’s not a good thing when a lawyer is given to meetings with mystery witnesses to bolster his case. If the person he was to meet was really Lai Nootka, the state’s case against Tycho would fall apart faster than a Jawa-fixed droid. Nootka could prove he’d met with Tycho on the night Corran said he saw Tycho meeting with Kirtan Loor. Once that fact was established it showed Tycho had nothing to fear from Corran and, hence, had no reason to want him dead.
Of course, I’ve got no reason to suppose it will be Nootka. Probably will just be some glitbiter looking to make money in return for some rumor. Nawara raised his glass to finish it, but before he could swallow the liquid, he saw a tall, slender figure enter the tapcaf. The figure wore a hooded cloak that hid him entirely. It’s just the way Nootka appeared in Corran’s description of him. Nawara straightened up as the figure cut through the crowd, then slipped into the booth’s other seat.
Nawara offered his hand. “Nawara Ven.”
A pair of long-fingered human hands came out from beneath the cloak and pressed flat against the table. “I know who you are.”
“And you’re not Lai Nootka.” Nawara’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to take me to him?”
“No. I would apologize for the deception, but I am not sorry. Lai Nootka will not be coming. He is dead.”
“What? Can you prove that?”
“He’s dead, and I cannot prove it.” The man’s voice came low but strong from within the shadowed hollow of the cloak’s hood. “I can, however, prove your client was not meeting with Kirtan Loor on the night Corran Horn saw him.”
Nawara’s lekku writhed as disbelief flooded his voice. “You deceive me and then expect me to believe you? How can you prove that?”
The man tugged the hood back far enough to admit some light, and Nawara felt his heart ache. He looks like the ghost of Grand Moff Tarkin.
“I can prove it, Nawara Ven, because I am Kirtan Loor and I was nowhere near Tycho Celchu that night. In fact, I have never met him.”
“And you can verify where you were?”
“Yes. I have evidence enough to satisfy you.” Loor smiled slowly. “And evidence about spies throughout the New Republic that will satisfy even General Cracken.”
What! This is too good to be true. This can’t be happening. Nawara’s jaw shot open. “You’re lying. You can’t be who you say you are.”
“I can and I am. I will testify on your client’s behalf provided the New Republic is willing to offer me immunity from prosecution for any activity I have undertaken