Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [56]
Contact detonators had been rigged in the various panels and bumpers on each vehicle. The explosives would be triggered when the detonators were compressed with the force of an airspeeder slamming into a building. While a head-on collision with another airspeeder at significant velocity could cause the bomb to go off, the chances of that happening were relatively small. Regardless, the amount of explosives packed into the vehicles meant that any explosion in the general vicinity of the target would do substantial damage and, if not destroy the store of bacta, at least make its distribution difficult.
The operative looked up at Loor expectantly. “When will we be given the signal to go?”
Loor looked at his wrist chronometer. “Rumor has it that Mon Mothma is going to announce the particulars of the bacta distribution plan approved by the Provisional Council in fourteen hours or so. I am debating whether we should use these vehicles to punctuate her speech, or let public anticipation build for a day or so before striking.”
Loor kept his tone light, as if the decision to be made was of little consequence. He preferred going off sooner rather than waiting, but he was fairly certain that Ysanne Isard would want him to wait. So far he had gotten no word back from her on this plan—or on any of my plans. This meant the decision was truly up to him, but he knew it didn’t have to be made until an hour or two before the assault would take place.
The Intelligence agent frowned. “Contact me on a secure frequency three hours before the scheduled start of Mon Mothma’s speech. Assume the operation will go off during her speech. When you call me, I will either cancel the assault and reschedule, or let you go. If you do not reach me, you are on.”
“Very good, sir.” The operative waved a hand toward the airspeeders. “If you care to inspect our handiwork?”
Loor shook his head. “You have ever been efficient before, Captain. I see no reason to doubt your preparedness now.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” Loor smiled slowly. “And, speaking of efficiency, your people dealt with Nartlo, yes?”
“As you ordered, sir.”
“Excellent.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have someone conduct you back now, sir.”
The operative waved another of his plainly clothed men over and Loor followed that operative out through another exit from the underground bunker. Loor found this route less odious, and the use of a series of turbolifts meant it took less time to get back into more hospitable regions of the city. After taking leave of the operative, Loor worked his way up and through the city. He constantly checked his surroundings and back-trail for sign of pursuit, but found none.
The prospect of destroying the Rebels’ bacta supply pleased him, but not for the reasons most Rebels would ascribe to him. He took no delight in the fact that the destruction of the bacta would cause the deaths of millions, even billions. As odd as it seemed, even to him, their lives meant nothing. Since he did not know them, they were numbers, and Kirtan Loor had never been one to be terribly emotional about numbers.
Destroying the bacta would be a victory in the war he was waging against the Rebellion. He and his people were outnumbered, out-gunned, and under-resourced, but they were winning. So far they had struck when and where they wished. Just the fact that they were able to assemble an armada of bombs on Imperial Center without detection was a triumph in their battle against General Cracken and his forces.
Oddly enough, Loor realized that he was playing a game to sudden death, and it was more likely to be his death than