"William C. Deets, Dean Williams Soldier for the Empire (STARWARS. DARK FORCES #1) (eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Now, having set events in motion, Kyle worried lest something go wrong. What if Odom hadn't gone to the temple today? Or didn't go this week? How many days could he wait? Or even worse, what if Odom had been to the temple and came through the door now backed by a half dozen stormtroopers? People change. Odom could have. The Blue Moon had a rear exit, he'd made sure of that, but it would be covered.
The better part of an hour passed, Kyle bought round after round of nonalcoholic drinks, and refused two offers of female companionship.
Finally, at the point where he was ready to give up, Odom arrived. He wore civilian attire and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Kyle forced himself to wait, saw nothing suspicious, and released the grip on his blaster. Odom scanned the crowd and Kyle waved. Visibly relieved, the officer nodded, said something to the hostess, and made his way toward the back. His face registered concern as he slid into the booth. "Kyle! It's you! I nearly didn't come. The security types lay traps sometimes."
Kyle nodded soberly. "You took a big chance. I'm sorry to put you at risk."
"What? And miss my chance to talk to the most infamous member of the class? No way!"
Kyle glanced around. If anyone was watching they hid it well. "Infamous? How infamous?"
"This infamous," Odom replied, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here, take a look."
The paper was folded. Kyle opened the document, flattened it on the tabletop, and was shocked when his own face looked back at him. The Empire had used the holo from the Academy's yearbook. The crimes he stood accused of included desertion, treason, and murder. He felt vulnerable and resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder. "I didn't kill anyone. Not intentionally, anyway."
Odom grinned. "And the rest?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Which brings us to the present."
"Yes."
"I know I'll regret this question. But where do I come in?"
Kyle explained.
Jan waited outside the Blue Moon, saw Odom enter, and felt sick inside. Mon Mothma was right. Kyle was about to meet with the officer he'd lied about knowing. Why? What were
they up to? It was her job to find out.
Jan moved along the side of the building toward the back door. A drunk lurched out of the darkness and she shoved him out of the way. He backpedaled and fell into some poorly tended shrubbery. She ignored his pleas for assistance, turned the corner, stepped over a pool of vomit, and made her way up the back stairs. Hinges screeched as she pulled the door open and stepped inside. The rest rooms smelled of urine and the agent made a face. There was halfhearted applause as the dancer bent to collect her tips and a four-piece band started to play.
The agent spotted Odom, saw Kyle's back, and made for the adjoining booth. The hostess saw her, registered alarm, and rushed to intervene. At least two customers to a booth after 8:00 p.m., the owner was strict about that, and so was she. A half-dozen bracelets jangled as she made her way across the floor.
Jan allowed herself to be intercepted, smiled innocently, and showed five fingers. "We're a party of six. The rest will be here shortly."
Relieved, and optimistic about the evening's take, the hostess returned to her station. Jan struggled to hear. It was difficult, especially after the band swung into a rendition of "Rimmer's Delight," and the customers started to clap. She heard snatches though, including Kyle's promise to keep Odom's identity secret, and "the need to build a believable story."
The meeting ended after about thirty minutes. Odom left via the front door, and Kyle headed for the back. Jan paid for her drink, loosened her blaster, and followed. Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer. She'd killed people, more than she cared to remember, but never like
this. Never someone she knew, and never in cold blood.
The door closed behind Kyle and Jan pushed it open. Drives roared as a ship lowered itself onto the tarmac a quarter klick away. She looked around. The area appeared clear, and the ship would cover the noise she made. The possibility that Kyle might have body armor under his clothes suggested a head shot. Jan raised her weapon, adopted a two-handed stance, and took
careful aim.
The old Kyle would have felt the pressure against the back of his head and dismissed it. This one drew his weapon in one smooth motion, turned, and started to squeeze the trigger. But he saw his would-be assassin's face, and stopped. Jan saw his hesitation, knew she should have
fired, and cursed her weakness.
Kyle, unable to trust his own eyes, held the weapon where it was, but closed the gap between them. She'd been prepared to kill him, that much was clear, but why? The Empire, yes, but the Alliance was supposed to be above such things. Kyle knew he should shoot her, should burn a hole through her brain, but couldn't bring himself to do it.
He remembered the first time he'd seen those eyes, calm even in the face of death, centered on something he couldn't see. His arm sank and the blaster with it. Hers did likewise. Jan spoke first. "You deserve to die, Katarn. But someone else will have to do it."
The roar of repulsors stopped suddenly as the pilot shut them down. The relative silence made his words seem louder. Kyle shook his head. "You have it wrong, Jan."
"What about Odom? You told Mon Mothma you didn't know him."
Kyle shrugged. "I wanted to protect him, to leave him out of it."
"And now?"
"I pulled him in. There's no other way."
Jan allowed her blaster to slip into its holster. A pair of drunks wobbled around the corner, stumbled, and laughed hilariously as they helped each other up the stairs. She searched his face. "Why? Why would he help our cause?"
Kyle looked away and back again. "I don't know for sure. Friendship, his religious beliefs, it's hard to say."
"But you believe he will?"
"I'm willing to bet my life on it."
There was momentary silence. Jan thought about what she'd been prepared to do and shivered. If she had killed him, would it have been an act of fanaticism or patriotism? How did one tell the difference? The answer, if one existed, refused to come. She forced a smile. "Come
on. Let's have dinner. Assuming we can find a restaurant dark enough to hide your face. And it's on me."


CHAPTER SEVEN

It took three hours for Kyle to make his way across the ravine, find a path through the maze of boulders, and arrive opposite the gate marked "S-2." It was three meters tall and constructed of solid durasteel. An energy cannon might burn a hole through it, but nothing less would touch it.
Odom had explained that the gates had letter designations: E for East, W for West, N for North, and S for South. Each side of the rectangular perimeter had four or five such openings for the convenience of maintenance and security teams who would otherwise have been forced to rely on the main gate, which would be an inconvenience at least, and dangerous in case of attack.
Kyle checked his chrono, found that he had a full hour to wait, and ducked behind a rock. He was well within the range of the nearest surveillance cam and would be vulnerable until darkness cloaked his movements.
The window of opportunity, and it wouldn't last for long, would occur at precisely 2100 hours when the officer of the watch, Meek Odom in this case, would use remote testing equipment to open and close the door locks. It would be during this test, while the door was momentarily unlocked, that Kyle would slip through. That, combined with Odom's ability to momentarily override the collateral security systems, would allow Kyle to penetrate the outer perimeter. The rest would be up to him, and, assuming he made it to the extraction point, Jan Ors, who had agreed to pull him out.
Kyle remembered the night before, their mutual reluctance to kill each other, and smiled. His expression froze as stones rattled nearby.
What was it? An animal? Or something more ominous?