surprised to see that she was carrying a tray with steaming mugs of caf and a dish of some sort of candied fruit.
“No. Not often. I’ve visited the Security Bureau a number of times, but even then, I’ve never seen the palace from this angle.”
“The kitchen’s clean,” she said as he returned to the divan.
“Have you ever found surveillance bugs in here?”
“Only when I first moved in. I’d just made a splash in the local performance and art world and I think the Imperials wanted to vet me. I left the bugs there for a while to establish that I was a good, upstanding citizen, then ‘accidentally’ destroyed them when I had the place redecorated. Since then, nothing.” She handed him a mug. “Did I mention that you make a handsome Togruta?”
He chuckled. “As opposed to a homely Zabrak?”
“I didn’t say that—or mean it. You’re a handsome Zabrak, too. Just a bit … scruffy.”
She wrinkled her nose when she said it, and for a moment, he considered that perhaps he didn’t need to always look like a demented street rat. Then again, it was such a useful thing—it nearly always caused people to underestimate him.
He took a sip of the caf. “What’s the situation?”
Sheel’s smile drained away. “Sal is going through with it—with the …” She shook her head, unable to frame the words. “Here’s what really worries me: he’s doing all this with minimal input from the full Whiplash Council.”
“I’m starting to think that’s the way Tuden Sal works,” Haus agreed. “Divide and control.”
Sheel nodded. “He’s not only divided the authority among Whiplash leaders, but he’s pieced out different parts of this … plan, as well; I think he’s the only one who has the whole picture. Not even Acer and Dyat are in on everything, though I think he trusts them the most. He talked about ambushing the Emperor in the streets around the shore, but that doesn’t tally with what I’ve seen. He’s got field operatives in the shore and floor maintenance crews near the Emperor’s villa. And Acer let it slip that he’s been in receipt of large amounts of explosives—explosives powerful enough to bring down entire buildings.”
Haus nodded. It didn’t surprise him that the Sakiyan had effectively made himself the head of Whiplash, all the while giving lip service to support for a nonhierarchical authority. It was—according to his dossier, which the prefect had combed through thoroughly—the way he had run his corporate organization, as well. He was in the pilot’s seat, while his underlings took care of discrete parts of the business with authority that only extended to their own small domain. No one except Sal himself had an overview of the entire operation.
In an organization like Black Sun, this kind of arrangement was offset by natural ambition; any and all subordinates were looking for ways to rise above their positions, pull off a coup, or work out their own competing plans. In an organization like Whiplash, however, in which the council members took the egalitarian nature of their cause at face value, Tuden Sal could make his own plans with confidence that no one else among the shared leadership would formulate competing schemes or imagine that he was withholding information. Haus remembered that the Coruscant resistance had chosen the name Whiplash out of a sense of irony—a constant reminder of the Imperial yoke they attempted to overthrow.
“I suppose it’s possible he’s just being careful,” Sheel said, her hands wrapped around her mug as if her fingers were cold. “If I were him, I’d be afraid that maybe someone would slip up and reveal too much to the wrong person.”
Reminded of his own unwelcome suspicions, Haus set his caf down on the carved wooden table more heavily than he’d intended.
“What is it, Pol?”
“What you were saying about slippage—it may have already happened. I can’t be sure.”
Maybe it was his imagination, but the Togruta’s face seemed to go a shade or two lighter. “What do you mean?”
“One of my speeder patrols checked in early this morning with the observation that for the past two nights, they’ve seen Imperial security forces moving into the Golden Crescent area near the Emperor’s villa.”
“Well, of course, the Emperor is in residence—”
He shook his head. “He’s been in residence for over a week. Why would they be moving now—and under cover of darkness? I also got a report from an operative who delivers supplies to the administrative offices of the Inquisitorius. She says the few Inquisitors that were left behind