The plans that Gejjen had given Han were the public kind that any Corellian taxpayer could examine in the public library. The itinerary of the President could change, too, so that meant Han would have to do some serious recce work before he felt confident about taking a shot. For a scumbag, Thrackan didn’t seem to surround himself with the massive security typical of most paranoid tin-pot despots. But maybe he thought people loved him as much as he loved himself, and seeing as he had been voted back into power yet again after a career of sleaze and treachery that would have embarrassed a Hutt, he was probably right.
Han found a good vantage point in the park overlooking the government offices and Presidential residence. The G.O., as Corellians now called it, was one large complex, a tasteful little village of colonnaded low-rise buildings in the classical style set in well-kept formal gardens. The park around it sloped gently up an artificial hill that provided a safe gradient for board-skiing when it snowed. Han found a seat at the top of the hill and took out some breadsticks to chew on, every bit the regular man having his lunch in the park. He even fed the gliders that gathered to watch for crumbs.
I’ll need to get him in a confined space. I’m not a sniper.
Han wondered if he should have put aside old feuds and hired Fett after all. At least he’d have known the job would be done right.
Okay, he has his regular weekly press conference today, which means he has to be in his office either side of that slot. A nice grenade launcher. No, he’ll have staff with him. It’s not their fault their boss is a scumbag.
Whatever it was going to take to eliminate Thrackan, it was going to have to be close, personal, and point-blank. And then there was the matter of getting out again.
Han broke off a piece of breadstick and rubbed it into crumbs between his fingers before scattering it on the grass in front of him for the gliders. They descended in a flurry of wings. Okay, maybe take him while he’s in transit: but that means a sniper shot, too. Or a drive-by. Or a . .
. no, this is all going to suck in innocent bystanders. I have to get him alone in his office.
If Fett did this for a living, then Han understood why he wasn’t the sociable type.
The gliders flew up in a sudden spiral like one animal and left him staring at a snowfall of crumbs. He finished the bread and walked down the hill, working out when the next public guided tour of the building would give him a chance to get inside and look around.
If I take Thrackan out and get clear of the building, will Gejjen turn me in?
No, this bounty-hunting business wasn’t like fighting as a soldier at all. Han strolled through an avenue of trees that led past a construction site for a new sports stadium; work had ceased. There must have been plenty of places that were running short of materials now that the traffic between the orbital factories and the surface had been largely stopped. When Thrackan was done and dusted, he thought, that could be his new job. He was great at running blockades. He could teach these kids a thing or two.
Han was just wondering if Leia had managed to get hold of Jaina by comlink when he heard a sharp hiss like a jet and felt as if someone had run up behind him.
He spun around and was face-to-face with a Mandalorian visor that he knew far, far too well.
“Long time no see,” said Boba Fett, and Han went for his blaster without thinking.
Fett brought Han down with a forearm smash under the chin and sent him sprawling. Han tasted blood in his mouth and his head rang so hard he was convinced the sound was real and external. Getting hit by an armor plate was a lot harder to bounce back from than a bare fist.
He shook his head to clear it and propped himself up on one arm. He was now staring into the sawn-off muzzle of an EE-3 blaster.
“Every time I see you, that thing’s had a few more gizmos added,” said Han.
“You make it sound like I pursue you.”
“You do.”
“Your glory days are long over, Solo.” Fett encouraged him to get up with a jab from his boot, blaster still aimed, and picked up Han’s where it had fallen. “Nobody’s put a decent price on your head for years. I’m after someone who matters.”
“Funny, I thought you’d taken Thrackan’s contract.”
“Shut up and give your ego a rest.”
“What are you here for, then?”
“Sightseeing. You want an audience?” Fett shoved him into the chaos of bricks and durasteel that lay where it had been left and toward a site office, one of those temporary cabins that could get up and walk to a new position on their own repulsors. Fett bypassed the lock with something on his gauntlet and waved Han inside with his blaster.
“So what can I do for you?” Han asked, settling on a chair covered in permacrete dust. “Need another carbonite caf table for your Hutt buddies?”