Part 31 (2/2)
”I need to know about a company called Dhannut Logistics. They caught my eye but I can't find out where they're based even though they're an approved Republic contractor.”
”Oh, you just don't know where to look, sweetheart.” Jilka loved a challenge. n.o.body in their right mind would have done a job like hers unless they enjoyed hunting corporate tax defaulters and all the risks that went with it. ”If they're taking our credits, we'll be squeezing corporation tax out of them. And if we aren't, I'll be delighted to introduce them to the experience of filling out form two-slash-nine-seven-alpha-eight-alpha.”
”Dhannut Logistics,” Besany said. ”Dee, aitch, ay, double enn, yoo, tee. They probably build medical facilities.”
”And how much has poured into their coffers from the un-fortunate taxpayer's pocket?”
”I can identify about fifty billion.”
Jilka's eyes lit up. She had her funny moments: maybe Fi would like her. ”That's just the teensiest bit over the taxable revenue threshold, isn't it? Let's see what I can find.”
Besany only wanted a lead. She didn't want Jilka to start digging too far, because the fewer people who knew, the better. But Jilka was off and running, scrolling through records and even consulting another computer screen.
”You're right,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. ”No street address. But they paid their tax in full, and I have their accountant's details here. Odd.”
”Why?”
”You shouldn't be able to file a tax return without the ad-dress of your head office, but this has gone through the system.”
”I'm going to tell you that it doesn't surprise me.”
”Medical equipment, you say?”
”Facilities. I'm guessing construction or specialist fitting out. Maybe they're not even based on Triple Zero.”
”Triple What?”
”Sorry, fleet slang. Here. Coruscant.”
”Oh, they're based here, all right. They wouldn't file the returns in Galactic City otherwise. This has a GCCC code.”
”Any chance of slipping me the accountant's address?” Jilka scribbled it on a sc.r.a.p of flimsi. ”Never came from me. Didn't go through the message system. And I've never seen you before in my life.”
”If anything else crops up ... Dhannut, anyone dealing with Dhannut... let me know?”
”Certainly. You've got me intrigued now. What's rung your bell? Fraud?”
”I think it's a front for other activity. Because I'm missing their details on the database of approved Republic contractors, too. Which also shouldn't be possible.”
”Sounds mucky. I notice you're packing a blaster now. Sensible idea.”
”Just think about it. Dhannut appears in two databases that it shouldn't be able to get an entry in. If it's not legit, and they haven't sliced into the system, then someone with government access has let them in.”
”You just can't get the staff these days.”
”And folks think we just shuffle files all day...”
”So do I get the very pleasant young man? Is he tasty?”
”He's very fit and you certainly wouldn't lose your appet.i.te looking at him.”
”Deal.”
”I'll ask him next time I see him.”
”If he's that wonderful, why weren't you interested?”
”I've got one just like him.”
”Ah. Ah”
”Don't knock it till you try it.” Jilka's expression dropped a fraction, suddenly serious.
”You've changed, Bez. And I don't mean that you look like you're in love, either.”
Besany did her noncommittal smile, the slightly chilly one that she reserved for suspects when she hadn't ama.s.sed quite enough d.a.m.ning evidence but was certain she would, given time. ”Thanks, Jilka. I owe you.”
She decided to detour to Dhannut's accountant's office on the way home rather than spend any more time in the Treasury building; she wasn't on an investigation at the moment, just tied up in annual reports for the Senate committee, and attention from her bosses was the last thing she needed now.
And she'd gone a lot further than Mereel had ever asked her to go.
Quadrant T-15 was well outside her area. She stared at the flimsi, worked out a meandering route-a couple of taxi changes, interspersed with walking to blur the trail-and tried to forget about it until it was time to leave, but when things started eating at her, she found them hard to drop. It was her single-minded persistence that made her good at her job. It also kept her awake at night.
Her problem was that she was conspicuous. People re-membered her: she was tall, very blond, and striking. Some-times that was an advantage in investigations, because people tended to underestimate her, but it also made it hard to do undercover work. She needed to dull her s.h.i.+ne a little.
Skirata called it going gray. He had a gift for behaving and dressing in such a way that he could pa.s.s completely unnoticed, drawing no attention. He could also stop traffic, if he wanted to. Funny little man; Ordo wors.h.i.+pped him. He certainly had a ferocious charisma.
As she crossed the walkways that connected the catering district from one of the retail zones that all looked the same now wherever they were on the planet, she took care to keep an eye out for trouble.
The Chancellor's office. Well, if the taint goes that high ...
No, this was stupid. She'd never been intimidated before, and she refused to be now. One more taxi hop and a ten-minute walk brought her to Quadrant T-15. She thought she'd found the road, but then realized it couldn't be the right one; it was a long run of textile manufacturing units, not offices. She walked on, but the sector numbers were getting higher, so she was heading the wrong way. She retraced her steps. It still didn't look right.
Besany fed the address into her datapad to check the coordinates, but it was adamant-this was definitely the right place. She walked the entire length of it, both sides, and found herself staring at Unit 7860, which should have been an office tower, but was very obviously a textile mill. Some of the walkway-level doors were open; she could see the machinery and occasionally some workers pa.s.sing the doors.
Nonexistent accountant. Nonexistent company. Real cred-its. What was going on here?
Whatever it was, it was now clearly illegal, although she still had no idea of how trivial or how serious it might be. Regulations said that she should have logged it right away, but she couldn't, not now. She wasn't even sure whether to tell Jilka, because knowledge like that could put her at risk, too.
Besany kept her hand on her blaster, deep in her pocket, all the way back to her apartment. When she slipped her identichip into the lock and her doors closed behind her, she felt able to breathe again.
She looked at the chrono: late, very late, too late to eat, or else she'd never get to sleep. Grumbling to herself, she poured a gla.s.s of juice and watched the holonews headlines, not really taking it in but noting that the coverage of the war was now a long way down the menu behind the love lives of waning celebrities and cantina brawls involving gravball players. One of the more sober news channels had a defense a.n.a.lyst from the Republic Inst.i.tute of Peace Studies putting forward theories about the nature of the Separatist droid threat, but it seemed folks wanted to skim over the depressing news as fast as they could. It was also getting harder to find any front-line reporting-organic or droid- lately. For Coruscant, it was business as usual, so who cared about fighting on the Rim? Trooper Corr didn't agree with her, and had told her he was happier without a holocam peering over his shoulder, but she cared. She wanted to know everything about the war. It was as if watching it would give her some protective power over the threats facing Ordo and his brothers. Not watching every sc.r.a.p of news felt like sneaking off sentry duty, which she could only imagine.
”Moron,” she mumbled at the screen. The a.n.a.lyst was throwing out numbers, huge ones, and because her business was numbers she found herself reaching for a stylus and doodling a few figures on the nearest datapad. ”I bet you don't even know how many zeros there are in a quintillion.” She did, though, and numbers comforted her, so she considered his argument. Then she started wondering how much metal went into a battle droid-forty kilos, at the very least-and multiplied it by a quintillion just out of curiosity, and then started wondering where all that metal came from if 90 percent of the average rocky planet was silica, and not all the remaining 10 percent was the right kind of metal, or could be mined anyway, and mining and ore processing ate up a lot of resources ...
No, quintillions of droids didn't sound feasible. But it was a lovely big unprovable number to throw out to frighten people. She was settling in to scrutinize all the a.n.a.lyst's numbers when she heard a scratching sound that made her start.
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