“If somebody at the supplier noticed a pattern in the purchases,” Kahlee continued, “they might have

figured out what we were up to.”

“As soon as Grissom gets us off this world,” Anderson declared, “we’re going to pay the Dah’tan facility a little visit.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Saren made his way through the darkness of Elysium’s moonless night toward his waiting vehicle. He knew the humans back at the house were hiding something from him. There was more going on at Sidon then they had admitted.

As a Spectre, he had the legal right to forcibly extract information from anyone, even Alliance soldiers. But having that right and actually being able to use it were two different things.

Elysium was an Alliance world. He had no idea if one of Grissom’s neighbors had called the authorities after the gunfight with Skarr. It wasn’t likely — the house was well isolated from its neighbors. But Saren couldn’t take that chance. If the local Alliance authorities arrived to find a turian brutally interrogating their fellow soldiers, his Spectre status wouldn’t help him.

Besides, they weren’t the ones he was after. The humans were insignificant to his real investigation. They probably knew something about why Skarr had been sent after them, but he doubted they had any real idea who had sent him.

The krogan was the key. Saren had no trouble following him to Elysium; he’d just have to pick up his trail again. The Verge was the untamed frontier of Citadel Space, but even out here it was nearly impossible to travel between worlds without drawing attention. Smaller ships were physically capable of landing almost anywhere on a habitable planet. But any destination world occupied by an established colony would instantly pick up any incoming vessels that didn’t touch down at the spaceport. They’d have military personnel on the scene ready and waiting to arrest everyone on board… if they didn’t simply blast the offending ship from the sky.

That meant Skarr would have to use the spaceports. And even if he found some way to sneak past border security, he wasn’t hard to pick out of a crowd. As a Spectre, Saren had eyes and ears on virtually every world scattered across the Verge. Wherever the bounty hunter turned up next, one of his contacts would let him know.

He could issue an order to have Skarr arrested, but he doubted the krogan would let himself be taken alive. Having him die in a gun battle with local authorities wouldn’t get Saren any closer to whoever was behind the attack on Sidon. No, the better thing to do was to simply find him and follow him, as he’d

done on Elysium. Eventually the krogan would lead him right to his employer.

Edan Had’dah was once again spending the night inside the loathsome warehouse outside Hatre. Once again, he was sitting in the uncomfortable chair waiting for Skarr to arrive. And once again, he was accompanied by his personal guard: the same Blue Sun mercs who had been there for the first meeting with the krogan. The ones who’d survived, anyway.

But this time, Edan knew, he had the upper hand. Kahlee Sanders was not dead. He’d paid the bounty hunter good money to do a job, and Skarr had failed. This time, Edan swore, he would be the one to dictate the terms of their meeting.

The warehouse was full of large shipping crates and cargo containers. A small area had been cleared out in the back for Edan to conduct his business; from this position it was normally difficult to hear when someone arrived at the front door. But there was no mistaking the loud pounding when the krogan showed up.

“Make sure you take his weapons,” Edan called out as a pair of batarian mercs went to fetch the new arrival. “All of them,” their employer added, vividly remembering the knife Skarr had snuck in last time.

From the front came the sounds of a loud argument; though he couldn’t quite hear the words he could clearly make out the bass tones of the krogan’s deep rumble. A minute later one of the batarians came back alone.

“The krogan won’t hand over his weapons,” he said. “What?” Edan asked, surprised.

“He won’t hand over his weapons. And he’s wearing full armor.” “I won’t meet with him if he’s armed,” Edan vowed.

“That’s what I told him,” the merc responded, tilting his head to the left in a gesture of supplication. “He just laughed. Said he was happy to walk away and consider your business arrangement over.”

Edan cursed under his breath. The krogan had been paid in full up front. Normally a batarian would never agree to such terms, but exceptions had to be made for a man of Skarr’s reputation.

“Let him keep his weapons,” he finally relented. “Escort him back here.”

“Tell your men they are free to kill him this time if he tries anything. Make sure the bounty hunter hears you.”

The merc smiled, anticipating a chance for revenge, and headed back to the front. When he returned the bounty hunter was with him, and he looked angry. Edan had never actually seen a krogan Battle Master in full armor before. It was a terrifying sight: like a living tank rolling toward him. It was all he could do not to take a step back.

Skarr’s weapons weren’t drawn, but a full arsenal was slotted into his armor: a pistol on either hip; a collapsible heavy-fire assault rifle and high-powered shotgun were slung across his back. His armor had several small holes in the chest, each one ringed with discolored blood. Dark stains ran down from the wounds, tainting the armor and serving as mute testimony to the battle he had fought on Elysium.

The Blue Suns watched him closely; nine assault rifles tracking him every step of the way. The krogan didn’t seem to care; he only had eyes for the man who’d hired him. He bore down on him with long, heavy strides, the relentless clump-clump-clump of his boots the only sound in the warehouse. For a brief second Edan thought he wouldn’t stop — he’d just keep walking, churning the batarian’s smaller frame beneath his feet, grinding him into pulp. Instead, he pulled up less than a meter away, his breath coming in angry, rasping grunts.

“You failed,” Edan said. He’d meant it to come out as a stinging accusation, but standing in the shadow of the massive killer before him took all the bravado from his voice.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to deal with a Spectre!” Skarr snarled back. “A Spectre?” Edan said with surprise. “Are you certain?”

“I know a Spectre when I see one!” Skarr roared. “Especially this one. Turian bastard!”

The corners of Edan’s mouth turned down in an expression of displeasure, but he didn’t say anything. This was bad. He knew Skarr was talking about Saren; the turian was easily the most infamous Spectre in the Verge. He was known for three things: his ruthlessness, his loyalty to the Council, and his ability to get results.

“I make it a habit never to get involved in Spectre business,” Skarr said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You knew that when you hired me. You tricked me, batarian.”

“My guards will fire on you if you try anything,” Edan said quickly, sensing the implied threat. “You might kill me, but you’ll never get out of here alive.”

The krogan’s big head rolled from side to side, glancing at the armed mercs and evaluating his chances. Realizing this was a battle even he couldn’t win, he slowly took a step back from Edan.

“I guess we’re in this together then,” he snorted. “But you’re going to have to double my fee.” Edan blinked in surprise. This was not how he expected the negotiations to go.

“You’re not bargaining from a position of power,” he pointed out. “You didn’t complete the job. If anything, I should ask for a refund. Or I could just have my men eliminate you now.”

Skarr barked out a loud laugh. “You’re right. Sanders is still alive. She’s probably talking to Saren right now, telling him everything she knows. How long until he figures out you were behind all this? How long until he shows up on Camala?”