Private Against Whom? | Invite

[Delilah Graham]

The shuttle banked as it took its approach to the the Star Destroyer. The larger ship didn't stop; its one concession to the needs of the shuttle's occupants was to drop out of hyperspace. The shuttle had to match the Star Destroyer's speed, transmit landing clearance, and then land. It was a delicate maneuver, and no sooner had the shuttle landed than the Star Destroyer went to lightspeed, leaving no trace that either had ever been there. Aboard the shuttle, Delilah Graham straightened her black Moff's uniform and then strolled tot he disembarkation ramp, where she was greeted by the deck officer.

"Good morning," said Delilah after a quick glance at her watch. "Or whatever."

"Yes, Moff Graham," said the deck officer. "You'd like to see the prisoner."

Delilah tried not to sound irritated. "That is why I'm here."

"Very good," said the deck officer, clicking his heels together in a salute. "If you'll come this way."

Delilah was led on the path through the bowels of the ship. FIV Constant was on loan to the Home Office was a mobile prison, for inmates who were either too high-risk or too high-profile to be kept in a stationary position, like a prison on a planet or aboard a station. When they reached the expanded brig, Delilah went through a battery of means to prove her identity, including a fingerprint, a palm scan, and a retina scan before she was allowed to enter. "Get me the communications, travel, and leave logs of all the personnel aboard this ship," Delilah ordered the deck officer. "Deliver them to my shuttle. My aide will take possession if I'm not already there."

"Very good, Moff Graham."

The auburn-haired woman nodded him off, then approached the door. The lock-type controlled entry cycled, and she entered the brig. Moments later, she was shown into a small interrogation room where two chairs, each welded to the deck, faced each other across a metal table. To one of the chairs a man was shackled by his ankles and knees. His hands were cuffed together, but not attached to the chair. Delilah touched a control on her wristlink to disable the external surveillance, then placed her hands on the back of the chair, her grip so girm her knuckles turned white.

"Well?"

 

[Cierrol Harlow]

H I S one W E A K N E S S​

Butter wouldn't melt, Cierrol Harlow thought as he watched Delilah Graham enter. The First Order Home Secretary was statuesque, tall and slender and straight, auburn hair and alabaster skin. Or so she wants everyone to think. Inside she's scared gutless. And with good reason.

His gambit had worked. The technical aspect he had never doubted would come off. It wasn't difficult for a man with Harlow's connections to discover Delilah Graham's private address, hidden as it was behind several layers of security. It was in the First Order's best interests for their Home Secretary to have her home hidden safely away. For her safety, and for everyone's. But it was childsplay for Harlow's hackers to crack it, and after that it was just a standard B&E job. Harlow's team had taken photos of themselves in Delilah's townhouse. One at the foot of her bed while she slept beside her partner. Another in the bathroom while her partner's form was visible in the shower over the intruder's shoulder. Several more, showing how vulnerable they were.

They'd mailed the photos do Delilah with a request for her to meet with Harlow.

Apparently the message had gone through loud and clear.

"You came," he said after a few moments of smiling silently at her. "I didn't think you would. How is Mr. Pritchard? Well, I hope."