Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  It was John's turn to stare. God! She's so innocent! What must it be like to feel so invincible. He had at one time, but that was before the T-1000 and he couldn't remember what it had been like.

  "Well, ideally we all should be free, and well fed and have a comfortable, safe place to sleep at night. But I don't think that's the way things are. Do you?"

  She gave a "hunh!" and glared at him.

  "Don't let your pride get in the way of your considerable intelligence," he said.

  "You know you never should have gotten involved in this without checking into it further, don't you?"

  With a shrug she said, "I checked you out. As far as I could. Your Web address belongs to a guy named Dieter von Rossbach and he isn't you. But why you're using his computer, I couldn't find out. I also couldn't find any reference to an AM anywhere. Which indicates that it's a new name. So, either you've never done anything like this yourself, or you've screwed it up so badly that you needed a new handle."

  He considered her answer. Not bad for what was mostly guesswork. He scrubbed his face with his hands, being careful not to dislodge his facial hair, and looked at her.

  "Well?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

  "It is a new name. Spur-of-the-moment thing," he admitted. "I've done research on the Net before and I've lurked around a bit. But this sort of thing, getting other people involved…" He turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. "Yeah. This is new."

  Wendy huffed a little and leaned back in her chair, studying him. He was young, probably younger than she was, but he felt older, and she instinctively knew she

  could trust him. Maybe she was being snippy.

  "So what's this about?" she asked. "I guess you didn't come all the way from South America because you thought I was cute or something."

  "Sure I did," he said, grinning. Then held up his hand to ward off her response.

  "Well, maybe it helped. I came up here because it would be irresponsible to let you keep doing this research without having some idea of why and what you're doing. I am not lying when I tell you it could be dangerous. Now I'm not talking gun battles on the quad here." At least I hope like hell I'm not. "Maybe a better word would be risk."

  "Risk?" she said. Wendy took a sip of her soda, watching him.

  "Yeah. You're taking a risk on your future here. Which is why I believe you need more information."

  Biting her lips, she nodded slowly, meeting his dark-eyed gaze. He had a point.

  The powers that be might, at the very least, think that what she'd been doing was unethical, if not uncommon. And that could impact her career path.

  "All right," she said. "Enlighten me."

  Okay, here goes. "What you've been working on is an attempt to locate a very dangerous military AI project."

  After a moment's pause she asked, "A U.S. government project?"

  "Ye-ah." Who else? he wondered.

  "Because, you're from Paraguay, aren't you?"

  "I'm from the U.S., I live in Paraguay," he said impatiently. "What's your point?"

  "I dunno. I guess"—she shrugged—"I wondered why you'd be interested."

  People are right, John thought, Americans are self-centered. If you're not from here what do you care what we do? Naive and unconsciously arrogant, to say the least.

  "My interest is in stopping this project, at the very least slowing it down."

  Suddenly mindful of where their acquaintance had begun, Wendy asked suspiciously, "Are you some kind of a Luddite?"

  " Now you ask me?" John favored her with an exasperated look. "No, I'm not a Luddite. I'm willing to admit that they have a few good ideas, but by and large I don't think their ideology is applicable to real life. And I don't like terrorists; they're all self-centered, mean-spirited nutcakes, if you ask me. Me, I just have this one lousy project that needs to be stopped. I have my reasons, which I'll explain to you someplace less public. But I'm not here to hurt you, Wendy, far from it."

  Wendy considered that. "Have you read Labane's book?" she asked.

  John shook his head. "I haven't had time."

  "So you really can't say whether their ideology is, in fact, applicable." She crossed her arms and watched him for his reaction.

  John was a bit confused. Suddenly she wanted to play debating team? To him the question and its follow-up had come out of left field. Maybe it's like a time-out, he thought. She's trying to get some space to think about me being here so she's distracting me with this nonsense.

  "You know what?" he said. "You're right. I can't speak to the Luddite ideology with any authority because I haven't made a minute study of their position. I think they bear watching, but frankly"—he flattened his hand on his chest—"I'm not that interested. I have this one thing I have to do and it takes all my time and concentration. I'm hoping that once you've heard what I have to say, you and your friends will want to continue helping me. And if you don't I'm trusting you to keep quiet about it. Everything else is irrelevant to me. Okay?"

  She kind of lifted her head and pursed her lips. "Sure, whatever." Wendy took another sip of her drink, annoyed and slightly embarrassed. "So. Have you got a place to stay?"

  "Uh, actually I was kind of hoping you might have a suggestion about that."

  She gave him a cool, level look that went on long enough to see that he understood he wasn't staying with her.

  "A motel, a bed-and-breakfast maybe?" he quickly suggested.

  "Hotels in Boston and Cambridge, if you can find one with a room, tend to be expensive, and B-and-Bs are even more so. I'll see if I can find someone to put you up in their room." She took up her backpack. "You can eat here if you like."

  She shrugged. "It's not very good, but it is cheap. Or there are restaurants all

  around the campus that have reasonable prices and fairly good food."

  John stood up to follow her, but she held up her hand.

  "I'm going to talk to my friends about you and I don't think you should be there.

  Be back here by seven-thirty and I'll bring you to the meeting." She started off, then said "bye" over her shoulder with a vague sort of wave.

  John was left standing there, feeling a little foolish, and a lot uncertain about how this was going to work out. He wanted Wendy to like him and he'd really come on strong, which he could tell she didn't like. Wait till she found out what he was talking about. He blew out his breath.

  No wonder Mom flipped out for a while, he thought. Being right doesn't help much when you're right about something this weird.

  He slipped on his backpack and looked around the busy room. He sure hoped Dieter was having a better time than he was.

  I'm beginning to look forward to meeting with those arms dealers. A sure sign that things weren't going all that well here.

  BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA

  Alissa had cast a broad net when she went looking for von Rossbach and Connor. The boy had slipped through, but the former Sector agent had used one of his old aliases. So when Vera Philmore sent out queries on the Net with that name attached, the I-950 had immediately purchased a one-way ticket to the woman's present location.

  The Terminator had arrived at the dock to find that Philmore's yacht had sailed.

  It wasn't difficult to get a copy of the yacht's itinerary, and the T-101 bought a ticket on a small plane bound for Macapa, Brazil, the next afternoon.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MACAPA, BRAZIL

  Vera couldn't resist; she moved up behind the big Austrian where he stood checking gauges in the wheelhouse and ran her hand lightly across his firm buttocks. It went with the warm breeze, the clear blue water, the salty air and diesel oil…

  "Can't I help you, Ms. Philmore?" Dieter asked without turning around.

  "How did you know it was me?" she asked, sounding mildly surprised.

  "I don't think it's something Arnie or Joe would do, ma'am." She laughed and he continued, "Besides, I recognized your perfume."

  "I hope you like it, Wulf,
" she said, moving around him to look at his face. "I have it made specially for myself."

  "Very pretty," he said. She caught a glint of blue from his sidelong glance. "Very feminine."

  Vera preened. She hadn't made as much progress with him as she'd hoped to, and by the end of next week or sooner they'd be in San Diego. "I didn't think you'd noticed," she said with a pout.

  He turned to smile at her. "Of course I did."

  Vera felt her heart flip-flop. Something that happened more rarely now, but was very welcome when it did. It was time to move into high gear.

  "I've been meaning to find the time to get acquainted with you," she said. "I like to know my crew, since we're under one another's feet all the time. If you're free I'd love for you to have dinner with me tonight."

  Dieter's face showed his surprise when he turned to her. "I'd be honored."

  What else could he say? He'd wanted to get some time to talk to her alone, see if she was a suitable recruit. He just didn't want things to get… personal.

  Unfortunately Vera Philmore was the kind of woman who liked to take things personally. Suddenly, and unusually, von Rossbach had the feeling he was in over his head.

  "Eight o'clock, then," Vera said happily. Then, with an alarmingly direct look, she added, "Try to be very hungry."

  "Oh, God," Dieter muttered as she sauntered off.

  ***

  "That was wonderful," Dieter said. "Even better than in the crew's galley."

  Vera chuckled and gestured to her maid, who brought her a mahogany box.

  Pursing her lips judiciously, Vera chose a cigar, neatly trimmed the end with a cutter she took from the box, and lit it with a candle. She indicated Dieter with a nod of her head and the maid brought the box to him.

  "Cuban," his boss said, exhaling a fragrant cloud of smoke. "And the best of the best at that. Do you enjoy a good cigar, Wulf?"

  "When it's something this special, yes." Dieter selected and trimmed a cigar for himself. Took a long, deep drag and leaned back, letting the smoke out in a long plume.

  The lighting was intimate and the windows wrapped around the seating area at the stern showed a view of a nearly full moon over the ocean.

  Vera rose and Dieter stood with her. "Let's have our brandy in the lounge," she suggested. "Why don't you pour, dear?"

  Uh-oh. We're up to endearments already. It wasn't that he would object to having sex with her, it was that he thought sex might screw things up. He wanted to recruit Philmore, to use her money to lay by the caches of food and weapons they'd need after Judgment Day, and her influence in high places and her mobility. For this to work right it needed to be a genuine commitment to the cause on her part, not something she was doing for romantic reasons. There were no reasons in the world more likely to cause vicious feelings once the bloom was off the rose.

  He brought the brandy to her, pleased that she hadn't asked him to warm it for her. There was a contraption on the bar, but he wasn't in the mood to mess around with something flammable right now. Dieter handed her the balloon goblet and took a seat on the couch opposite.

  She gave him a rueful smile and said, "I know who you are, you know."

  Dieter froze. "Pardon me?"

  Tossing her head back, she giggled like a girl. "You're Dieter von Rossbach. We have friends in common. Though you've been off the scene for a very long time now. Actually"—she put her drink down on the side table—"I only recall seeing you in the society column or Town & Country. There are several events that we both are supposed to have attended; only… you weren't there. I assure you, I would have noticed if you were."

  She sucked delicately at her cigar, waiting for his reaction, but von Kossbach just sat there, wearing a grim expression, ignoring the brandy in his hand.

  "So why," she continued, "are you playing deckhand on my little boat?" Vera settled back, taking another puff of her cigar, and watched him through the smoke.

  Taking a puff of his own cigar, Dieter regarded her. It was easy to forget that Vera wasn't just a bubbleheaded blonde. She liked to laugh, disdained formality, and had an earthy sense of humor. But she'd also made most of her fortune herself and was utterly independent.

  "I wasn't actually ready to talk to you about that," he admitted. Not least because he wasn't sure how to go about convincing her that what he said was true.

  "Well, I am." Vera shrugged and looked away. "You're hardly the first good-looking guy to get aboard my yacht under an assumed name. You're just the first one that was rich. You could have your own yacht, you could have your own deckhands, you don't have to be one. So. What's your story, von Rossbach?"

  "What do you think it is?" he countered.

  She tapped her cigar into a crystal ashtray, watching the rich ash flake off as she spoke. "Well, I think that you want to sneak into the U.S., and for some reason you expect to be stopped at the border." She looked up at him, smiling. "How'd I do?"

  He pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged.

  "You're dead on, Vera. I have to admit I'm impressed."

  "I had Arnie check your stuff, so I know you're not carrying contraband. And I may be kidding myself, but I don't think any of my regular guys is being your mule. So, why do you need to go sneaking around. Can we get to the point here?"

  "Well, here's the problem." He paused, wincing. "My story is so unbelievable I'm kind of afraid you'll throw me overboard when I'm through."

  "Oh, don't worry, honey," she assured him. "If I don't like your story, Mexico beckons." She took a sip of her brandy. "Start talking. Where were you all those years we were supposed to be partying together?"

  "I was doing something else." Dieter began to unbutton his shirt and Vera's eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening and a little smile unconsciously curving her lips.

  When he slipped off his shirt the first thing she noticed was how muscular his torso was, although not quite the standard gym-muscleman type. More functional, graceful despite its thick-muscled solidity. A thrill shot through her

  as she wondered if he meant to seduce her.

  Then she saw the scars.

  "Ho-ly shit!" she whispered. "What the hell happened to you?"

  Dieter smiled; he couldn't help but be pleased by her reaction. In a distant corner of his mind he wondered how Sarah would react. "This one"—he pointed to what looked like a second navel placed four inches to the side of his real one

  —"is a bullet wound. I got that in Beirut. This"—his finger touched a crescent-shaped scar on his arm—"was a knife, one of those curved Arab jobs. Here"—he finally got to the one that really intrigued her—"is where a guy named Abdul el-Rahman tried to carve his initials. I killed him before he could finish. Sometimes these guys get so involved they forget they're not immortal."

  "So, what? You were some kind of soldier of fortune?" Vera shifted a little nervously; this was not the way she'd imagined this conversation going.

  "No." Dieter took a sip of brandy. "I was a covert antiterrorist operative. Now I'm a soldier of fortune." He smiled at her. "A very romantic designation, don't you think?"

  She smiled in answer, a slight blush painting her cheek. Blinking rapidly, she took another sip of brandy herself.

  "So, what do you want?" she asked.

  Dieter took a deep breath and her eyes fastened on his chest.

  She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Maybe you should…" She gestured vaguely.

  He knew what she meant and was happy to oblige, putting his shirt back on.

  "Right now I want to get into the U.S." He tipped a hand left and right. "Under the wire, so to speak. I had hoped to perhaps gain your sponsorship of a mission of some importance."

  Secretly Vera had always daydreamed about someone coming into her life and tapping her for some desperate mission. Of course she was no fool. From time to time people had tried to manipulate her, tried to get her to support some drug deal or vicious tyrant-in-the-making. But she had resources that the average millionaire didn't have. Over th
e years she'd built up a network of friends and information gatherers who could give her the inside story on almost anyone.

  Von Rossbach, oddly enough, was pretty much a mystery to them. Though they all said he had a rep as a stand-up guy.

  Vera sat forward slowly, her eyes glowing with excitement.

  "Tell me," she demanded.

  When he was finished Vera looked away, her eyes thoughtful, then her glance went back to him. "So, all you want is to stop this one project?"

  He nodded. "But there are forces at work here that really believe in this project, and they have friends at the highest level."

  "I have friends at the highest level," she said confidently. She smiled. "I could

  have a talk with them."

  Dieter shook his head, his face sad. "No. This project is so black that the people you know probably aren't yet aware of it."

  A look of impatience crossed her still-pretty face. "So how much do you want?"

  How much will you give me? "Two million," he said aloud. For a start.

  "Whoa! You don't want much, do you?" she said. "You're rich, why don't you kick in?"

  "My entire fortune is dedicated to stopping this project." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "All I ask is that you consider it."

  Vera took a deep drag on her cigar, studying him with narrowed eyes through the smoke. She tightened her lips.

  "All I have is your word on this."

  "That's right," he agreed. "And you don't know me very well, so you don't know that my word is good. But I don't know you very well either. And these are very secret matters. Until and unless you commit to this project; I'm not at liberty to tell you more. As I said, think about it. Consult with your friends about me. I only ask that you not mention what I've told you. It could be dangerous, for you and for them."

  "What about you?" she asked, arching a well-shaped brow.

  Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "I'm in so deep I consider myself lost at sea."

  Vera snorted, then bit her lip. "All right," she said at last. "I'll consider it." She raised a finger. "No promises. Understand?"