Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  " What?" John's face was a mask of disbelief. He took a step toward his mother.

  "I can't believe you said that."

  With a puzzled expression on her face Sarah looked from John to Dieter and back again. "For heaven's sake, you guys! All I meant was that I'm not willing to baby-sit someone with the law hot on her trail while you're gone!"

  "You're pretty picky all of a sudden," John said hotly. "Wasn't so long ago you

  —"

  The flat of von Rossbach's big hand hit the desk with a resounding slap that made them both jump. He glared at them until they both looked sheepish. "As I said before"—his voice was deadly quiet—"we need to speak to the young lady.

  Would you care to join us, miss?" Dieter looked to the French doors.

  John followed his gaze. "Wendy?" he said.

  Wendy peeked around the bush that had concealed her, eyes wide.

  "Wendy!" John repeated joyously, and stepped toward her.

  She flew into his arms and he held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. They held on to each other tightly for what seemed like a long time, and yet too short a time; his hands stroked her back through the thin nightdress, leaving a trail of warmth on her chilled skin. She opened her eyes to catch Dieter's half smile.

  "Hello," he said.

  She smiled back at him.

  "Those who eavesdrop seldom hear good of themselves," Sarah said self-righteously.

  Wendy wrinkled her nose. "Tell me about it," she growled.

  Dieter laughed out loud. "From Sarah's description I thought you were some kind of shrinking violet." He grinned at Sarah's offended look. "Please sit down,"

  he invited, indicating the chair before his desk.

  John took her hand and led her to the chair, taking the seat beside her without releasing her hand. They smiled at each other as though they were alone and completely at peace. Sarah stood behind them with her arms crossed, frowning—

  looking, and no doubt feeling, very much left out. Dieter sighed, not certain if it was at this example of young love or at Sarah's apparent jealousy. He knew that she wanted her son to have someone, just not right now.

  Ah, but Sarah, he thought sadly, better now than never at all.

  "What happened to your hair?" John asked.

  Wendy touched it with her free hand. "We cut it so I'd look more like Snog's sister. I'm using her passport." She looked at Dieter. "That car I drove here in was rented using one of her credit cards."

  "When is the car due back?" he asked.

  Wendy shrugged. "I took it for ten days; I've got seven left. I didn't know how long it would take to get here, or what would happen when I arrived, so I went for a fairly long time."

  Dieter nodded, considering. "We'll take it back for you," he said. "I'll pay the bill in cash so there'll be no paper trail."

  "Thank you," she said, looking awkward. "But I'm already imposing so much—"

  "Don't worry," von Rossbach said with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

  "Especially at this late date," Sarah muttered. Then she rolled her eyes at Dieter's disapproving expression. Throwing up her hands, she went to sit in the far corner, in the office's only other chair.

  "Tell us what happened," von Rossbach invited.

  Wendy glanced at John, who nodded. She licked her lips and began.

  When she was finished Sarah said, "That was a lot more coherent than your first

  recital."

  Wendy looked at John and smiled at him before answering. "I'm much more rested." She glanced over her shoulder at Sarah. "And John makes me feel more secure."

  "The only significant connection between you and the murder would be your fingerprints on the weapon," Sarah observed. "Why didn't you take it with you?"

  "Gimme a break!" Wendy snapped. "I was drugged and in shock. For a moment there I was going to run down and report the murder to the desk clerk. All things considered, I think I did pretty well. This might be everyday stuff to you, but it's all new to me. So just back off, okay?"

  Sarah blinked and John tried not to smile. Dieter maintained a neutral expression

  —with difficulty. "Given what you've told us," he said, "I doubt you were followed." He looked over at Sarah. "I also doubt you can be traced. That is"—

  he turned back to Wendy—"unless your friends…"

  She shook her head. "No. They wouldn't turn me in. Nor do they know where I am. I've never told them this is where John lives and there's nothing on my computer or in my notes about anything." Wendy shrugged. "So things are as safe as they can be under the circumstances."

  Von Rossbach nodded. "You look tired," he said gently. "Why don't you go back to bed? We can talk some more in the morning."

  Wendy glanced uncertainly at John, who squeezed her hand. "I'll go up with you," he said. "I'm tired, too." But the look he gave her promised at least a few

  minutes together. Hand in hand they left the room without looking back.

  After they'd gone Dieter and Sarah sat quietly for a few moments. Then Sarah got up from her chair and approached the desk.

  "I've never seen you like this," Dieter observed.

  Sarah snorted and half smiled. "I've never felt like this," she admitted. As she took Wendy's seat she raised and dropped her hands to slap her thighs. "It's just that I don't know anything about her."

  The big Austrian laughed and quickly said when she frowned, "My mother said exactly that when I got my first serious girlfriend."

  Sarah grimaced. "Yes, well…" She gave him an assessing look. "How did you know she was out there? I didn't have a clue."

  "The shampoo in the guest bathrooms has a very strong scent," he admitted.

  She tilted her head, looking at him in amused surprise. "I'd noticed that, but I never realized there was a reason for it." She shook her head and laughed. "But even so, I didn't smell her."

  "I thought that was why you stopped using it," he said. "So I wouldn't know where you were."

  "Not likely," she said. "I stopped using it because the smell made me gag." They grinned at each other until she lowered her eyes.

  "It's obvious that she adores him," Dieter said, his expression sympathetic.

  Sarah instantly went on the offensive. "She also allegedly adored Ron Labane, and look at what happened to him!"

  "Oh, come on, Sarah! She's a victim of circumstance. John backs her up."

  "And the neighbors always say, 'He was such a quiet man,' " Sarah snapped back.

  "It's pure coincidence that she got involved with the murder. The killers were clever, but they couldn't know how resourceful she would be."

  "I don't believe in coincidence, or accident, or happenstance when it affects John," Sarah said firmly. "I can't afford to." She looked in his eyes. " We can't afford to. Especially not now."

  He lowered his head and looked at her from under his eyebrows. "Do you think she's a Terminator?"

  Sarah threw up her hands again and looked away. "Before Serena Burns I would have sworn it wasn't possible. Now?" She shook her head. "Who the hell knows."

  In Wendy's room, on Wendy's bed, the two young lovers lay entwined. John was still completely dressed, Wendy was far less so and not minding that a bit. She tugged at John's shirt as she kissed him, inhaling his scent, her eyes closed in sheer pleasure.

  John stayed her hand, captured it, and brought it to his lips. He kissed it and smiled at her, his eyes begging her to understand. "Mom's still awake." he said softly.

  Wendy groaned, then buried her face in his neck. "I love you," she said passionately. After a moment she said timidly, "But I don't think your mother likes me at all." She looked up at him. "She's not what I expected."

  John laughed lightly. "Right now she's not what I expected. But then, you're my first girlfriend and a total surprise to her. Mom doesn't like surprises. One time I baked a cake for her birthday, lit the candles, and hid behind the door. When she came in I jumped out and yelled, 'Surprise!' and she pulled a gun on me." He chuckle
d. "It's a wonder I wasn't shot."

  Wendy stared at him, wide-eyed, as he recounted what he apparently thought of as a fond memory.

  Noticing her mood, he gave her a squeeze and kissed her forehead. "Once she gets to know you, she'll like you," he assured her. "I know she will."

  "I hope so," she said with a sigh, and kissed him again.

  After a few heated moments they came up for air. John held her more tightly and groaned. "I wish we had more time!" he said fervently.

  Wendy's head went back and she studied his face in the dim light of the bedside lamp. "Before your mother comes up to bed?" she teased.

  He sighed and shook his head.

  "Then what do you mean?"

  "Dieter and I have to go somewhere," he said. "We'll be gone for a few weeks at

  least." Or forever, he thought, depending on how things go.

  "Where are you going?" she demanded, frowning.

  "Shhh." He laid his finger on her lips. "Don't worry, you can stay here with Mom."

  Wendy sat up and looked down on him. "I'd rather go to hell," she said frankly.

  Then she drew close to him again, snuggling into his arms. "Or with you."

  He shook his head.

  "Please," she begged.

  "Wendy," he said, tracing the curve of her cheek with his finger, "I can't. I'm sorry to say no to you. But I just can't."

  She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. After a moment she nodded.

  "Fine," she said. "I understand."

  John looked at her in concern; he thought that her eyelashes had grown moist.

  Before he could speak Wendy said, "I'm really tired. I should go to sleep now."

  She still hadn't opened her eyes and John felt a sinking feeling as she drew herself from his arms and turned her back on him. He reached out for her.

  "Good night," she said.

  John drew back his hand, confused. He knew he'd somehow mishandled this situation, but genuinely didn't see any alternative. In his heart he understood that

  Wendy felt rejected, but he could hardly take her to Antarctica for a raid on a military facility.

  He'd missed her so much, had wanted to see her and hold her for so long. But not now! There was just no time. No time to be with her and maybe not even time to heal this breach. He let out his breath in an almost inaudible sigh and reached out to touch her bare shoulder.

  "We'll talk tomorrow," he said. Leaning over, he kissed her neck. "Sleep well, sweetheart. Good night."

  Getting up from the bed, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. On the way to his room he reflected on how he'd often wondered as a kid how adults could say things like sweetheart and darling to one another with a straight face.

  He thought of the girl on the bed and smiled. And now I know.

  Wendy heard the click of the latch as he left the room and raised her head from the pillow. She gave one self-pitying little sniff, then steeled herself. She was going with him. He just didn't know it yet.

  John's mother made no comment when he announced at breakfast that he intended to ramble around the estancia with Wendy that day. The very lack of reaction raised Wendy's hackles even more than John's blithe assumption that she'd go with him.

  "Do you ride?" John asked her, smiling.

  " 'Fraid not," she said. "I wanted a horse when I was little, until my dad explained about mucking out. Then I changed my mind and made do with

  Bryer's figures and glossy calendars." She grinned. "Truth to tell, we had a hard time affording my cat."

  "I can teach you," John offered.

  She smiled at his eager expression, her heart giving a little extra thump, and decided to forgive him. "I'd like that. But first I'd like to enjoy your company with no distractions. I"—she was about to say, I've missed you, but suddenly remembered that they weren't alone and became shy—"can't wait to hear about what you've been doing," she finished lamely.

  "Likewise," John said. "Are you finished?"

  Wendy instantly laid down her napkin, saying "yes" despite the food remaining on her plate.

  "May we be excused?" John asked his mother. Sarah was examining a printout that Dieter had given her and didn't hear him. "Mom?" he said again, somewhat louder.

  She looked up at him. "What?"

  "May we be excused?"

  Sarah glanced at their barely touched plates and shrugged, slightly bemused that he would even ask. "Of course," she said. When the two young people left in a clatter she turned to Dieter. "Suddenly he's exquisitely polite."

  "She's the older woman," Dieter observed. "Maybe he's trying to appear

  sophisticated."

  Sarah gave a little laugh and shook her head. "This thing between them—it's for real, isn't it?"

  Dieter nodded, suddenly solemn. This thing between us, he thought, is that real?

  Aloud he said, "I'm glad of it. It will give him something special to come home to."

  "Hunh!" Sarah said. "That puts me in my place."

  "You know what I mean." He laid his hand on hers for a fleeting moment. "He's young and she's a pretty girl; the thought of her will keep him going."

  Sarah leaned her chin on her fist and raised her brows. "So did you have some Dulcinea in your life when you went into the field?"

  He gave her a look that seemed to liquefy her bones. "Maybe," he said laconically. He gestured toward the printout. "What do you think?"

  Sarah straightened and, lowering her eyes, picked up the papers beside her plate, feeling desired and rejected at the same time. "O-kay," she said, all business again. "This looks excellent. I'd be happier if we had a few more storage depots in central Mexico, because I think the U.S. and Canada will be hit harder. And I'd love to get my hands on something bigger than 120mm mortar." She looked up at him. "Don't worry, I know that's impossible. But this is impressive. We'll be in much better shape than I ever could have hoped for." One corner of her full mouth lifted in sardonic amusement. "Clearly your contacts are more reliable than mine."

  Dieter snorted. "More money buys better contacts."

  ***

  John cut an apple with his pocketknife and gave the piece to Wendy, who offered it on her open palm to an enthusiastic Linda, Sarah's mare. She smiled at the feel of the horse's soft muzzle and warm breath.

  "You breathe into their nostrils to introduce yourself," he told her.

  Wendy leaned forward and blew gently, but it seemed to her that Linda wasn't very interested, or else she was doing it wrong, or maybe the mare just wanted more apple. "Gimme," she said, taking the fruit from John's hand. She offered it to the horse and got a very positive reaction. "I think she just smiled."

  Watching and listening to the horse crunch up the apple, John was inclined to agree. He put his hand between Wendy's shoulder blades and scratched gently.

  She turned to him, her eyes twinkling, a dimple in her cheek.

  "Are you getting us mixed up?" she asked, tilting her head at Linda.

  "Sorry," he said, blushing. "No, not at all."

  "You're distracted, though." She leaned an elbow on the corral fence. Linda nudged Wendy hopefully, knocking her off balance. John caught her, steadying her while he looked into her eyes.

  "I love you," he said.

  She smiled. Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss across his lips. "I love you, too.

  But"—she held up a finger to forestall his kiss—"/am not so easily distracted.

  Tell me what's on your mind, John. It isn't me, or at least not all me."

  He looked at her, his face grim, his eyes concerned. Then, looking up, he pointed to a tree. "Let's go sit over there."

  As they approached the shade Wendy saw that a blanket and a picnic basket had been left there and she turned to John with a smile. "No wonder you were willing to walk out on breakfast. When did you bring this out?"

  "I didn't," he answered, collapsing bonelessly onto the blanket. "But I have friends in the right places." He opened the basket and offered her som
ething wrapped in a napkin. Wendy accepted it, going to her knees beside him. It turned out to be an extremely moist sort of savory pastry.

  "It's good!" she said around a mouthful of oniony, cheesy, corn-muffin-y stuff.

  "It's called sopa paraguaya, a traditional breakfast food. Marietta, the housekeeper, makes the best." He opened the thermos and poured them each a cup of coffee with the milk and sugar already added.

  "This I'm not so crazy about," she said, making a face.

  "Hey, it's got caffeine." John took a long swallow. "I didn't sleep much last night."

  "Me either," Wendy said.

  They were quiet for a while, filling the silence with eating and drinking. Marietta had packed fruit juice and Wendy eagerly drank that, leaving the too-sweet coffee to John.

  "Tell me," she finally said.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  "Don't give me that look," she said, giving his shoulder a shove. "It's so on your mind I can practically see digital letters running across your forehead. But if you insist I'll make it easy for you. When are you leaving, and where are you going, and what are you going to do when you get there?"

  He bit his lips and looked into his coffee as though trying to divine the future from it.

  Wendy gave him another shove. "What's the point of holding out on me? Given where I am and what I already know."

  "Good point," he admitted at last, sitting up. He shook his head. "Mom will kill me for this."

  Wendy laughed. "I seriously doubt that. Me, maybe. But from her at least, you're safe."

  John grinned and, putting his hand behind her head, pulled her toward him for a kiss, then let her go. "We're going to Antarctica."

  "Cool," she said, then laughing, held up her hands. "No pun intended, honest."

  He smiled, then frowned. "They've started up the Skynet project again at a secret base they've got down there. We're going to take it out."

  "Blow it up, you mean," Wendy said.

  Her face grew thoughtful and John kept silent, putting off what he saw as an inevitable argument. She would give him reasons why she should come and he would refuse. Then she'd be hurt and would in turn hurt him, by withdrawing, or even, perhaps, by saying something in anger. He lay down on his back and looked up at the tree and the blue sky just visible through its canopy of leaves.