According to his description in his immigration records, the guy was enormous, over six feet tall, over two hundred pounds. But he was boring. A rancher, honest businessman, liked by people who dealt with him. He raised good beef, or should, because he’d purchased a first-rate herd. And he got along with the people who worked for him. Boring. But that’s what his client got for being so cagey, flat refusing to paint in the background for him.
If she complained he’d say, Hey, doll, I don’t know what you know. But I know more than I did. And what I know is this Dieter is a stand-up guy. So what’s your beef with him?
Actually he wouldn’t say anything like that. It would be unprofessional. Fun, but unprofessional.
In his imagination he saw himself as a lone wolf who had to scrounge for his living, blessed with a bighearted secretary who was more than half in love with him and willing to wait for her paycheck. In reality he lived with his parents and worked full-time as a dishwasher for a friend of his uncle’s. If he played tough guy with his clients that would be his life.
So if she was disappointed he would ask her for more direction. Because he’d gone as far as he could in Asuncion, and he wasn’t prepared to borrow a car and go to Villa Hayes with nothing more concrete to go on than “find out whatever you can about Dieter von Rossbach.”
He sighed. The truth was he was sometimes disappointed by his jobs; they were often more sordid than exciting. But he told himself that was to be expected; novel after novel confirmed that this was a corrupt world full of self-serving, lowlife creeps. Which explained all that world-weary cynicism he admired. He sighed again. It was much better admired from a distance.
At least this job wasn’t totally routine; it had a little mystery about it. Marco hoisted the trench coat a little higher on his shoulders and made his way across the plaza, ignoring the curious glances of more appropriately dressed citizens in shorts and Tshirts.
Tonight he would speak to his client… and maybe find out what this case was all about.
VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
“Come in,” Dieter said to the knock on his office door.
Marieta entered wearing the expression of a woman who smelled something very, very bad. “You have two visitors, senor” she said in clipped tones. “I know one of them,” she continued. “He’s no good.” Marieta stood with her two hands clasped over her apron and looked deliberately over his head.
Dieter tapped his pen on the desk and studied her affronted countenance. “Did they say what they wanted?”
She gave a little shrug. “To speak to you, they said.” She sniffed. “Shall I tell them you are busy, senor?”
“Did they say anything else?” he asked.
Marietta hesitated. Then she sniffed and said, “They said something about a Senor Ferarri. I really did not pay that much attention.”
“Perhaps I had better see them, then,” von Rossbach said. “I do know a man named Ferarri. If he’s sent them I wouldn’t want to offend him.” Ferrari was one of Jeff Goldberg’s aliases. I wonder what this is all about, he thought.
“Very well, senor” she said, sounding like a nun about to usher in a whole herd of loose women.
When the men entered, Dieter immediately knew that one of them was from the Sector: the blond man dressed anonymously in good-quality dark clothing, he was of medium height and very fit. Central European of some sort. The other was definitely a local, and a small time sleazebag. Dieter could see why his housekeeper wouldn’t want the man on her furniture. He was short, unshaven, and slightly overweight, with collar-length hair he apparently hadn’t bothered to
wash for weeks. Nor the rest of him, from the smell. His small, close-set eyes darted around the room as though he expected an ambush, and his suit was baggy and sweat-stained.
The agent from the Sector met von Rossbach’s eyes and with a subtle tilt of his head indicated that Marieta should leave. Dieter agreed with a narrowing of his eyes.
“Thank you, Marieta,” he said aloud. “We won’t be needing refreshments, so you can get back to whatever you were doing now.”
Her dark eyes widened in surprise. He rarely spoke to her as though she were a servant, and despite her own insistence on formality it was clear she didn’t quite know how to react.
Dieter nodded to her and gave her a little smile.
“Oh! Si, senior,” the housekeeper said. She backed out the door, ducking her head back in once to send a glare to the man she knew, then closed the door behind her.
Dieter and the agent studied each other while the third man watched them nervously and chewed on a ragged thumbnail.
“Why don’t you say something?” he finally blurted out.
Dieter snapped a finger at him. “Who are you?” he demanded.
The man’s lips jerked into an ingratiating smile.
“But we have done business, senor. Over five years since we saw one another, si, but business.” Von Rossbach continued to stare at him coldly. ” Much business.”
He nodded encouragingly.
“You have a name?” von Rossbach asked, giving the agent a look.
“Ah! Si!” The man touched his brow and grinned. “I am Victor Griego.”
Dieter nodded.
“Senor Ferarri thought that this one might be able to help you identify someone,”
the agent said. “Senor Griego has extensive underworld contacts, going back many years.”
” Si,” Victor agreed, nodding eagerly. “I was told you wished to identify Sarah Connor. I knew her, did business with her. One of her lovers was a good friend of mine,” he said with a leer. A muscle jumped in Dieter’s jaw at that. “I mean no offense, senor.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Dieter turned a disgusted shoulder to the man and addressed the agent. “I already told Ferarri that the woman was too short,” he said. “I am sorry to have wasted your time. And yours.” He nodded to Victor.
“It is all right, senor. I will be paid for my time.” Griego smirked and one hand turned over in a not too subtle signal of expectation. “But since I am here, perhaps you should get some value for your coin.”
Dieter glanced at the agent, who shrugged.
“Best to make absolutely certain, eh?” Griego said.
“It might be best,” the agent agreed indifferently.
Intellectually Dieter couldn’t blame his friend for siccing these two on him. His dismissal of the information Jeff had sent him was lame and, obviously, unconvincing. As well, the reward was enormous. The Sector didn’t believe in binding the mouths of the oxen who trod out the corn— although they were extremely reluctant to let anyone quit the organization.
Emotionally he was very annoyed. Partly with Jeff, who might have trusted him to handle this in his own way. Partially with himself, because after his dinner with Suzanne and her son he found that he really liked them.
The dinner had been delicious and the company was wonderful. John had a lot of charisma and probably would go far in life. Suzanne he found more intriguing every time he saw her. He found himself trusting her; she exuded an aura of competence and reliability.
And yet he was also convinced that Suzanne Krieger was Sarah Connor. A woman wanted for gunrunning, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, bombings, suspected murder, and last but not least, escaping from a mental institution.
I must belong in one myself, he thought dryly. After all, he was holding back because he was certain down in his soul that there was a reasonable explanation for everything she had done. Suzanne just didn’t feel like a murderer. Of course, she is a smuggler, so the gunrunning could be a legitimate charge. Talk about grasping at straws.
But he was an experienced agent and the shape of the Sarah Connor case… to him it was obvious that a piece of the puzzle was missing. A damned important piece. And it might be the result of sheer boredom, but he wanted to be the one to find that piece.
“I’m having a small dinner party at the end of the week.” Von Rossbach turn
ed to Griego. “The woman will be one of my guests; you’ll stay until then. After having dinner with her, you should be able to make an identification, one way or the other.” Victor nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Dieter looked at the agent. “Will you also be staying with us?”
The man rose in a fluid motion; Dieter’s private estimation went up a notch or two.
“Unfortunately I cannot,” he said. “I must be going. Senor Ferarri said that you would be taking care of our friend’s needs and expenses.”
One corner of von Rossbach’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “Well, if that’s what he said, then I suppose that’s what I’ll do.”
He rose and offered the agent his hand. The two men shook, eyes meeting eyes, evaluating, you know, Dieter thought, I don’t miss having to be that wary. The man turned and left, leaving the informant and Dieter alone together.
“I suppose we’d better get you settled. Do you have luggage?” Dieter asked.
“No.” Victor laughed. “Our friend there was in a bit of a hurry.”
“Well, we’ll find you something clean to wear. And my housekeeper can wash your clothes for you while you shower.
“No need,” Victor said cheerfully.
“I insist.”
The man looked at Dieter anxiously and saw that his gigantic host wasn’t joking.
“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “A nice shower would be… uh, nice.”
*
Dieter closed the door of the guest room and trotted downstairs, his face grim.
Marieta wasn’t going to like this. At least he won’t be putting his greasy head on her nicely ironed pillowcases, he thought. Living with Griego for three days was going to be like living with a very large, bipedal rat. But at least they wouldn’t have to share the same bathroom. “Marieta is going to kill me,” Dieter whispered.
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
Serena rose and came around her desk as her secretary escorted the young man in. She observed with interest how very much Jordan resembled his brother, Miles; the same large, fine eyes, broad straight nose, high cheekbones, smooth dark skin. It fascinated her. The way that faces emerged from the genetic soup to perfectly combine the features of the parents in the offspring.
She offered her hand and Jordan took it.
“Why don’t we sit here,” Serena suggested, indicating her sofa and coffee-table arrangement. “Would you like something?” she asked. “Coffee, tea, a soft drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine,” he said, settling himself.
“I read the resume you sent me.” Serena said, sitting beside him, her body turned slightly toward him. “Very impressive. Does the Bureau know that you’re doing this?”
Jordan’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. That wasn’t the first question he’d expected to be asked.
“No,” he said carefully. “I chose not to discuss it with them.”
Ms. Burns wasn’t at all what he’d expected. She was incredibly young for this post for one thing. For another, even for California, she was an absolute babe.
“Mmm,” Serena said, her eyes slightly narrowed. “We’ve had several applications, as you can imagine. And you’re one of the youngest candidates.”
She gave him a bright smile. “And, as you can imagine, I’m favorably inclined toward a younger candidate.” She shifted her shoulders against the couch and crossed her legs. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you have to ask me.”
Jordan was somewhat taken aback. He’d expected to be answering questions, perhaps defending his decision not to inform his superiors at the Bureau of his job search. To immediately move to his questions felt a little like hitting the ground hard after expecting the famous step that wasn’t there.
“I want this job,” he said aloud. “Am I going to get it?”
She smiled. “Yes. You are.” Serena rose and moved to her desk to gather up
some brochures. “These will tell you about the company and the rules. I’ve also prepared this for you.” She held up a black folder. “It describes what I expect from you and what I consider to be your job.” She sat down beside him again, placing the whole bundle on the coffee table. “You’ll have things to take care of at home, and you’ll have to give two weeks’ notice, I suppose. How long before you can begin?”
“Two weeks ought to do it,” he said. “It might not even take that long.”
“Would you like us to find you a temporary apartment out here?” Serena asked.
“That would be great,” he said.
“Furnished or un?”
“Uh, furnished for now,” he said. “I can put my stuff in storage until I find permanent digs.”
“Great. Anything else?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“I guess I should ask how much I’ll be making, about benefits, that sort of thing.”
Jordan brushed his hand over the top of his head. This is too easy! he thought.
He’d had a tougher interview for his first job. Which was shoveling Mrs.
McGill’s driveway when he was eight. But what am I gonna do? Say I’m here in hopes of catching the Connors? He wanted this job. So he sat back and listened to Ms. Burns’s answer.
“Your initial salary will be seventy-five thousand, with the usual comprehensive medical and dental plans. You get two weeks’ vacation a year to start and paid holidays. Theoretically, anyway.” She grinned at him. “There’s a lot of work to be done here and you’ll be getting in on the ground floor. Or, to put it another way, you and I will have the challenge of doing everything because this company hasn’t got any significant security in place. I tend to work seventy hours a week myself. I could work more if I wanted to.”
She tipped her head. “Will that be a problem for you?” she asked. “I mean”—she spread her hands—“is there family, or a girlfriend?”
“No, no,” Jordan said. Not anymore, anyway. In fact it would be good to get so involved with something that he had no time to think about his family. “Not a problem.”
“Good.” She slapped the arm of the couch. “So, you’ll be joining us, eight A.M.
Monday morning two weeks from… Monday?”
“Yes,” he said.
She rose and offered him her hand. “I’m glad to have you on board.”
“Glad to be on board.” Jordan clasped her hand firmly.
“You have a good handshake,” she said. “I like that.”
He smiled, gave a little shrug, pleased at her praise and feeling damn silly about it. But he had the job! That was the important thing. I just hope the Connors don’t show up before I’m ready for them.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“And I with you,” Serena said, opening her office door. “I think the FBI is definitely losing out here.”
Jordan shrugged. “I just had to give the private sector a try,” he explained.
Serena leaned in confidentially. “You won’t be sorry,” she said quietly. And neither will I.
KRIEGER TRUCKING, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
“Victor Griego? That slimebag?” Ernesto’s honest face was screwed up with distaste. “Who says it?” he asked.
“Shooosh,” Meylinda said, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t want the senora to hear us talking about it.”
“Why not?”
Meylinda gave him an exasperated look. “Because it’s gossip about the senor,”
she growled.
“Ah! So, who?” Ernesto whispered.
“My mama had it from Marieta Garcia herself. Who is fit to be tied about it! The senor just won’t listen to her. She says he has forbidden her to speak of it.”
Meylinda pulled a face and looked up at him from under her eyebrows.
“Ay yi,” he said quietly. He shook his head sadly. “Has Epifanio tried?”
“Marieta says he won’t even try. He says the senor knows what he is doing. Who are we to question him? he says.” Sh
e pulled the corners of her mouth down.
“But how can he even stand to have his wife waiting on that pig?” Ernesto asked.
Meylinda shrugged and rested her chin on her fist, her face glum. Both of them bowed their heads and sighed.
“Hey, who died?” Sarah asked.
They jumped guiltily.
“I was just going back to work,” Ernesto said, matching action to words. He gave a little hop as he made it to the door, as though he would start running as soon as he was out of sight.
“I was just about to start that filing, senora,” Meylinda said. She gave an uncertain look to the towering pile of receipts and laughed a little.
Hmmm, Sarah thought. “So, what were you two talking about?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing, senora,” Meylinda said over her shoulder. “Just some silly gossip.
You wouldn’t be interested.”
Sarah sat at Meylinda’s desk, clasping her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl. “Oh, but I love gossip,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “Oh,” Meylinda said, and swallowed hard.
“We have a problem,” Sarah said to John when she got home that afternoon.
“Hi, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine, thanks, and how was your day?”
She put her purse down on the kitchen table and stood with one hand on her hip.
“You remember Victor?” she asked.
He wore a vague look for a moment, then the penny dropped. He narrowed his eyes, “Grieger?”
“Griego,” his mother said. “But that’s not bad seeing as we haven’t seen him since you were thirteen. He’s staying with Dieter.”
“Whaaat?” John felt his knees grow weak and pulled out a chair, sitting down hard. He stared at his mother, who looked back at him, her face grim. “How did that happen?”
Sarah moved at last, pulling out a chair of her own.
“How it happened isn’t that important,” she said. ” That it happened is.” She shook her head. “We don’t know enough. We don’t know anything about Dieter, really, and nobody will talk to us.”
“Somebody will,” John said.
She looked over at him quickly.
He plucked a grape out of the basket on the table.
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