“Victor will,” he said, a peculiarly nasty smile on his young face.
“How are we going to separate him from Dieter?” his mother asked. She grabbed her hair and pulled it back from her face. “I’m supposed to have dinner with him Friday,” she reminded him.
Two days from now. Not very long at all to get hold of Griego and get him straightened out.
“Every other Thursday Epifanio and Dieter get in the Jeep and ride the range,”
John told her. “Or at least, since I’ve been watching them they have. As soon as I see them leave I’ll sneak down and confront him.”
Sarah nodded approvingly. Her little boy was growing up.
“You can offer him a carrot as well as a stick,” she said. “We could give him that weapons cache in Parque San Luis.”
It was in an area of rugged subtropical forest near the Brazilian border. The last time she’d checked it two years ago the weapons were just on the edge of being useless. It was damned damp in that part of Paraguay.
“Tell him you’ll give him the location after the dinner party.” Sarah leaned forward. “But make him believe you’ll kill him if he blows our cover.”
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
“I already knew all of this,” Serena said to her contact in Paraguay.
She wondered how humans managed not to go mad using cumbersome handsets or earphones or worse yet speakerphones with their poor reception. The
hardware installed in her brain handled telephone calls easily. So easily that she had to keep reminding herself to actually pick up the phone, lest someone catch her talking to thin air… and apparently receiving answers.
“I thought that might be the case, senorita,” Cassetti said. “It might save us both time if you gave me a little more direction. Just what exactly do you wish to know about Senor von Rossbach. Knowing that might give me some idea of where to look.”
Serena frowned. She hadn’t wanted to get specific. Still, this was a small-time operator in a faraway country. He had no idea who she was or who she worked for. Where was the harm in allowing a little information out? And he was right; it might move things along. That he said so argued for a certain amount of intelligence. His English was excellent as well, except now and then he fell into an argot she’d identified with difficulty as typical of American popular culture some decades before.
“I am interested in finding out who he knows in the area.” She allowed her voice to get hard. “Especially women.”
“Ah! I understand,” Cassetti said. One of those cases. “Are you and Senor von Rossbach… married?”
“Not yet,” Serena answered. Nor likely to be. “If you could get me pictures of any ladies he’s seeing, I would pay well for it.” It also ought to speed things up.
“If you have access to a computer you could scan the pictures in and e-mail them to me.”
“Senorita, I am not so wealthy. I can take the pictures, but I will have to send
them by mail.”
“Federal Express,” she countered. “Here’s my account number.” She gave him the one for Cyberdyne. “As agreed,” she said, “I will pay your travel expenses.
So if you need to rent a car, that’s covered.”
“I will borrow one from a friend,” he said. “I don’t have a credit card and they won’t rent a car without one.”
Serena rolled her eyes. “I’ll take care of it. Go to the Hertz outlet tomorrow; they’ll have something for you. You do have a license?”
“To be a private investigator? Si!” he said, somewhat indignant.
“Actually I meant a driver’s license,” she said dryly.
“Oh. Si, I have that also.”
“Fine. So I’ll look forward to hearing from you. When?”
“Give me three days, senorita,” he answered. “I’ll have something for you by then. If I do before then, I’ll call.”
“I look forward to that,” she said, and disconnected.
She sat at her desk for a moment, considering the conversation she’d just had. So often when dealing with humans she wondered if they were really as clueless as they seemed. She frequently felt as though she’d made a mistake in hiring one of them. And she probably had, but until her Terminators were complete, she had to
rely on second best. They’re just so slow! she thought. She hated the feeling of uncertainty involved in trusting a human to do a Terminator’s job.
VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
John crouched deep in the pungent underbrush, regretting the rip in his shirt and the deep scratch on his arm and hoping there weren’t any snakes living in here.
Carefully, so as not to create a flash, John raised his binoculars to study von Rossbach’s house. There was a sloppy-looking little fellow lounging on the portal sipping a drink. Victor. He hadn’t changed that much in three years.
Epifanio had entered the house earlier, and hadn’t bothered to respond to Victor’s greeting. Which didn’t seem to bother Griego at all. In fact he’d laughed out loud.
John wondered what the hell the smuggler had done to alienate everyone in Villa Hayes so completely.
Dieter and Epifanio came out while he watched. Dieter ignored Victor as well, but the little man wasn’t laughing about it. He looked damned serious. Epifanio and von Rossbach drove off as though he wasn’t there. When they were just going out of sight, Victor spat.
That’ll show ‘em, John thought.
Now to find out where everybody else was so that he and his old friend Victor could have a nice long talk.
“Ssst! Senor!” John crouched down by the side of the portal, raising his head just high enough that Victor could see his eyes. He held up a bottle. “You want to buy some cana? It’s very good, and cheap, too. My father, he makes it himself.”
“If it’s so good, kid, why don’t you drink it?” Victor growled suspiciously.
John laughed. “Good as it is, senor, I can only drink so much.”
“How much?” Griego asked.
“Cheap!” John said. “Seven thousand guaranis.”
“You call that cheap? I was thinking more like two thousand. That’s what I call cheap!”
” Si, that would be cheap, senor. Perhaps a little sample would convince you that my price is cheap for what you would be buying.”
“Okay,” Victor said instantly. “Bring it here.”
“I don’t dare, senor. The only watchdog that von Rossbach kuimba£ needs is Senora Garcia.”
Griego laughed. “She’s one mean bitch all right.”
John giggled and slapped his leg. “Follow me, senor. I know a nice, shady spot not far from the house where we can drink in private.”
John got up and started off at a slow trot. Turning, he saw that Victor was staring at him with narrowed eyes. He held up the bottle and ran backward a few steps.
Griego licked his lips and rose, coming down the steps eagerly.
“Not so fast,” he protested. “I’m an old man.”
“Soon you’ll feel young again,” John promised him. “My father says a full glass of cana makes him feel like a boy.” Victor chuckled. “If you’ve got something that good it’s worth twenty thousand guaranis.”
John laughed and kept going, walking now, but every now and then speeding up to a trot to keep ahead of Griego.
“I’m sorry to hurry you, senor,” he apologized. “But I want to get out of sight of the house. The senora doesn’t like me one bit and I don’t want to get into trouble with Senor von Rossbach. You know?”
“I know,” Griego muttered. He plowed along, getting redder in the face and sweatier as he went. This stuff had better be worth the trouble or he just might take the bottle and clout the kid.
John led him through a path in the tall brush until they came to a low tree with a little poll of greening grass beneath it. “See,” he said. “A very pleasant place for our talk.” He held out the bottle.
“Talk!” Victor said, grabbing the bottle. “I th
ought we were here to drink, not talk.” He threw himself down beside the tree and pulled the cork with his teeth, surprisingly white in his unshaven face. He took three long swallows of the liquor. “Not bad,” he rasped when he came up for air. “Three thousand,” he said, and took another drink.
“Senor! What are you doing? You must pay before you drink any more.”
Victor chuckled. “You must learn not to offer a whole bottle as a free sample to a man like me,” he said. “Three thousand or nothing, and I’m being generous.”
He slung back the bottle again.
Suddenly Griego felt the cold sharp point of a knife on his Adam’s apple. He didn’t dare move his head, so he plugged the bottle with his tongue and tried to look around it at the boy. What he saw made him choke and the knife bit. A tiny drop of blood rolled down his throat.
“Ah, you recognize me.” John smiled pleasantly. “At least you’ve had a farewell drink.”
Victor lowered the bottle; liquor splashed his chin and throat amid the stubble, making the small cut burn.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?
John, we’re friends, you and I. Surely you wouldn’t kill your old friend Victor?”
His mouth widened in a nervous smile.
John looked thoughtful. “We were friends, weren’t we?” he said. “My mother did much business with you, didn’t she? That was when she was with…” He snapped the fingers of his other hand. “What was his name?”
“Peter Gallagher,” Victor said eagerly. “That British fellow.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” John said, smiling. “That’s right.” He twisted the knife a bit, his young face growing crazy serious. “What a good memory you have, Victor.
You know a memory like that can get a man in trouble.” John shifted so that he was directly in front of Griego, and closer. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“No, no.” Victor raised one finger and smiled desperately. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you tell!”
“Very true,” John said. He looked into Victor’s eyes as though searching his soul, something that made him feel slightly greasy all over. “So, old friend, what are you doing here, eh? Are you also a good friend of von Rossbach’s? Somehow you don’t seem his type.”
Griego laughed, but the knife didn’t back off. The tiny cut deepened. “It’s not that we’re friends,” he said, fearful that saying he was might anger the boy. “We do business together,” he explained. “Just business.”
“Ahhh, business,” John said. “I see. And just what business exactly does he have with you?” He watched Griego’s pupils grow large in terror. “I think I know, you understand? So if you lie to me I’ll slit your nose.”
John pushed the tip of the knife into one nostril. Victor’s eyes crossed and he whined, his eyes filling with tears. Thank God he had a chance to get a nice fortifying drink before we got started, John thought.
“Why don’t we back up a bit,” he said soothingly. “Tell me what you know about Dieter von Rossbach. Start with how long you’ve known him and go on from there.”
“I’ve known him for maybe… ten years. He—he’s used me primarily to get illegal weapons.” Victor simpered. “Nothing too exotic, but not on the open market. You know?”
John nodded and made a come-on gesture with his other hand.
“Sometimes he’d purchase arms for a third party and have me do the shipping, that sort of thing. And sometimes he purchased information.”
The knife pressed down slightly and Griego squeaked.
“In-for-mation,” John said, stretching the word out. “That’s right, you deal in information, don’t you?” He gave his captive the same smile a cobra might give a rat. “Any chance that’s why you’re here now?”
Victor started to shake his head no and the knife pressed down. “Please,” he begged, and started to sob.
“Maybe we should handle this like a business deal of our own,” John said reasonably, withdrawing the knife. “If you answer my questions to my satisfaction, I’ll not only let you keep all your important body parts, I’ll throw in an arms cache my mom hid up by the Brazilian border. Assault rifles, SAWs, some antitank stuff. How’s that sound, hmm?”
“Good, good,” Victor said, shaking and sweating. “Good.”
“Here, take a swig,” John said, handing him the bottle. “Settle yourself down, there.” He leaned in close and patted the man’s shoulder. “We are friends, right?
Right, buddy?”
” Si, friends. The best of friends.” Victor nodded frantically, then took another slug.
John tapped the blade of his knife against his palm.
“Now, from what you’ve told me, I’d have to say that ol’ Dieter sounds like a terrorist. Do you know?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“No,” Victor said almost scornfully, relaxing marginally. “He’s too stable and too well funded for that. I always figured he was working for somebody’s government. Maybe even ours, eh?” He slapped John on the arm and winked.
“Who can say?”
“Uh-hunh. Certainly not me.” John held the knife up and examined its edge, running his thumb lightly down the blade, then grinning as he sucked the blood from the small cut. “So what business are you doing with him now? Guns or information?”
Griego swallowed, watching John’s eyes.
That’s right you little piglet, Connor thought. Think before you speak. Think very carefully, because, as much as I wish I didn’t, I meant every word I said.
“He wants me to identify someone he thinks might be your mother,” Victor confessed.
John lowered the knife.
“I appreciate your being honest with me, Victor.” He sat beside the gunrunner.
“Let me make your decision easy for you. If you identify my mother as Sarah Connor, I’ll kill you. Not all at once, mind you, but a little bit at a time. Like the first time I get you I’ll cut off your feet, to make it easy for me to get you the next time. Then I’ll maybe cut off all your fingers, and then we’ll work our way
up to even more important things.”
He paused to watch Griego’s reaction. “I think you know that the police won’t be very interested in helping you,” he cautioned. “Even if you bribe them. They just don’t like you, you know? Must be all those weapons you’ve sold to people who like to shoot cops.”
“You wouldn’t,” Victor said through stiff lips. “That’s crazy.”
“Like mother, like son,” John said cheerfully. “I assure you, however I do it, you’ll be dead. So it’s not worth it, is it? Besides, there’s that arms cache waiting for you. So, is it a deal or what?”
Griego looked uncertain.
“Are you afraid of Dieter?” John asked.
“Some; he’s a big man, and he has money.” Victor frowned. “I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“What did he say to you when he asked you to identify her?”
“Actually”—Griego brightened—“he said he didn’t think the woman I was to identify was Sarah Connor.”
“Excellent!” John waved an expansive arm. “So, you tell him what he wants to hear, he’ll pay you, we’ll pay you, everybody’s happy, right?”
“Right.”
John rose. “I’ll be on my way now,” he said. “You’d better tell them you cut yourself shaving, huh?” He shook Griego’s hand once, firmly. “Good seeing you again, buddy. You can keep the bottle.” Then he turned and disappeared into the head-high brush, moving with a jaguar’s casual precision.
Cradling the bottle to his chest, his eyes wide, Victor watched the place where the boy had disappeared. He felt a dull anger toward everyone involved in this.
The agent who’d dragged him here without letting him pack so much as a clean pair of underwear; von Rossbach, who treated him like a bug; and the knife-wielding boy who’d just humiliated him.
He’d find a way to make them all sorry. The force behind the thought diminished as h
e thought it, until the anger was all but dead. Victor sighed, looked down at the bottle as though it was his only friend, then took a swig. Might as well get drunk. That he could do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS, CONFERENCE
ROOM: THE PRESENT
I can’t help but notice that you passed over some more qualified applicants for the position of assistant, Ms. Burns.” Tricker looked at Serena over the top of a folder he had opened. “Usually,” he added wryly, “that’s not the way it’s done.”
Tricker had finally come back from whatever untraceable location he’d disappeared to—apparently for the sole purpose of calling a meeting to complain about her decisions. This time it was on her territory, though. The cool recycled air of the underground installation and the subliminal scent of concrete and
feeling of weight were obscurely comforting, on a level she could barely perceive of as conscious.
They felt like home.
“Mr. Dyson is certainly qualified for the position,” she said mildly, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
This outrage is all fake, she thought, qualifications and experience are the least of Tricker’s concerns. When’s he going to admit that?
“He’s Miles Dyson’s brother. You did know that?” Tricker looked at her in only partially suppressed disgust. His cold blue eyes were wide open and full of condemnation.
Well, that answers that question. As a rule, Tricker’s type couldn’t resist getting to the point. Serena swung her chair back and forth slightly, returning his glare with a look that might almost be pity.
She shifted position to put her elbows on the conference table and lean towards him. “Jordan Dyson has worked very hard to uncover the whereabouts of the Connors and their accomplice. Long after the FBI moved the case to the bottom of the pile he has continued to search for them. He’s received several reprimands about it.” She sat back, propping her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her fist. “I happen to be of the opinion that Jordan Dyson represents no danger to the company, and I believe that his dedication will be very useful. Especially since I regard the Connors as a significant risk to this company.”
“You two discussed all that?” Tricker asked.
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