TORONTO FILM FESTIVAL: THE PRESENT
Ronald Labane lay on the wide hotel bed, fully dressed and so tired he was dizzy. But every bit of him, except for his too-tired face, smiled. He was a success! A raging, by-God success and no denying it. Ziedman and Roth had shown their film and it was the hit of the film festival. He’d been invited to every bash in town, shaken the hands and held the attention of some incredibly monied people, and hopefully gotten his message out to the millions. Time would tell.
Ziedman said his agent had received nibbles from several distributors and their film had been mentioned on all of the entertainment news shows. They’d even shown him sandwiched between Ziedman and Roth, and he’d looked pretty good.
Ronald lay still and basked in the glow while the room felt like it was spinning very slooowly.
These people he’d been meeting were smart, creative, and shallow. At least shallow by his standards. It looked to him like he could become their flavor of the month if he wanted to—a sort of green guru to the stars. He almost smiled, but his face was much too tired. He’d never smiled this much in his life. «
If things go the way I think they might, it’ll be worth the pain, he thought.
Tomorrow morning he had an appointment with an agent, someone with pull, who’d expressed an interest in representing his book. He could see it all now, his entire future unscrolling like a movie. Oh, God! I can hardly wait.
An end to pesticides and herbicides, the outlawing of chicken and pig factories and the indescribable pollution their owners got away with causing. An end to genetic engineering of crops and food animals. The enforced use of alternate
energy sources, clean sources. A simpler, healthier life for everyone. More self-reliance, less automation, and a far less consumption-mad society. , He allowed his mind to wander, imagining every home with its own vegetable garden, people canning their own food, making their own clothes. Everyone busy, involved in their communities, concentrating on the important things in life while their televisions stood idle.
Except for certain hours on certain days of the week, he thought. We’ll have educational programs on recycling and composting and the problems of the third world.
Ron shook his head at the wonder of his vision. It would take time, it would take patience, and sadly, it would take blood. There was no way around that. If people didn’t literally fight for a cause they never accomplished anything.
It will have to be a worldwide phenomenon, he thought. Coordinated to break out on the same day. Perhaps he could start with some sort of computer virus, or several of them, working in waves, breaking down communications. Stop the bureaucrats cold and you’ve made a good start.
But first, get the message out there, get the ideas into the popular mind, convince them that this was the right, the good, the only alternative to their own personal poverty and death. That was the ticket, make it personal. Then, when things began to get violent, they’d find themselves half agreeing with his guerrillas, even against their will. Because by then he would have made it a part of their belief system.
A good beginning, Ron thought, closing his eyes and drifting down into sleep. A
very good beginning.
VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
Dieter sat at his desk sipping bourbon and feeling glum. Suzanne had stayed for a little while, but things had been awkward between them. With neither of them willing to discuss what had happened, they’d tiptoed nervously around topics of general interest.
After what felt like an eternity, they’d agreed that it was late and Suzanne had gone home. He’d walked her to her car, opened the door for her, she’d thanked him for dinner, they’d both said they would have to do this again sometime, and she’d driven away.
We’ll have to do this again, sometime, he thought, giving himself over to melancholy. That’s what people say when they hope they never see each other again. He didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted it uncomplicated, just him and an attractive, intelligent, charming woman finding pleasure in each other’s company. And perhaps something warmer. The possibility is definitely there.
He let out a great sigh and leaned back. That pig, Griego! Suzanne clearly didn’t know what it was all about, but she knew it had something to do with her and was naturally distancing herself. Probably would continue to do so unless he could explain.
So, how do you explain to someone that you thought they might be a terrorist bomber, possible murderer, and, by the way, dangerous psychotic, in case you didn’t get a hint from those first two things? Dieter took a swig of his drink.
Yeah, how did you do that?
Deep down inside himself a voice asked him how he’d come to the conclusion, despite strong evidence, including Griego’s positive identification, that Suzanne Krieger was totally innocent.
He ignored it.
Dieter put down his glass and picked up the phone, dialing rapidly.
” fa?” said an annoyed and sleepy voice.
“Jeff!” Dieter said cheerfully, his heart grinding with resentment. “Were you asleep?”
“At three in the morning? What a stupid question. Hang on, I’ll change phones.”
There was a murmur in the background and then Nancy’s voice was on the line.
“Dieder?” she muttered. “Stob doing thish.”
“I’ve got it, honey,” Jeff said. There was a click and silence for a moment.
“Well?” Goldberg said. “You there?”
” fa,” Dieter answered. “I just had to call and thank you for the wonderful houseguest you wished on me.”
Jeff chuckled. “Sorry about that,” he said. “But we had to be sure.” His voice sharpened with eagerness. “Is it her?”
“No.” Dieter waited a moment, then he recounted the events of the evening.
“What were you thinking of to send me such a pig? My housekeeper wants to
burn the sheets he slept on.”
Goldberg laughed at the story. Dieter could imagine his friend shrugging as he said, “I had to be sure. You know how it is. And the guy is one of the few people who knew Sarah Connor in her active days.”
“If you find any other ex-friends of Sarah Connor,” von Rossbach growled, “do me a favor and keep them to yourself.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be!” After a moment Dieter relented a bit. “Tell Nancy I’m sorry I woke her up again. But not until tomorrow morning!”
“Okay, okay.” Jeff laughed. “Griego must have been quite a package. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again. Sheesh!” He was silent a moment. “You must like this lady,” he hazarded.
There was silence on the Paraguayan end of the line for a moment.
“I do,” Dieter admitted. “She’s a nice woman.”
Jeff grinned in the darkness of his home office. “Good,” he said. “About time. I’ll look forward to meeting her.”
“Sure, if she’s still speaking to me after tonight.”
Goldberg winced.
“Anyway, after all this I’m curious about Sarah Connor. Could you send me the
file on her case?” Dieter asked.
“You’re bored, aren’t you?” Jeff asked. “I warned you retirement was boring.”
Dieter sighed. “Give my love to Nancy.”
“Give my love to what’s-her-name,” Jeff countered with a smile in his voice.
“Drop dead,” von Rossbach said, and hung up.
“You too, buddy.” Jeff hung up, turned off the lamp, and headed back to bed. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife.
*
John looked up from the book he’d been not reading for the past hour at the sound of his mother’s car and waited for her to come in.
“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her and turning the lock.
“You’re later than I’d thought you’d be,” he said. “I was starting to get worried.”
Sarah grinned at him. “If you were worried,” she said, “you’d be doing
the ninja thing up by Dieter’s estancia.” She dropped onto the couch and leaned her head back for a moment. Then, groaning she straightened her neck to look at him, a smile playing about her lips. “Torture and death? Poor Victor was very put out.”
John grinned, and shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Pretty much,” she agreed. “But you marked him. That wasn’t wise under the
circumstances. Especially since you didn’t mark him enough to really scare him.
Next time dangle a scorpion over his eyes or something.”
He nodded, watching her. “What do you mean by ‘pretty much,’ ” he asked.
“He got drunk,” his mother told him. “Some men forget to be afraid when they’re drunk. Fortunately he lost his balance and fell into me in a way that really didn’t look good,” she said, closing her eyes. “So anything he said was suspect. In fact, Dieter didn’t believe him at all.”
John blew out his breath. “Lucky break,” he commented.
Sarah nodded absently. “Lucky Victor isn’t steady on his feet when he’s drunk.”
After a moment John asked, “So what happens now?”
Sarah tipped her head and tugged down the corners of her mouth, staring at nothing. “Now I guess we wait and see. I’d say we’re safe for the moment.” Then she looked at him. “But we should be prepared for anything.”
John nodded. He watched her for a moment. “So are you gonna keep seeing him?”
Sarah’s lips jerked into a smile. “I dunno.” She yawned and sat up. Leaning forward she rested her forearms on her thighs, her hands dangling over her knees. “Things got very awkward after the Victor incident.” Sarah smiled warmly, her eyes looking back to the evening behind her. “In a lot of ways Dieter is kind of old-fashioned. I think he felt he’d let me down.”
John studied her. This was different somehow. He had no sense that she was weighing von Rossbach’s usefulness, his ability to teach him necessary skills.
Though he sensed that Dieter could teach him quite a lot.
It had been a while since his mother had been with anybody. Which was a relief given some of the bozos she’d taken up with. But there hadn’t been anybody since he’d rescued her from Pescadero. Six years was a long time.
“You like him, don’t you?” he asked.
Her eyes snapped back to him and her lips tightened.
“Maybe. Bad idea, huh?” she said. “He could be dangerous for us.”
John pursed his lips. “Yeah, well, you know what they say, Mom.”
She tipped her head inquiringly.
“So far life is one hundred percent fatal. All the rest is just details.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS, CONFERENCE
ROOM: THE PRESENT
Darling! Have you forgotten that we have a luncheon date with Senator Gallagher?” Mary Warren asked.
She walked into the conference room with a click of heels, as though they were alone in her husband’s office. Tricker half rose from his seat, then settled back,
giving Warren a scathing look.
Serena had shut the case containing the Terminator’s arm as soon as the door opened. She and Tricker exchanged glances and he relaxed marginally.
Colvin wore a serious but noncommittal expression, doubtless designed to disguise his real feelings. The president himself was looking as though he’d just swallowed the arm, case and all, and it was trying to escape.
“I had forgotten,” he managed to get out after a stunned moment.
“Then it’s a good thing I left time in my schedule to come and remind you.” She smiled, a strictly pro forma gesture, her eyes sweeping around the table and coming to rest on Serena. “I don’t know you,” she said, her voice warm, her eyes cold.
Serena stood and offered her hand across the table, her own smile strictly professional.
“Serena Burns,” she said. “The new head of security.”
Mrs. Warren reached across, barely touching Serena’s hand before withdrawing her own. “Are you the one who called us the other night?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I am,” Serena said. “I—”
“You mustn’t do that,” Mary Warren said coldly. “Paul doesn’t allow it.”
“So he told me,” Serena said calmly, taking her seat again.
The president’s wife looked at her for a long moment, then turning to her husband, she pinched his tie and said, “I’m glad I brought you another one, darling; this just won’t do.” Stepping back, she said, “Come along or we’ll be late, and one doesn’t keep a senator waiting.” She gave the table a general, gracious-lady smile, ending with her gaze fixed on Serena, and walked to the door.
“I’m sorry,” Warren said, rising. “But I really do have to go.” He got up and moved to join his wife.
“I’ll fill you in later,” Colvin said, “if anything comes up.”
With a nod and a pinched smile Warren followed his wife out of the door. In the conference room, silence reigned for a long moment.
“Well, that was nasty,” Tricker observed.
“Mary has her moments,” Colvin said ruefully. “This has been one of them.”
“So why are they still married?” the government liaison asked. “Does she hold the purse strings, or what?”
Colvin didn’t answer, but sat staring at the table top. “That’s kind of personal,” he finally said. “Why don’t we go on with the meeting?”
Tricker looked at him with a flat stare, ignoring the tension that stretched between them. Civilians always buckled first in a situation like this; they had low discomfort levels. He could stare all day…
Eventually Colvin let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Mary has most of the money. But the company has done well, so Paul is hardly a pauper. Mary’s political contacts, however, have often been invaluable to the company. She’s kind of an undeclared member of the team.”
“She’s kind of a castrating bitch is what she is,” Tricker snarled. “I look at that situation and I see potential trouble. This company can’t afford any more trouble.” His eyes and manner demanded a response.
“I’m aware of that,” Colvin said coldly. “But they’ve been married for fifteen years and the bumps in their relationship have never, in any way, affected Cyberdyne. I see no reason why they suddenly should.”
Tricker pointed at Serena, his gaze still on the CEO.
“Did you see the look she gave Ms. Burns?” he asked. “After all the time it took you two to get someone into that job, I’m not prepared to see Warren’s wife have her fired because she thinks your head of security is too cute! Do you understand?”
“Hello?” Colvin said, leaning forward. “None of that has happened, nothing like that has even been mentioned. This is all some fantasy you’ve dreamed up on the spur of the moment based on your instantaneous dislike of Paul’s wife. Mary Warren wouldn’t do anything to hurt this company. She helped to build it and it’s important to her. So don’t take that tone of voice with me. I don’t deserve it and I don’t appreciate it.”
This time Colvin did the glaring and after a moment Tricker backed off.
Serena waited a beat before saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t have that door locked. If you had informed me that we would be handling secured data, I would have. In the future, Mr. Tricker, if you’re going to drop a bombshell like this it might be best to make arrangements beforehand.”
The government liaison stared at her for a moment, blue eyes unreadable. “Just Tricker,” he said at last. Then he rose. “You’ll need to get that to your development teams.” He paused. “Good luck with your new assistant, Ms.
Burns.”
“Thank you,” she said graciously. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Uh, before you go…” She said, stopping him at the door. “We need to re-program this case.” She indicated the locked container before her.
It was an indication of how upset he was that he’d forgotten such a detail.
Without a word, Tricker came over and showed them how to set the case to open to her or Colvin’s thumbprint.
“Later,” he said, and walked out.
Colvin waited a moment, as though he expected the government liaison to pop back in and snatch up the case. Then he drew the treasure to him. Immediately he began fiddling with the upper arm’s extensions. Serena watched him in benign amusement.
“Y’know he could be right about Mary,” Colvin said at last. He looked up. “She has gotten Paul to fire secretaries and executives based on their looks.”
“I have a contract,” Serena reminded him, raising one brow. “And I’m fulfilling its terms more than adequately. At the end of six months, of course…”—she shook her head—“then I’m vulnerable. But if the company tries to fire me before that time, I warn you, I will sue.”
Colvin nodded, his eyes slipping back down to the arm.
“That’d be the least of our worries,” he muttered. “I shudder to think what Tricker would do.”
Serena smiled at that, enjoying the irony. It’s so nice to have allies.
VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
Marco watched the two couples leave. Von Rossbach, by himself, came out the see them off. The big man watched his guests drive away, lingering out in front of the house until their taillights disappeared then he turned and trotted up the steps.
Marco lowered the binoculars and wished that he had the kind of equipment that would allow him to listen in on what was occurring in the house. One woman had arrived alone and she had stayed behind. Doubtless this was the woman his client was interested in. The mellow tile and stucco of the house, the blossoming flowers of the garden… it made him feel important and scared at the same time.
He was really spying now. These were important people.
He seethed with frustration, but he didn’t dare go closer. The estancia was overrun with dogs. Okay, four, and one of those with puppies. But dogs had terrified him ever since he could remember. So he wasn’t going any closer. For
one thing they’d surely alert the house that there was a stranger nearby, and for another they might rip him limb from limb. Dogs did that sort of thing. And the brush was full of bugs. He was a city boy, anyway; a Private Eye, not a Backlands Scout. It was supposed to be The Maltese Falcon not The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
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