“You okay in there?” he asked Sarah.
There was a sharp tap from inside the trunk in answer. The code was once for yes, twice for no. He’d be glad when she could get out of there. The very thought of her crammed into that tiny space was giving him claustrophobia.
And Sarah only mentally present was even harder to take than the silent accusation that had been pouring out of her when she was there physically. Not the least of the shock was realizing how much he cared about her opinion.
Ferri’s place was relatively easy to find, one of a row of base housing looking like a marked-down suburb two decades out of date, with plenty of kids and dogs. The Major was sitting in a lawn chair out front waiting. He checked his watch.
“On time, as ever,” the Major said, rising.
Dieter grinned and waved. Then he lifted the canvas and dragged out the case of beer.
Ferri’s face lit up and he waved his arms in a mock bow.
“I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy,” he said with a grin.
“You know what? You’re right,” Dieter said. “I’ll take it back and get a refund.”
Alarm flashed across the Major’s face and he rushed forward to gently remove the case from von Rossbach’s arms.
“No, no, no!” he said. “You just let me take care of these babies.” He cocked his head toward his front door. “C’mon in, set a spell, tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“In a word, cows.” Dieter said surrendering the carton. He glanced at a grill by the corner of the house as he opened the door. “You’re not going to barbecue anything, are you?”
“I thought you might be homesick,” Ferri said innocently. “Kung Pao chicken,”
he said. “My best chicken dish.”
The Major led him into a small, sparsely furnished living room. Ferri had never been one to put his imprint on his quarters. Probably because early in his career he’d been on the move so much. A lot of guys acquired souvenirs of the places they’d been, but Ferri found they lost their charm fast when you had to pack and move ‘em twenty or thirty times.
In the kitchen, he put his prize down on a gray-and-red Formica table, then ripped open the box and pulled out a sweating bottle.
“Hey! It’s cold!” he said in delight.
“Well, I knew you would want one right away,” Dieter said.
He reached in and took one out for himself. Ferri produced an opener and they sat down at the table. For a moment all that could be heard was men swallowing good beer.
The kitchen was full of late-afternoon sunlight and smelled fantastic, suffused with the rich aromas of good cooking. The counter bore evidence of much meat and vegetable chopping having taken place.
“When do we eat?” Dieter asked, a greedy look on his face.
” ‘Bout twenty minutes,” Ferri said with a grin. “You hungry?”
“Now I am,” von Rossbach said fervently.
Grinning, Ferri brought out a plate of cheese and a box of crackers.
“Don’t eat too much,” he cautioned. “But good cheese does go well with good beer.”
Sarah waited for what seemed forever; ten minutes as the universe counted time.
Then, when she heard no sounds from outside the Humvee, she pushed against the front of the locker with her hands and knees. It slid out slow and even and for a moment she just lay on her side breathing the sweet clean air that cooled her face and chest.
She rolled out, pulled out her supplies, and after a brief struggle in the semidarkness pushed the false front of the trunk back into place. Cautiously she sat up, lifting the edge of the canvas, she quickly checked the area around the car. People were visible in the distance, but their attention was elsewhere.
Excellent, they hadn’t aroused the guards’ suspicions. She could neither hear nor see Dieter or his friend. The coast was clear.
Sarah sat still for a while, letting the worst of the sweat dry from her face and hair. She’d been in the trunk only about thirty minutes but it had quickly become stiflingly hot.
Sensibly, she’d not donned her uniform blouse and it waited beside her to be put on. About her hair there wasn’t much she could do. At least it was short. Maybe anyone who noticed it was wet would think she’d just taken a shower.
Ten minutes later she was striding away from the Humvee in the direction of the Cyberdyne facility; information John had teased out of the contaminated brain of the Terminator they’d destroyed. She carried a battered brown briefcase and wore the boxy cammo fatigues of the modern army, with an MP armband circling the sleeve, and a peaked cap worn level on her head.
In the briefcase were a set of detonators, timers, and several tools that would hasten her work. They’d made the fairly safe assumption that they would find everything else they’d need at the site.
We did the last time I blew up Cyberdyne, she thought grimly.
In the pocket of her fatigue jacket was a taser. It looked almost exactly like one of the bulkier cell phones on the market. The laser they’d adapted to disrupt a Terminator’s electronics was clipped to her belt. She really didn’t expect to find a Terminator minding the front desk after all and that one would fry a human—so she didn’t want to get them mixed up.
Sarah crossed what felt like a mile of the compound before coming in sight of Cyberdyne. She kept her eyes front and by her manner indicated that she knew exactly where she was going and exactly what she was doing. No one gave her a second look.
She boldly approached Cyberdyne’s glass front door and pulled the handle.
Nothing happened. I guess maybe they’re waiting for us. Her breath grew shaky and her palms began to sweat.
The glass was tinted; from four feet away it might as well have been opaque.
Sarah leaned forward and made out a man behind a desk watching her. She tapped on the glass and waved the security guard toward her.
He mouthed, “We’re closed.”
She took the laser out of her pocket and pretended she was a phone; lowering her head, she pulled her ear. She continued to wave the guard toward her, looking up at him from under the rim of her hat.
He kept waving his hands in a negative sign and saying they were closed, and she continued lo alternately lap on the door and wave him forward. Al last, looking intensely exasperated, he pushed himself up from his seal and came lo the door. Unlocking it, he pushed it open a few inches.
“We—are—closed,” he enunciated.
“Hold on, please,” Sarah said lo The taser. “I have an appointment,” she said to the guard.
“There’s nobody here,” he insisted. “The place is empty.”
“Check your appointment book,” Sarah said. “I’ll be listed.”
He glanced al The MP armband and looked uncertain.
Sarah, holding The laser against her shoulder as though she didn’t want it to overhear, sighed noisily.
“Will you just check. Please,” she said. “I’m sure I would have been contacted if my appointment was canceled.”
“We-11,” he said. “I guess Ms. Burns is still here…”
“Thai’s who I’m supposed lo see,” Sarah told him. “Could you please just let me in and tell her I’m here.” He stood looking al her uncertainly. “Sometime today would be good,” she said sarcastically.
The guard stood back and gestured her in with his head. Then he locked The door behind them and led her lo his desk. He sat down and called up a page on the computer.
“I’m sorry about This,” Sarah said quietly.
The guard turned toward her and she triggered the taser; the twin cords shot out with an electronic zzzzrrrnng, hitting him full in the stomach. He went down and bounced and jittered on the floor while fifty thousand volts shot through his body and his muscles convulsed.
Sarah pressed the button that released the cords, snapped a new set into the
taser’s base, and stepped over his body before he even became still. Placing her briefcase on the desk, she opened it and took out some
duct tape. Bending over the guard, she checked his pulse; fast, but steady. Then she slapped a piece of tape over his mouth and turned him over. With a few quick moves she had him bound, feet to wrists, and more securely gagged. Quickly she patted him over and withdrew his master key-card, then she shoved him under the desk.
Glancing at the computer, she noticed the page he’d brought up had been replaced by a prompt that asked what information the guard was looking for. She typed in “games,” hoping that anyone watching over the system, if anyone was, would assume that a bored guard was looking for entertainment. The computer responded with a full-page scolding about playing games on company time.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. They can’t seriously imagine that anyone is going to go to the trouble of reading all that, she thought. It’s a self administered spanking!
She tapped in the sequence that John had given them and it brought up security; with a few taps she disabled the silent alarm. Something I should have done last time, she thought bitterly. Then she brought up the door locks and changed the entry code to test mode, one that only she, John, and Dieter knew. Then she shut the computer down and rose.
Sarah looked around. The guard’s desk stood alone in a very unwelcoming lobby. No chairs for the comfort of waiting visitors, no plants to soften the harsh lines of the place. Just a polished floor and the desk, behind which was a short, wide corridor that ended in a pair of double doors. This led to the storage area, where she hoped to find her bomb-making materials. On either side of the corridor were a pair of elevators.
The desk itself was one of those that had a high shelf in front with the desk space consisting of another shelf below. Even when he wasn’t tied up underneath it the guard would be very hard to see from the front.
Which is a plus, Sarah thought. Some passerby glancing through the door wouldn’t really expect to see anyone.
She stood still, listening carefully: there was no sound but the sigh of the air-conditioning, and the air it put out had the utter sterility of a high-priced recirculation system. Apparently the guard hadn’t been kidding; no one was here.
No one but Ms. Burns, that is, whoever she is.
A group of monitors on the guard’s desk showed her from several angles, so there were several cameras mounted around the place. But she saw no point in worrying about them. If she succeeded, they’d soon be so much melted plastic along with their tapes; if she failed, Cyberdyne would know who had invaded them anyway.
Snapping her briefcase closed, she took the key out of her pocket and jogged toward the storage area. The door opened smoothly on the first try. Sarah let out her breath in relief. She’d been half expecting an alarm to go off, or for some secret code to be required.
Sarah entered a warehouse-sized space and made a little sound of despair. This is going to take longer than I’d hoped. She looked around and noticed a bank of elevators along the front wall, flanking the corridor. The elevators had front and back doors. How sensible! she thought in surprise. They’ve actually made it convenient for people to get supplies. She’d assumed that she would have to drag
everything out front, risking discovery.
This is going to be a snap, she thought.
FT. LAUREL BASE HOSPITAL: THE PRESENT
John looked around the room through slitted eyes; he was in a state of well-controlled terror, not knowing whom he was with or where he was. He couldn’t see much, but he saw enough to know he wasn’t alone: a man’s legs with one foot crossed over his knee were visible off to his side.
He was in a hospital room, from what he could see. There was another bed to his left, but it was empty. The door to the hall was closed. He lay still, which wasn’t hard; he was feeling very weak. Better, though. Someone’s given me fluids and a trank. I should hurt more. Head’s a little fuzzy.
The door opened and a gray-haired man with glasses came in; from his white coat he was a doctor.
“Isn’t he awake yet?” the doctor asked, moving quickly to John’s side. He took up the boy’s wrist and checked his pulse.
“If he is, he hasn’t said anything,” Dyson said.
He sounded tired, but John was grateful to hear his voice. If Dyson was still here maybe he wasn’t going to be turned over to the master Terminator.
The doctor reached over and lifted one of John’s eyelids; he turned on a penlight and John blinked involuntarily.
“Aha! Playing possum were you,” the doctor said cheerfully. “Well, I need to ask you a few questions, then you can go back to sleep if you like.” He asked a few brisk questions to test memory and visual acuteness. “Are you in pain?” he asked finally.
“I’m comfortable,” John said.
“Really?” The doctor glanced at his watch. “Some people have a pretty high threshold of pain, but yours is remarkable. You should be very aware of that shoulder right now, since you’re due for a shot of Demerol.”
“I’m fine,” John said again. “I don’t like drugs.”
“I wish more of your generation felt that way,” the doctor said, making a note on the chart. “Are you hungry?”
John nodded, his eyes closed. He wasn’t hungry, but his mother would have insisted that he eat to keep up his strength. Besides, he thought he would feel better if he ate.
“I’ll have them send up something, then,” the doctor said. “Something light, some soup and some Jell-O.”
“Thank you,” John said.
The doctor gave him a quick, dry smile, then looked at Jordan. “You?” he asked.
“Yeah, please,” Dyson said. “I haven’t wanted to leave. I could use something to eat.”
The doctor nodded, glanced at John one last time, then he left.
John turned his head and looked at Dyson. “Thank you,” he said.
Jordan rubbed his stubbled face. “For?” he asked.
“For not turning me over to them.” John’s face was serious. “They will kill me if you do that,” he said. He raised his brows. “And it may be a cliche, but I’m too young to die.”
Dyson snorted. “Me, too,” he agreed.
“Where am I?” John asked.
“You’re in the base hospital at Ft. Laurel,” Jordan watched John take a breath that was almost like a sob and then go still. “I haven’t reported to my boss, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
John let out his breath slowly and closed his eyes. “I was,” he admitted. He looked over at Dyson. “Why not?”
Jordan grimaced. “Tarissa told me the full story a few weeks ago,” he said. “I thought she was the victim of some sort of traumatic-stress/Stockholm-syndrome combination kinda thing. I mean she bought into your mother’s delusion so…
completely.” He looked over at the boy. “I’ve known that woman since I was a kid, and I always thought of her as one of the most sensible, sanest people I knew. And then she dumps that on me.”
“Only it’s true,” John said.
“Yeah, right,” Dyson sneered.
There was a knock on the door and an attendant thrust it open with his foot.
“Dr. Huff ordered this for you,” he said, holding out a tray.
Jordan got up and took it from him.
“Thanks,” he said.
The tray held a bowl of soup, a dish of green Jell-O, a cup of orange juice, a sandwich, and a carton of milk.
“The sandwich is mine, I guess,” Jordan said. “Do you want the OJ or the milk?”
“OJ,” Connor said. “I need the sugar.”
Jordan’s brows went up. “If you say so.”
John took a sip of juice and held it in his dry mouth.
“I know how you feel, you know,” he said. “When I was ten, I thought my mother was a complete psycho. Then one day two Terminators showed up, one to kill me, one to save me.” He shook his head, then closed his eyes and reminded himself not to do that. “It was the craziest forty-eight hours of my life.
So far.” John looked Dyson in the eye. “I don’t want this to be true; it just hap
pens to be true. If they find me, they will kill me. And I guarantee you they are looking for me. So what I need to know is, did you leave any kind of a trail at all?”
“What do you mean, like credit-card charges?” Jordan asked. “What, you think I was stopping in bars?”
“I was thinking of phone calls,” John said.
Jordan bit his lip. “I called to make these arrangements from a pay phone, using a calling card. But that was from the last place I contacted Cyberdyne, so that wouldn’t tell them anything. Oh, I called when we were about twenty minutes from here to tell my friend when we’d arrive.”
“Were the card and the phone issued by Cyberdyne?” Connor asked.
“Ye-ah.” Jordan bit into his sandwich and wondered where the kid was going with this.
“Get rid of them,” John said. He could hear the tension in his own voice.
“Anything that they’ve given you probably has the capacity to listen in or trace you.”
“Well, they haven’t so far,” Jordan said casually. “And we’ve been here all night and all day. Which, if they were looking for us, they would have done.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for dark,” John said, glancing at the window.
“They had plenty of dark last night,” Jordan pointed out, his mouth full of apparently irreducible bread. He took a sip of milk. “So that doesn’t work.”
“If they suspected I’d convinced you,” John said musingly, “they would assume you’d be too vigilant to attack last night. But tonight, your belief would be
fading, you’d be wondering if you’d done the right thing, so you’d be a lot safer to attack.” Connor looked at him measuringly. “Maybe it won’t even be an attack. Maybe your Ms. Burns will just sashay in here and ask you what’s going on.” He raised his brows. “What would you say then?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said honestly.
“Maybe something like, I got crazy, I don’t know what came over me, the kid talked me into it?”
Jordan rolled up his napkin and tossed it into the wastebasket.
“When Serena Burns next sees me, the first words out of her mouth are going to be ‘you’re fired.’ ” He looked over at John. “After that she might ask me what the hell I thought I was doing, but since I’m fired it won’t really matter what I say, now will it?”
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