Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  Jeff was breathing hard, his breath whistling though the phone. "Shit!" he muttered.

  "Believe it or not, I know how you feel," Dieter commiserated. "Why would I tell you a story like this if it wasn't true? Don't you think I know how all this sounds? Why would I even try if it wasn't true?"

  He stopped talking, waiting for his old partner to work it through.

  "She could have talked you 'round," Jeff said at last. "Connor was a damned attractive woman." His voice was wary, but much less hostile.

  "Yeah, and I'm really susceptible to wild stories and sexy women. That's why I was such a rotten agent." Von Rossbach sneered.

  Jeff gave a short laugh. "Nooo, you were pretty good."

  "I still am."

  "Yeah, well. This is a pretty crazy story, buddy. You know that."

  "Have you seen Sully's report?"

  "Sully is, uh, undergoing psychiatric evaluation. You know he's one of ours?"

  "Would I ask about his report if I didn't?"

  "Good point."

  "Jeff, Sarah Connor is crazy, her son is crazy, Sully's crazy. Now I'm crazy?

  Maybe instead they've been telling the truth all along?"

  Goldberg gave a kind of hiss. "I can't go there, buddy. I just can't."

  "Are you at least willing to think about it?"

  After a rather painful silence Goldberg said, "Yeah. I could do that."

  "Good. I need your help."

  Jeff barked a laugh. "You cocky bastard! You sure you don't want to give me two more seconds to mull this over?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, what the hell. I figured you wanted something, otherwise we wouldn't be talking on these phones. Right?"

  "You got it, buddy." Von Rossbach waited, wanting his friend to ask.

  "So what do you want?" Jeff said.

  "I'm trying to trace a possible kidnap victim."

  "Whoa! If you're talking about Sarah Connor, she took off on her own. If you're talking about Dr. Silberman, how do you think we know that she took off on her own?"

  Dieter winced. He wanted to tell the truth. But I think I've tried Jeff's patience enough for one evening. "What are you talking about?"

  There was a pregnant pause from Vienna. Then Goldberg asked cautiously,

  "You don't know?"

  "Sarah Connor is missing again?" Dieter asked. "Last I heard she was in an institution."

  "If you don't know where she is and what she's doing, then why are you rounding up recruits for her cause?" Jeff challenged.

  "Because I promised her I would before she disappeared from here. I don't know how much good I've done her. Being chased all over California by the Sector didn't help my efforts. But in any case, she's not the person I'm talking about."

  "Oh." Jeff was silent a moment. "So, what? Are you a PI now or something?"

  "No, just letting my curiosity get the better of me. This woman is named Clea Bennet, she's the inventor of something called Intellimetal. They made this sculpture in New York out of it."

  "Yeah. Venus Dancing, it's called. It's all the rage, everyone's pretty excited about it. Nancy wants us to go see it for ourselves," Goldberg said.

  "Clea Bennet has been missing for a little while now," Dieter explained. "I have some suspicion that it might have been the U.S. government that snatched her."

  "You sure that suspicion isn't an effect of the people you've been hanging out with?"

  Dieter let out an exasperated sigh. "This guy named Craig Kipler's been getting reports on a woman from Montana. The reports read like Bennet's biography.

  Kipfer passed along an order, I quote, 'send her to Antarctica,' that jogged a memory for me. Just before I left the Sector there were hints of someone building an important and very secret research facility 'on the ice.' Do you know anything about that?"

  Jeff was absolutely silent.

  "Hello?" Dieter prompted.

  "Kipfer isn't someone you should have heard about," Goldberg said at last. "He is like, ultra-black ops. As for the research facility…"

  There was more contemplative silence, but Dieter waited it out this time.

  "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but… yeah. It's there. We know where it's located, but aside from that we know very little. The only thing we can be sure of is that they're not doing nuclear testing. For once the Americans are playing their cards close to their chests. Though to be fair, it's not the kind of place that's easily infiltrated."

  "So who have you got there?" Dieter said blandly.

  Jeff laughed. "None of your business. Even if we did have somebody there you probably wouldn't know them."

  "So where is this base?"

  Dieter waited; would his friend come through for him? Jeff had no particular reason to cover for the U.S. government, but at the moment neither did he have a particular reason to help his old partner.

  "You're not going to blow it up are you?" Jeff asked sourly.

  Von Rossbach laughed in surprise. "No! That's not the plan anyway. I might try to rescue this young woman. Assuming she's there under duress, of course."

  "Tsk!" Jeff said. "I thought you were out of the hero business."

  "You going to tell me or not?" Dieter asked.

  "Don't make me regret this," Goldberg warned.

  "I won't. I swear," Dieter said, fingers crossed. After all, who knew?

  "It's in west Antarctica." Jeff gave him the coordinates. "The base itself is slightly inland." He gave a brief physical description of the place. "You could hike there from the coast in three days."

  "Thanks, Jeff."

  "Dress warm."

  "Yes, Dad. Give my best to Nancy."

  "You bet." Goldberg paused. "God, Dieter, don't make me regret this, please."

  "Don't worry."

  "Just don't. Okay?"

  "You'll get old and gray worrying like that," Dieter teased. "I'm just curious, is all. I like a good puzzle."

  "If you hear from Connor—"

  "I won't."

  "Yeah, right. Don't blow anything up," Jeff warned.

  "But that's the fun part!"

  Jeff hissed in exasperation, then laughed. "Y'know, you're right."

  Dieter laughed, too. "Bye, buddy. Thanks."

  "I am so going to regret this," Jeff said, sounding more amused than worried.

  "No comment. Bye." Dieter hung up.

  This American base must be one of Jeff's projects, otherwise he wouldn't have the information at his fingertips like that. A lucky break, Dieter thought.

  He'd check with Sarah and John to see how their research on supplies was going.

  Then he'd see about arranging transportation.

  Sarah looked up as Dieter appeared in John's doorway. "It's amazing how many Web sites there are dealing with tourism in Antarctica," she said by way of greeting. "Apparently going there is really popular. Who knew?"

  "Give me Paris any day," John muttered, typing rapidly.

  "Ah, yes," said Dieter, "we'll always have Paris."

  Sarah smiled. "I've always wanted to go there," she said. "My father said there was something special in the air of Paris. But, we could hardly expect them to put Skynet someplace so accessible."

  "Or so pleasant," Dieter agreed.

  "They could have at least put it someplace temperate," John complained.

  "That's right," his mother said. "You've never lived anywhere cold, have you, hon? We'll have to put some antifreeze in your blood."

  John gave her a look. "Thanks, Mom. I knew I could rely on you."

  "What are mothers for?" she asked brightly.

  "To justify Mother's Day?" John asked. He tapped a final key and the printer began to hum.

  Sarah punched his arm lightly and turned to von Rossbach. "Did you find out

  anything?"

  "There is a top-secret American scientific installation in west Antarctica," he said. "About three days in from the coast. It's a mostly underground facility with some sham huts on top."

  *** />
  John took some papers from the printer and handed them to Dieter. Who took them and looked them over.

  "A lot of stuff," he said.

  "I pared it down to the essentials," John said. "We're not there for the scenery, after all. It's the food that concerns me. We'll need a ton of it. I get the impression you're supposed to eat a pound of butter a day."

  "Cold burns calories," von Rossbach said. He became quiet for a moment.

  "What?" Sarah asked, coming into the room and sitting on John's bed. Dieter looked up, his eyes meeting hers. John turned to look at him and von Rossbach glanced his way.

  "Why are we doing this?" he asked. "We don't know for sure that this woman is there, or that Skynet is there. We could be running off half-cocked here. And to do what, exactly?"

  Sarah and John stared at him as if he'd suddenly broken out into a Broadway show tune, then glanced at each other and away. After a moment of chewing her lips Sarah looked at von Rossbach.

  "If that thing is there, and we have good reason to think it is, then it's there for Skynet. That's what all of these things are for—the Terminators, whatever Serena Burns was, whatever this thing is. They exist to protect Skynet, and/or to kill us. It's just a question of who strikes first."

  "What about the rest of the facility?" Dieter asked.

  "Our one goal is to destroy this thing and Skynet," she answered. "Nothing else."

  "So you're talking surgical strike?" Dieter said.

  "By preference," Sarah said. "But what I'm talking is whatever we have to do."

  "Same as ever, big guy," John said. "The goal is always the same, however many times it takes." He sighed and lifted his arms, then dropped them in a full body shrug. "Hey, at least we get to travel."

  Dieter was silent a long time. Abruptly he rose.

  "All right," he said. "I'll arrange travel." As he walked toward his study he thought, Jeff's going to kill me.

  "Yes?" The woman's voice was sultry and inviting, a voice designed to tickle and suggest.

  "I would love to take you out to dinner."

  "Dieter!" Vera Philmore exclaimed in delight. "How marvelous to hear from you! Where are you, darling?"

  "I'd rather not say," he answered carefully. "But as I said, I'd love to take you to dinner."

  "When and where?" she purred.

  "Tierra del Fuego."

  Vera laughed out loud. "Do they even have restaurants there?"

  "Some very good ones." He picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. "But I must confess, I need a favor."

  "Oooh. I knew there'd be a catch," she said, putting a mock pout in her voice.

  "Maybe I should put in a catch of my own."

  "Careful, you'll frighten me away."

  Vera gave a throaty laugh. "What do you want, sweetheart? Not more money. I hope."

  "No," he assured her. "I'd prefer to explain to you face-to-face."

  Suddenly the banter was gone from her voice. "So this is a serious thing?"

  "Yes," he agreed. "But—always excepting the seas and the weather down there—

  what I'm asking shouldn't put you, or your crew, in any personal danger."

  "I see."

  Dieter waited, letting her think it over. "Have you ever been to Tierra del Fuego?"

  "Of course not, darling!" she said, and laughed. "It's not exactly a spa, is it?"

  "There's nowhere else on earth quite like it," von Rossbach assured her.

  "Sweetie, there's a whole lot of pissholes on this planet that could make the same claim. That doesn't mean I want to visit them." She gave a deep sigh. "All right.

  Where and when?"

  "Ushuaia," he said, "it's the capital. Two weeks from today?"

  "I'll be there," she said. "This had better be one very good dinner, baby."

  "I'll make sure of it," he promised. "Will you be staying at a hotel, or…?"

  "I'll be on the yacht, of course, dear. That's what it's for, to protect me from bad hotels. See you then." She made the smacking sound of a big kiss and hung up.

  Dieter depressed the receiver button and began dialing the restaurant that the travel agency had recommended. I hope this place lives up to its reputation, he thought. He didn't want to have to make up for bad food.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT

  Ron Labane entered Hartford feeling good. Not even the general atmosphere of industrial decay—the abandoned mills, some converted to glitzy malls, and the

  tract housing from the vanished heyday of the textile factories—could depress him. He'd turned the radio to a classic-rock station, and tapped out the rhythm of

  "Dreamboat Annie" as he drove.

  Things were moving along better and faster than he'd ever anticipated. There were now two Eco Party U.S. senators and eight congressmen in Washington and a lot more who were state representatives, five Eco Party governors: two on the West Coast, three on the East.

  Ten years ago they were nothing.

  It was a thrill to realize that the United States at last had a three-party system and that, in large part, it was due to his influence. The New Day show, the books, the clubs, the new magazine, all of these had changed the attitudes of millions of Americans. All because of his grand vision.

  Ron grinned. He felt better than good; he felt invincible. Just before heading out for his speaking engagement at II. Mass, he'd gotten a surprise visit from Eco Party chairman Sebastion MacMillan and his closest associates. He felt a surge of pure pleasure as he remembered the meeting.

  NEW YORK

  "Mr. Labane," MacMillan said, "I realize that this is short notice, but I hope you can spare us a few moments of your time."

  Ron looked at the professorial gentleman at his door in surprise, and at his three associates. Then he smiled.

  "Come in," he said, stepping aside and gesturing into his austere yet elegant

  apartment with its handcrafted third-world textiles and slight odor of organic sachet. "Can I take your coats?"

  "No, no, we won't be staying that long." The chairman took note of Ron's small suitcase. "And you're going somewhere, I see."

  "Yes, Amherst, up in Massachusetts. I'm speaking at the university there." He chuckled deprecatingly. "I don't want to get the reputation of only speaking to the Ivy League."

  The three men and one woman looked at him as though he'd said something profound. "Your egalitarianism is one of the reasons we want to speak to you,"

  MacMillan said.

  "Sit down, please," Ron invited, and led them into the living room.

  He looked them over as they took their seats. The rumor was that the chairman had sent around copies of Dress for Success as soon as he'd taken over and had demanded that everyone in any position of authority make it their bible.

  Undoubtedly it had helped. These people had always looked intelligent; now they also looked professional and therefore trustworthy. Ron looked over and met MacMillan's eye.

  This is someone I could work with, he thought. He made a mental note to invite him onto the show.

  "I'll get right to the point," the chairman said. "In ten months one of New York's senators will be leaving Washington for good. We'd like you to be our candidate for that office."

  Ron was genuinely stunned. He'd assumed that they wanted him to do something for them. It seemed it was the other way around.

  MacMillan smiled warmly at him. "I've studied your career, Mr. Labane. It seems to me that the logical next step for you is public office. Your genuine dedication to ecological causes is both unselfish and unquestionable. To the general public you're a hero; to those of us involved with the cause you're a leader. We'd like to take that a step further and make you a leader with power."

  The chairman pulled his briefcase onto his lap and extracted a slim file. "The party ran a straw poll to see how the idea of you as our candidate struck people."

  He held out the file and Labane took it. Ron glanced at the other party members, who all nodded, sm
iling; then he opened the file. After a moment he looked up at the chairman, astounded.

  MacMillan smiled comfortably. "We've never had a result like that when we've floated a name." He shook his head. "As you can see we didn't restrict the poll to party members either. If you ran on our ticket today you'd be elected. In a landslide."

  Ron smiled and shook his head, then he blew his breath out in a whistle. He laughed, he couldn't help it. "This is very flattering."

  "Don't answer tonight." The chairman held up his hand. "We know you'll want to think about it. After all, this would be a big step."

  He rose and the others followed suit. Taking a step forward, MacMillan held out

  his hand. Belatedly Ron rose to take it.

  "All we ask is that you consider it seriously. I honestly think that now is the time."

  Ron shook the chairman's hand. "I'll certainly give it some thought," he said.

  "I'm caught completely flat-footed here, I"—He shook his head helplessly

  —"honestly don't know what to say."

  "I'm hoping you'll say yes," MacMillan said, smiling. He started slowly for the door. "In a few years I think this country will be ready for a presidential candidate from our party." He put his hand on Labane's shoulder. "We need to do everything that we can to make that day a reality."

  He stopped and smiled at Ron.

  "That would certainly be a wonderful day for this country," Ron said, his head whirling. I'm already sounding like a politician, he thought.

  The chairman grinned as though he shared the thought. "Our contact information is in the file." MacMillan held out his hand again and Ron shook it. "Good night."

  "Good night," Ron said.

  The other three party members filed out behind the chairman, each offering his or her hand for a firm handshake, making eye contact and saying a polite good-bye that implied great pleasure in their brief acquaintance.

  After closing the door behind them, Ron simply sat down on the chair in the

  foyer and stared at nothing.

  No, not at nothing: into the future.

  HARTFORD

  A very pleasant memory. Even sitting down driving, Ron felt ten feet tall. The numbers had indicated that he would be the near-unanimous choice of New York voters.