Colvin and Warren were silent, their heads shifting back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
Serena waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not,” she said. “We didn’t even discuss his brother, or the bombing. For me there was no need.” Serena shrugged. “And for reasons of his own he chose not to bring it up. I knew I wanted him the minute I read his resume so why ask questions to which I already knew the answers?”
“Some people might consider that, under the circumstances, Dyson’s employment here represents a conflict of interest.” Tricker raised his brows.
“Of course it isn’t.” Serena actually allowed herself a very small sneer. “He’s going to be involved in the private security of a privately owned company,” she pointed out. “If anything, his personal interest is a bonus for the company.” How many times do I have to point that out before it takes?
Tricker hated to admit it, but the woman was right. And really there wasn’t anything wrong with Dyson. He was a good agent by all reports, intelligent, professional, dedicated. His superiors’ only complaints had been his insistence on working on his brother’s case. Which even in their citations they considered understandable. Their primary reason for discouraging him was to avoid risking their case by any taint of self-interest.
Tricker still had some vague, instinctive unease about Serena Burns, which prompted him to continue to question and test her. Maybe it was because she was just too perfect; beautiful, intelligent, competent, professional—and completely unreadable. Too much like himself, in fact.
Well, except for the beautiful part. Someone had once told him that if you starved a rottweiler and gave it a receding hairline, it would look like him on all fours. A woman had told him that, in fact.
He glanced at Colvin and Warren, whose eyes were on him, their faces expectant. He let out a disgusted little, “Tssss,” and looked away. “All right,” he said after a minute. It was a full minute; he counted it out. “So far, everything else you’ve done is exactly what I would have recommended.”
“I’m so glad you approve,” Serena cooed.
Tricker froze, giving her a prolonged, unreadable look. Serena smiled back at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Only long experience kept him from blinking as he realized she was actually teasing him. Nobody teased him. “Since everything is going so well,” Tricker said at last, reaching down and pulling up the large metal case he’d brought with him. “I think it’s time we handed this over to you.”
Placing the case before him, he tapped in a code, then pressed his thumb to a sensor, opened it, and studied the contents for a moment before turning it around to allow them to see what it contained.
Colvin and Warren sat forward with gasps of amazement; Serena lifted one eyebrow. Her eyes rose to his questioningly.
Cradled in foam was the mechanical arm that had been stolen and thought destroyed in the Connors’ raid on Cyberdyne headquarters six years ago.
“Where did you find it?” Warren asked, stunned.
Colvin reached out as though to touch it.
“It’s different,” Colvin said in wonder. “I’m sure it is.”
“We thought so, too, Mr. Colvin,” Tricker said. “Certainly some of it is more damaged than the first one. But these other pieces seem to come from further up the arm. Our people theorize that this is a completely different unit.”
“How long have you had this?” Colvin demanded.
“Longer than we’d hoped to,” Tricker snapped back. “But you two wouldn’t get off your fat backsides and fix your security problems. And we sure as hell weren’t going to turn this over to you without some protection in place.”
Serena turned the case so that it faced her. She studied the ruined arm.
Terminator, definitely. Cyberdyne Systems model 101. Still fairly new when she’d been sent back. Which had undoubtedly been its problem. Too much to learn in the middle of a crowd of fully functioning human beings.
She looked up at Tricker. “We’ll take good care of this one.”
“The chip?” Warren said hopefully.
“Sorry,” Tricker snarled. “We got lucky. But we didn’t get fantastically lucky.
You’ll have to make do with this.”
“These pieces look like relays,” Colvin said, his eyes, as they roved over the mechanism, alight with the joy of discovery. “Relays and subsidiary decision
nodes, memory… We’ll learn a lot from this, damaged as it is. A distributed system. There’s processing capacity here.”
“We’ll let these guys worry about how this thing worked,” Serena said, grinning at Tricker. “I’ll make sure it’s safe.” She nodded at him, her eyes serious. “I guarantee it.”
VON ROSSBACH’S ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
Elsa Encinas, Epifanio’s niece, deftly swung the tray of hors d’oeuvres out from under Victor Griego’s hand.
“This is for the guests!” she hissed.
“But I am a guest,” he protested.
Elsa simply gave him a look of blistering scorn. Then she turned her shoulder to him and moved away.
Victor hissed and turned to the bar. He hated the way these uppity peasants kept treating him, and everybody else—that stupid rumor about his mother. It had been a bus, not a broken heart.
Victor topped up his glass and turned to study the other guests. The Salcidos, a very well-off husband and wife, sleek and well dressed, were behaving as though he wasn’t even in the room. Another couple, fairly new to Villa Hayes, Pedro and Zita Kaiser, occasionally darted a nervous glance in his direction. They felt the undercurrent; they just didn’t know the reason for it. But they’d decided to follow the other couple’s lead. Not to mention their host’s. Von Rossbach had
introduced Victor in an offhand way that pretty much implied courtesy would be wasted on him.
Victor was pretty certain it wasn’t his appearance; he was freshly shaved and showered and von Rossbach had insisted on dressing him in what he called decent clothes. Decent clothes consisted of slacks and a sports shirt.
He took another sip of his drink. Sarah Connor hadn’t arrived yet and he wondered where in the hell she was. The sooner they got started the sooner he could get out of here. After three days he’d had a bellyful of Villa Hayes. Not to mention putting distance between himself and the knife-happy John Connor.
Rotten kid. He took a long swallow and topped off his drink again. Now, there was someone who could break his mother’s heart. If his mother wasn’t a loca killer herself.
“Do you mind going a little easier on that stuff,” Dieter said from just behind him.
Griego started, spilling gin on his fingers.
“Jesus!” Victor snapped. “Compared to you cats go stomping around like elephants!”
“I want you sober enough to identify her when she comes,” Dieter said quietly.
“Or not, if it’s not her. I don’t want you so drunk you can’t tell the difference.”
Griego let out his breath in a hiss. “Of course, senor,” he said sullenly. He brightened a little. “And then we can part company, eh?”
“Thank God.” Dieter moved over to his other guests, who received him with smiles.
Griego glowered. Thank God, he agreed. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.
Marieta came in and stopped just inside the doorway; the woman following her almost ran her down. “Senora Krieger,” she intoned as though announcing royalty.
Dieter’s face lit up. “Suzanne!” he said, and came over to take her hand. “It’s good to see you.”
Sarah looked at him with a warm smile, although it was all she could do not to flinch as he clasped her hand. It was also hard to keep herself from searching out Griego. But that would be fatal. Instead she turned to the group around the coffee table.
“Come meet everybody,” Dieter said with gesture toward the Kaisers.
” Mba’eichapa?” Sarah greeted them in the local fashion as she approached and Pedro rose, putting out his han
d. After shaking hands with the Kaisers, she turned to the Salcidos and exchanged hellos and small talk for a moment.
“And this is Senor Griego,” von Rossbach said, pointing toward the bar. He gave Victor a disapproving frown.
“Hello,” Sarah said politely, her face showing mild curiosity.
“Good evening, senora,” Victor said with a slight bow.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Dieter asked.
“A gin and tonic?” Sarah asked. “With a twist.”
“Be right back,” he said.
Sarah sat and began to chat with his other guests as Dieter went about fixing her drink.
“Well?” he said quietly to Victor. “Is it her?”
“I honestly don’t think so,” Griego said offhandedly. “But it has been years since I last saw her. And if it isn’t her, the resemblance is outstanding. Let me watch her for a while, maybe speak to her, and then I’ll know for sure.”
To be perfectly honest, Griego had to admit that if John Connor hadn’t shown up to threaten his life he really wouldn’t have been certain. This woman was very different from the Sarah Connor he’d known years ago. That woman was all stringy muscle and mad eyes. This woman was sleek and elegant and calm.
Could a change in attitude so change a person that you wouldn’t recognize them?
He shook his head.
“Give me a little time,” he said at last. “Then I’ll know for certain.”
A muscle jumped in von Rossbach’s cheek, and when he looked up from the drink he’d been mixing his eyes were dangerous. “Be very certain,” he murmured, and went back to his guests.
Throughout dinner Victor watched Sarah like a hawk while Dieter watched him,
though less obviously. Whenever Griego spoke, even though his remarks were usually limited to “pass the butter,” a little silence descended, and at no time did anyone speak directly to him. Victor had started dinner in a bad mood and it went rapidly downhill from there.
When they all rose from the table and moved toward the parlor for coffee and brandy, Griego found von Rossbach walking beside him.
“Well?” Dieter asked quietly.
“I’m not sure,” Victor said, or rather slurred. He’d drunk most of his dinner. “But I had a thought. Why don’t you get her to stay behind for some reason. Then, while you’re showing your other guests out, I’ll talk to her one-on-one. Y’see?”
“I don’t want to cause her embarrassment,” Dieter said. “I’m satisfied already that she’s not Sarah Connor. If you can’t tell whether she is or isn’t, then I’m going to assume it’s because she isn’t.”
Daringly, Victor put his hand on the big man’s arm, whisking it off again instantly at Dieter’s look. “But you want to be sure?” he whispered. “After putting up with me for most of a week, you should be sure.”
“I am sure,” Dieter said, the firmness of his voice leaving no doubt.
“Tut tut tut tut tut!” Victor shook his finger. “But the good Senor Ferarri,”
Griego said with an airy gesture, “he is not so sure. Yes?”
Dieter looked at him with an icy stillness that almost sobered Griego. “I’ll think of something,” he said at last.
After an hour or so of small talk Senora Salcido observed that it was growing late, and Zita Kaiser, still feeling uncertain about the evening’s underlying tension, agreed with her. Their husbands began to shift and stir and Sarah said something about it having been a long day.
“Don’t go yet, Suzanne,” von Rossbach pleaded. “I want to introduce you to that watchdog I was talking about.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open and her heart gave a lurch. Shit! she thought. In spite of how excruciating this evening had been, nothing had actually gone wrong. Now she wanted to get out of here before anything could.
“I’m sorry, Dieter, but you know how John feels about that subject,” she said.
“I just want you to meet him,” von Rossbach insisted. “Just wait a minute, okay?”
There wasn’t much she could do but acquiesce as gracefully as she could. She could feel the others looking at her, wondering what was up. Maybe I’ve been in Paraguay too long, she thought. What they’re thinking actually matters to me.
Dieter rose and thanked the others for coming, ignoring their speculative looks, and wished them a safe drive home as he politely, but in every conceivable way, urged them to leave.
In varying degrees of confusion and amusement, they shook hands, said thanks, and allowed him to herd them to the door. Dieter accompanied them to their cars, being charming, being friendly, the perfect host. Leaving Sarah and Victor alone together.
Sarah rose and went out onto the patio without a word. She’d been discreetly checking the room for cameras or bugs all evening and had seen nothing suspicious. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. She wasn’t about to blow her cover with an ill advised tete-a-tete with the gunrunner.
“Nothing to say to an old friend?” Victor said, following her outside. He paused in the doorway to light a cigar.
“Do you mind?” Sarah asked. “I can’t stand those things.”
Victor shook out the match and flicked it away into the night.
“Sarah,” he said, “I have spent the better part of the week being ignored by the people in this house and pretending to ignore them. I’m not in the mood to have someone no better than I am turn her shoulder to me and tell me not to smoke.”
He stepped closer to her and touched her on the shoulder with one finger.
He pushed her shoulder hard, his face ugly with bitterness and drink.
“Hey!” Sarah said. She glared at him. “Don’t touch me.”
Victor melted into a false solicitude. “Awww, have I offended you, senora?” he asked. “Oh, I am so sorry. You send your son to threaten me with torture and death. He cut me with a knife!” Victor lifted his chin and pointed to the scab on his neck. “But I touched you with my finger, so I am an eeeevil man! Oh! I am soooo sorry.” He bowed from the waist and fell into her.
“Stop it!” Sarah snapped, fending him off. “You stupid drunk!”
Griego, drunk and overbalanced, grabbed her hips to keep himself upright. He began to giggle helplessly, while Sarah struggled to push him away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “Really, I am. I’m sorry.”
Unfortunately he was laughing so hard that he couldn’t let go. He rested his head on her bosom giggling breathlessly and Sarah began to slap the top of his head.
It was irtto this scene that Dieter walked.
“Epifanio!” he roared.
Then he stepped forward and grabbed Victor, who, despite his genuine horror at the way things were turning out, still couldn’t keep himself from laughing.
Dieter, one hand on Victor’s collar, the other grasping the waistband of his pants, force-marched him into the living room and tossed him headfirst onto the couch.
Epifanio came running in, an apron around his narrow waist.
“Senor?”
Sarah stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“It’s her,” Victor said between giggles. “She’s Sarah Connor.”
Dieter turned to Sarah and she met his eyes with a look of complete confusion.
Victor lay on his back and kicked his feet in the air laughing until he began to choke.
“Senor?” Epifanio said again, his voice uncertain. “What is happening?”
Dieter pointed to Griego, who was now purple in the face from coughing. “Get that into the Jeep and drive him to Asuncian!”
Epifanio blinked. “Now, senor?” It was almost ten o’clock, incredibly late to him.
Dieter gave him a quick look. “Have your nephew Ubaldo do it,” he said. “He can stay with his cousin tonight and come back tomorrow morning.”
“Sf, senor,” Epifanio said. Who was he to question the behavior of a man as big and angry as Senor von Rossbach? “I’ll go get him.”
Dieter glared at Gri
ego, squeezing and loosening his big hands.
“You had better go and get your things together,” he said.
Victor drew himself up with a deep breath, never taking his eyes off of Dieter, and made his unsteady way from the room.
Dieter turned to Sarah and spread his hands in apology. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Sarah waved her hand. “No, I am,” she said, moving toward the door. “I feel very bad about this.”
Inside she was jubilant. This couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned it!
But her cover required her to play a decent woman appalled at this turn of events and she played it to the hilt.
“Please don’t go,” he said. “I’ll be right back. I have to get… those papers for Griego. You’ll wait?”
She bit her lip, her eyes lowered. It would probably be better if she left right now, leaving him to stew. But she’d found out nothing. It was a shame she hadn’t dared to speak to Griego; he might well know something useful about ol’ Dieter.
I think a little business trip to Asuncion will be in order next week, she thought.
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. “Yes, I’ll wait.
After he left, Sarah rubbed her stomach, which was a hard, nervous knot, and let out her breath slowly. By his apparent assault on her, Griego had rendered anything he chose to say quite literally unbelievable.
The downside of being a swine, I guess, is that when you do tell the truth nobody can bring themselves to believe you.
Would this bring them peace? Von Rossbach’s reaction to the farcical scene he’d walked in on inclined her to hope so. Only time would tell. Although the vehemence of his reaction made her uneasy.
He couldn’t be falling for me, could he? She shuddered. She did not need a Terminator look-alike with romantic designs in her life. Although, if he looked like anyone else… there was something appealing about him.
Sarah shook her head. For now, she and John would stay alert, and it might be best to make quiet arrangements to disappear if the need should arise. She felt a pang at the thought. This time, running would be much harder. She’d been safe here for so long, and she was so tired of running and hiding and not being believed. Worse still, in the back of her mind, was the disappointed face of her son. He deserved better. With a little luck, maybe now he’d get it.
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