Infiltrator t2-1

by S. M. Stirling

  Serena turned to look down at the shorter woman, genuinely astonished that she would tell such a transparent lie. Then she smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I do need to be kept informed.” Then she started down the hall to Colvin’s office; he might know more.

  Colvin was also on the phone. He frowned at her, then nodded to the chair before

  his desk. “I’m sorry, hon, that’s all we know right now.” He paused for a moment. “Let me talk to him about that and I’ll get back to you, okay? Well”—

  he sighed—“we’ll do what we can. Just letting him know that we’re here if he needs us will probably help.” He looked up at Serena for a moment, his eyes serious, as his wife spoke to him. “Okay. I’ll probably be home early tonight. See you then. Love you, too. Bye.”

  He hung up and he and Serena sat silent for a long time. Then he lifted his eyes to hers.

  “Would Tricker do this?” she asked quietly.

  Colvin hissed and sat forward, rubbing his face before placing his hands on his desk. He blinked several times. “I have no idea,” he said at last. “I mean he’s always making these threatening remarks, and blustering, and…” Colvin looked over at her and grimaced. “But killing someone? Especially Mary.” He spread his hands. “What would be the point?”

  Serena took a deep breath and clasped her hands a little tighter in her lap. “It would eliminate what he seemed to see as a potential problem,” she said.

  “But it would only create a bigger one,” the CEO said. “That kind of thing tends to snowball. And there’ll be an investigation. If there was sabotage or something it will come out.” He slapped the desk with his hand, shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

  “I blame myself,” Serena said. She adjusted blood pressure to allow her face to go pale. “I only found out about Mrs. Warren’s plane this week, but I should have done something about security for it.”

  Colvin looked at her in dismay. “No!” he said. “This isn’t your fault! You’ve done a good job here, but you’re only one person. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

  Serena was amazed; Colvin seemed so determined to believe that this was just an accident. Perhaps Warren would be more receptive to the idea that this was a government conspiracy being run by Tricker. Much as she liked the government liaison, she’d prefer him to be less in charge than he was.

  “It’s just…” She shook her head and waved her hands helplessly. “I feel we should do something.”

  “What?” Colvin asked.

  Serena leaned forward and held his gaze with her own.

  “Perhaps we should run our own investigation of this… incident,” she suggested.

  “That would cost the earth,” the CEO pointed out. “Why repeat the work of the FAC?”

  “The FAC is a government agency,” she pointed out.

  Colvin sat back in his chair.

  That quieted you down, didn’t it? Serena thought triumphantly.

  She could see his willingness to believe in the evil of an organization before individual wickedness. It was almost funny. What was the advantage in

  believing in hundreds of faceless enemies conspiring against you instead of suspecting one person you knew?

  “Make me up a plan and get it to me before I leave today,” Colvin said at last. “I don’t think that’s the case, but it’s best to be prepared.”

  “Always,” Serena agreed. She rose and left quickly, like a woman with a mission.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ASUNCION, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT

  You Victor Griego?”

  Griego looked up from his paper and saw a vision from a forties movie. The young man lounging in his office doorway wore a trench coat, fedora, wide tie, and pleated trousers. Victor peeked over the rim of his desk. Nope, no two-toned wingtips. The suede shoe twitched as a giant tropical cockroach scuttled by.

  Victor Griego had a limited social life, and made a great deal of use of his VCR; he recognized the look.

  “Who’s asking?” Griego demanded. Frowning, he tossed the paper aside. It joined other litter, ranging from cornhusks stained with tomato sauce and grease to discarded 3.5-inch floppies. In the courtyard behind the two-story building a cat was calling for love, or at least anticipating fornication.

  The youngster sauntered over to him and offered a dog-eared business card with a snap and a flourish.

  MARCO CASSETTI PRIVATE INVESTIGAOR

  There was a phone number underneath.

  ” ‘Investigaor’?” Victor asked.

  Cassetti grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

  “I got a discount,” he explained.

  Griego raised his brows and offered the card back to the kid with two fingers.

  “You got what you paid for,” he said. He leaned back in his chair. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Cassetti twitched his coat aside and hoisted one slim hip onto the corner of Griego’s desk.

  “Don’t do that.” Victor made a flicking motion with his hand. “I don’t like people sitting on my desk.”

  Cassetti stood up and thrust his hands deep into his pants pockets, trying to look unconcerned, but there was a flush on his cheeks.

  Griego narrowed his eyes, wondering how old he was. Little hijo is just shaving and he’s trying out this attitude on me.

  “So, what do you want?” he asked, restating the question in less hospitable terms.

  The kid narrowed his eyes.

  “I just wanted to ask you what you were doing in Villa Hayes,” he said. Only it came out in an almost indecipherable Bogart imitation.

  “What?” Griego said, his face scrunched up in confusion. Bad enough this kid was in forties drag, now he was talking like a gringo with a mouthful of corn mush. “I don’t have time for this shit!” he declared. “Get to the point or get your misspelled card and your baggy ass out of here.”

  Marco felt a little deflated but tried not to let it show. Maybe his mother was right and he should just be himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a stance.

  “I saw you leaving Dieter von Rossbach’s party the other night. He didn’t seem very happy with you, nor you with him. I was wondering what the story was.”

  Griego studied him for a long moment. “Oh, yeah? Assuming I know anybody named Dieter and that I was at a party the other night, why should I tell you anything?” Victor spread his hands and looked around his grimy little office like it was a palace. “I mean, what’s in it for me?”

  Marco blinked. “That depends on your information.” He kept his eyes and voice level, his mouth firm. If Griego was going to play tough guy he could go along with the script.

  Victor tugged the corners of his mouth down. That was a more reasonable answer than he’d expected.

  “So who wants to know?” he asked.

  “Me,” Marco answered, sounding tough, but also slightly surprised, which lent the single word a questioning air.

  “Oh, right.” Victor narrowed his eyes. “Thing is, I don’t think I want to tell you.”

  “Sure you do,” Marco said.

  He looked around and spotted a chair in a corner. He went and got it, placing it right before Griego’s desk. Taking out a handkerchief, he dusted it off and sat down, hoisting the legs of his trousers to preserve the crease.

  “The way von Rossbach treated you. I know I’d want to talk about it to somebody.” Cassetti spread his hands. “And, y’know, there’s something about a genuinely interested audience.”

  Victor reached over and opened his cigar box. He took out a cheroot, sliced off the end with a clipper, and lit it with an elaborate silver lighter, then blew out a cloud of smoke. Watching the younger man with narrowed eyes he was amused to notice Cassetti’s nostrils twitch slightly as the odor reached him.

  What the hell. He did want to grouse about von Rossbach. He was used to better from the professionals who used his services. They understood that he was a businessman, and a damned honest one. He always delivered what he
said, when he said, where he said. And the government people were sensible enough to appreciate that too. So had von Rossbach when they’d done business.

  It rankled still the way Dieter and his entire household had treated him like filth.

  And the way the Sector agent had dragged him to von Rossbach’s estancia without allowing him to pack so much as a change of socks was insulting too. So

  he wasn’t a saint, he was a human being just like they were and deserved some respect.

  Victor took a deep drag of his cheroot and blew the evil-smelling vapor across the desk. He almost smiled when the kid’s eyes crossed. “So,” he asked, somewhat soothed by feeling more in control, “what did you want to know?”

  Cassetti shrugged. “What were you doing in Villa Hayes?”

  So Victor told him. “I should have given him the high sign right away,” he finished regretfully. “But it had been a hard week and I thought it might be nice to exchange a few words with an old friend.”

  “Not to mention her son threatened to kill you,” Marco said, a little Bogart creeping back into his syntax.

  Victor glared at him. “Yeah,” he said shortly. He shouldn’t have mentioned that.

  But this weird kid was a damn good listener.

  After a moment Cassetti asked, “So? Who is this Sarah Connor?”

  Griego squinted at him through the smoke and smiled.

  “Who wants to know?” he taunted.

  “Me,” Marco answered with a shrug.

  Victor nodded slowly, puffing his cigar, then he put it in the ashtray. “Oh yeah!

  Of course,” he said. “There you were lurking around Dieter von Rossbach’s house out in Villa Hayes because you enjoy sitting around in thorn brakes all

  night. Isn’t that right?”

  Marco tilted his head back, his hands clasped across his stomach; he wiggled his fingers but said nothing.

  “You just decided one day to look into the life of some total stranger, some immigrant estanciero. Right? Like after your movie career, you want to become a vaquero.” Griego picked up the cigar again and rolled it between his fingers.

  “What didja do, fall in love with him?”

  Marco sat forward, grasping the arms of the chair.

  “Hey!” he protested.

  Victor waved him back, grinning.

  “Just yanking your chain, kid.” He took a drag of his cheroot. “But I gave you some good information there.” He gestured with the cigar. “I think you owe me some.”

  Cassetti glared at the older man, but he was also thinking. He had been given some information. How valuable he didn’t know just now, but a little research should answer that question. He didn’t want to alienate Griego either. One never knew when a good source might be needed. “I have a client,” he allowed. “A woman.”

  Victor raised his eyebrows. This had a client? Whoever it was must have been desperate. “Local?” he asked, interested.

  Marco shook his head. “She’s in the U.S.”

  “Oh, ho!” Victor said, very interested. That explained how he got hired; the proverbial pig in a poke. “This woman have a name?”

  But Marco shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s privileged information.” He waited a beat, then asked: “So, what is this Connor woman to von Rossbach?

  Are they lovers?”

  Griego laughed so hard he almost choked. The idea of a Sector agent, even an exagent, having an affair with Sarah Connor, mad bomber, was too much.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Cassetti said dryly.

  Victor shook his head as he stubbed out the cheroot. He coughed a few more times, then settled back to look at the odd young man across from him.

  “So,” he said at last, “what’s my information worth to you?”

  Marco rose and resettled his trench coat around him.

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  “Hey!” Victor snarled, scowling.

  “I’m not jerking you around,” Cassetti assured him. “I just don’t have enough information right now. When I do, then I’ll know what this is worth. And then I’ll see to it that you get what’s coming to you.” He tugged down the brim of his fedora. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned and left without another word.

  Griego watched him go with a frown. What a jerk! he thought.

  SERENA BURNS’S HOME: THE PRESENT

  SARAH CONNOR, LUDDITE TERRORIST

  or VICTIM OF GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY

  Serena was pleased with the look of her new Web page. She was particularly proud of such touches as leaving out the question marks in the heading.

  Very human, she thought, with the satisfaction of an artist viewing a finished painting. Outside, children were playing and a dog barked.

  She had arranged all of the material that was available to the public in such a way that it appeared to have a distinctly sinister slant. The words “government conspiracy” would drag in thousands of malcontents and agitators looking for a cause to make their own. “Luddite” was a word that had a growing following, too. So she looked forward to finding a lively, and hopefully seditious, discussion going on in the chat room she’d created.

  Best of all, none of it could be traced back to her. It could be traced to Kurt Viemeister, but only if you knew your way around the system—and there was a convincing effort to cover the tracks. Serena grinned; she was certainly over her awe of Skynet’s tutor.

  She frowned slightly as she read the postings. A large number of the government conspiracists wanted Sarah Connor to have been abducted by aliens. Well, Serena thought, if you consider killer robots from the future alien… She began

  to type a message under the name Kerri.

  “I heard that she was being chased by a guy who couldn’t be killed,” Kerri wrote.

  “Oh, come on!” Cyberdude sneered. “What do you think? That she was being chased by vampires?”

  Cyberdude had been one of the most adamant regarding Connor’s abduction by government sponsored extraterrestrials. She’d also noticed that people in chat rooms were far more verbally aggressive than they would dare to be in person.

  The Luddites were a more serious bunch and their discussion tended toward issues that might have given rise to the Sarah Connor story in the first place. If you only knew, Serena thought.

  She created a private chat room for them and invited them in. The conspiracy enthusiasts were fun, but she sensed she could actually use the Luddites. After all, somewhere among them might lurk the scientists who would one day create her. Which is an excellent reason to encourage them, Serena thought.

  All in all the site was going well. She checked the addresses of those who had signed on to check it out. No one from Paraguay. Oh, well. It’s early days yet, she thought. I’ll just give it some time. Logic dictated that someone she was looking for would hear of the site and come to look at it; with a slight mental twitch she began to sort the data.

  The phone rang and she accessed the call, noting that it was coming in from Paraguay.

  “Burns,” she said crisply.

  “Cassetti,” Marco replied, trying to sound just as tough and businesslike.

  Serena smiled; he couldn’t be much over nineteen from his voice and she couldn’t help but be amused by his efforts to sound more mature.

  “Ahhh, Senor Cassetti,” she cooed. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “What do you have for me?” she asked breathlessly.

  A little sigh trickled over the phone, so soft that only her augmented hearing could have picked it up. She had to fight down the urge to laugh.

  “Senor Cassetti?” she prompted.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I went to Villa Hayes to do some investigating last night.”

  There was the sound of paper being handled. “And watched von Rossbach’s estancia until eleven o’clock. He held a small gathering. Two couples, a single woman, and a gunrunner named Victor Griego. I observed some sort of disagreement apparently taking place bet
ween Griego and von Rossbach. Today I approached Griego and questioned him about what had occurred.”

  Serena’s eyebrows rose sharply as he spoke. This was much better than she’d expected. She wondered about the single woman, but held her peace. Let the human work, it’s what you’re paying him for.

  “Griego informed me that Senor von Rossbach is retired from a covert-operations organization. He didn’t have much in the way of details.” Marco

  allowed a slightly apologetic tone to creep into his voice. “I hope to learn more with further investigation.”

  The woman, Serena thought impatiently, who is the woman?

  “Griego also informed me that the single woman who attended the dinner party was Sarah Connor.”

  “Who?” Serena said ingenuously. Inside she was crowing. This was too easy! she thought. Clearly Connor thought she was safe and had grown careless.

  There was a slight pause.

  “I’m sorry to say, senorita, that this Connor woman is a wanted terrorist.”

  Marco wanted to tell her that the man she was interested in might be in danger.

  But he also wondered if someone from a covert-operations organization shouldn’t know all about Sarah Connor. And if he did, and he was having her over to dinner, with a gun smuggler, well, that implied all sorts of things. Since he didn’t know which to say he decided to say nothing.

  “Oh, dear,” Serena said, putting a great deal of distress into her voice. “This is very important information that you’ve found. I think I should send one of my employees down there.” She accessed flight information and booked a ticket as she spoke. “Could you rent another car, darling, and meet him at the airport?

  He’s arriving at one-fifteen.”

  “Si, senorita,” Marco answered automatically, transported to the edge of ecstasy by the word “darling.”

  Serena allowed her voice to go breathy again. “Oh, thank you,” she said, putting enough feeling into it to suggest you big, strong, capable man you! was also being said. “One-fifteen, remember.” She made a kissing sound and broke the connection.

  I shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much, Serena scolded herself. But she had and she felt wonderfully wicked because of it. She was also pleased that her first Terminator had returned unscathed from such a successful trial run. She’d program him for Spanish immediately. Serena went to a file cabinet and drew out a folder. Inside were the false documents she’d just received for her first Terminator. Her timing had been excellent. Oh, she thought, proud and pleased, this should be a piece of cake.