“I’m going for something more substantial,” she said. “Who knows when we’ll eat again.”
They decided to order drinks and to wait for Dieter before ordering. Sarah sipped
her coffee tiredly and watched her son. John was staring off into space, chin on his hand. His index finger tapping out a beat.
Sarah smiled slowly. No doubt he was remembering a certain rather lush Brazilian girl in a painted-on red dress he’d danced with the other night. It had been at least an hour of normal adolescence. She had been, ahem, very modern in her manner, so much so that Sarah had thought she might be a pro. But the girl had devoted most of her evening to John, who clearly had no idea of the possibility.
Sarah’s heart suddenly filled with remorse and she took another sip of her coffee to suppress a sigh that would have come out more of a sob. It’s so damn unfair!
she thought. He doesn’t even get to have part of a normal childhood. No first girlfriend, no gentle, easy segue into an adult relationship. Will he ever have anyone? she wondered. Will he ever get to rest?
“Here he comes,” John said.
Dieter entered the restaurant a moment later.
“What time does this place close?” he asked as he sat down and picked up the menu.
Sarah shrugged. The waitress came to take their order and then left them.
“The last flight is at ten,” Dieter said. It was eight-thirty now. “So, if this place stays open we can have a nice leisurely meal.”
“What time will we get there?” Sarah asked.
“By the time we get through customs, it will be well after midnight eastern standard,” he said. “All the better for getting cooperation from my ‘friend.’ “
“It’ll be good to stop traveling,” John said. “I’ve got this weird feeling that I’m still moving.”
GEORGETOWN, GRAND CAYMAN: THE PRESENT
Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, maybe it was the easy island way, or it might have been Gilberto’s excellent workmanship, but they were waved through customs with only a few cursory questions. There were still a few cabs waiting outside despite the lateness of the hour, the cabbies leaning against their vehicles and talking in the soft Island patois beneath the dry rubbing of the palms.
Their driver dropped them off in front of a darkened modern-style house outside of Georgetown. There was a wrought-iron gate, but no lock. As he drove off, Sarah asked, “What if he’s not home?”
“Then we break in,” Dieter said. He hoisted his bag and headed for the house.
Sarah and John shared a look, shrugged as one, and followed him.
“Hold on, hold on! I’m coming already!”
Jackson Skye thundered down the stairs in his underwear, yanking on a silk bathrobe that had twisted itself into some kind of knot. It never crossed his mind that it might not be safe to pull open his front door at this time of night.
Georgetown was one of the safest towns in the world. Criminals came to the Cayman Islands, but they came to do banking business, not to burgle homes in
the middle of the night. In fact, they tended to be ferociously intolerant of ordinary crime. The native islanders felt the same way.
What did occur to him was that” he was going to clobber the asshole who was holding down his doorbell like that.
“WHAT?” he bellowed, and then almost swallowed his tongue. “Von Rossbach,”
Skye said, eyeing the big man nervously. Still the same old slab of beef, no fat blurring the outline of the hard muscles. “W-what are you doing here?”
Dieter gave him an affable smile. “I’ve come to stay for a few days,” he said, moving slowly into the foyer, and moving Jackson back, step-by-step. “I have some research to do and I can use your help.”
Skye’s mouth dropped open. “Naw,” he said desperately. “I can’t, man!”
“Shhh.” Dieter raised a calming hand.
“No, seriously! Y’know how volatile the market’s been lately—”
“Shhh,” von Rossbach continued, smiling.
“But, Dieter, if you take me off-line to do your research I could lose millions.”
“Jackson”—Dieter put his hand on the man’s shoulder—“you know that you can always do what you have to do. And you have to do this. We had a deal, remember?”
Skye remembered. And a deal with the devil it was turning out to be.
“It’s just lousy timing is all,” he said sullenly.
“Hey,” von Rossbach said, patting him gently, “we might find out what we want to know in the first hour. You never know. So don’t have such a long face, okay?”
Jackson smiled a blatantly false smile and started to close the front door.
“Hi,” John said, blocking him. He came in lugging his small suitcase and looked up at the spiral staircase, the pale tile floor with scattered Moroccan rugs, the white-painted louvered doors looking out on pool and garden. “Cool,” he said, reaching out and shaking Skye’s hand enthusiastically. “Nice place, man.
Thanks!”
“Hi,” Jackson said, looking him over and closing the door again.
“Excuse me,” Sarah said, stopping the door with a firm hand.
Jackson blinked and then hastily tied his robe shut as Sarah looked him over. He glanced at von Rossbach.
“Friends of mine,” Dieter said unnecessarily.
“Where’s the washroom?” Sarah asked.
“Down that way, second door on the left,” Skye said automatically.
“We can all have our own rooms, yes?” von Rossbach said.
“Yuh,” their host agreed, somewhat bemused.
“Good. We’ll turn in now, since we’re all pretty tired,” Dieter said. “When Sarah comes back you can show us to our rooms.”
“Sure,” Skye said.
“I would appreciate it if you would stay home tomorrow morning to answer any questions we might have regarding your equipment,” von Rossbach said easily.
Jackson’s shoulders slumped.
“Of course,” he said with mock graciousness. “What kind of a host would I be if I considered my own welfare before your convenience?”
“A bad one,” Dieter said, still smiling. “And I know that you would never do anything that might upset your guests. That might lead to your being off-line for more than a few days. Yes?”
“Yes,” Jackson bit off.
Sarah returned, and paused, frowning at his tone of voice.
“Sorry,” Skye said. He was a man who had always found it hard to be surly to an attractive woman. “It’s just late and all like that.”
“It is,” she agreed. “And I’m sorry to have wakened you.” She held out her hand and he took it. “I assure you, we wouldn’t inconvenience you like this if it wasn’t important.”
Jackson stood a little straighter at that. “Thank you,” he said, sounding honestly grateful. “I won’t ask any questions, I know you can’t tell me anything. But I
appreciate someone” —he glared at von Rossbach—“taking my feelings into consideration.” With a smile he gestured toward the stairs. “The rooms are already made up, so all you need to do is crash. Every room has its own bath. If there’s anything that you need or want, Sarah”—he raised her hand to his lips
—“my room is the last one at the end of the hall. Here, let me get that,” he said as she bent to pick up her case.
She smiled at him and followed him up the stairs, making polite replies to his small talk. John raised an eyebrow and gave Dieter a she’ll-do-anything-for-the-mission look. Dieter just smiled and waved him onward.
“Hey, cool setup,” John Connor said. “Nice. Two-gig Pents, virtual keys, mondo bandwidth… seriously rad, my man. I love these thin-film displays, too.”
“How come you never look at girls that way?” Sarah said.
“I do, Mom; just not in front of you.”
Dieter snorted; even if it did make him seem like an old fart, he couldn’t regard computers as anything but tools.
“Sure,” John said, with a charming smile, slipping a headset on and adjusting the mike. “A couple of cans of Jolt and some cookies would be cool. Thanks.”
Skye turned to the stairs, muttering. This end of his house was open-plan, all pale wood and minimalist furniture looking out onto a veranda that surrounded it on three sides; the visitors had moved in chairs to give each a seat behind one of
the thin-screen displays. Warm air blew in, smelling of sea salt and the dry olive scrub that covered the land beyond the pink-stuccoed garden wall, and faintly of the jasmine in pots beside the pool.
“Ah,” John said, popping the top of a can of Jolt and taking a noisy sip.
“Okey-dokey.” He cracked his knuckles and poised his hands, wiggling the fingers like a 19th-century concert pianist. “Now, let’s get radical.”
Dieter smiled wryly and began. Now, the first thing is to get into the Sector computers, he thought. That would be easy enough—you never really retired.
Behind him he heard a combination of swift tapping and a low murmur, John accessing the Web by a combination of voice command and keystrokes; the thought of how much concentration that must take made the Austrian’s head hurt in sympathy. Sarah was proceeding methodically, referring to a checklist beside her terminal.
“Hey, am I the world-savior hero or what,” John said. “Ok… yeah, dump-save it… whoa! Defensive worm program! Don’t worry, I dodged it… yeah, we’re positive here.”
Dieter blinked at the split-screen image that came up. “Advanced Technology Systems Inc., Sacramento, California?” he said.
“Yeah, that’s definitely their off-site storage,” John said. “Look at the record—
daily mega-dumps. Looks like a complete discrete backup twice a day, twelve and twelve.”
He frowned. “The only thing that bothers me is the company name.”
“Why?” his mother said, not taking her eyes from her own screen.
“I mean, Advanced Technologies, in Sacramento?”
“Coastal chauvinist,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
Serena shifted minutely in her chair, slightly uncomfortable from the laparoscopic surgery her third Terminator had performed last night. Her second had found another host for a fertilized egg and so she’d had one removed and had shipped it off this morning.
This new host would not be given drugs to speed the growth of her fetus. And the clone itself would be allowed to grow more normally. For the sake of the mission, Serena wanted the first to be a well-grown child within six weeks’ time.
But since none of the T-950s had been pushed this hard, there was no way of telling what the ultimate product would be like. For now she had to be content with her second’s assurance that the fetus appeared to be developing normally.
The 1-950 was delighted to finally have that project on-line, even if it had left her a bit sore this morning. She focused her attention on Cyberdyne’s CEO.
Roger Colvin sighed and dropped the report she’d given him onto the desk. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment, then sighed again.
“Why don’t you summarize for me, Ms. Burns,” he suggested.
“Certainly,” she said crisply. “There are some important contradictions here.
When the plane was going down, the pilot, presumed to be Mary Warren, was screaming ‘the engines, the engines,’ but subsequent examination of the aircraft has shown no sign of engine trouble. In fact there appear to have been no mechanical problems at all. As far as the investigators could determine, the plane was in perfect operating condition.”
Colvin tapped his fingers on the desk. “So,” he asked, “what do you think that means.”
“It means”—Serena held up one finger—“pilot error”—she held up a second
—“murder-suicide”—she held up a third—“or assassination.”
The CEO turned away with a pained expression. “Mary had no reason to commit suicide; she loved her life. And those were her best friends,” Colvin went on.
“And Mary was a good pilot.”
“That would seem to leave assassination,” Serena said calmly.
“No, it doesn’t!” Colvin snapped. “It could have been wind shear or some other weird localized phenomenon.”
There’s been an inquiry regarding the Sacramento facility, her third Terminator sent. It hooked her into the ongoing inquiry, and as she followed the unauthorized investigation she also followed the Terminator’s trace on the line.
Meanwhile she kept her features trained to the mask of an interested listener for
Colvin’s benefit.
“I just don’t see Tricker doing something like that,” Colvin said. He held out his hand in a reasoning gesture. “I mean, it makes no sense.”
“It makes no sense to the average, reasonable human being,” Serena said. “But I’m not altogether certain that Tricker belongs in that category.”
Cayman Islands, the Terminator said. Account of Jackson Skye, investment counselor. Such people launder money for individuals and corporations.
Serena ordered it to trace Skye’s name, to see if he had previously had contact with Connor or von Rossbach. Her tap on the estancia’s phone had indicated that von Rossbach had disappeared at the same time as the Connors.
The phone calls had definitely become more interesting since he’d left home—
that Marieta was quite a gossip.
Jackson Skye has been investigated by the Sector; he is currently in their pay as an informer, the Terminator reported.
Serena nodded soothingly at Colvin. Check the Sector’s database; see if von Rossbach is the agent that brought him in.
There was a brief pause. Affirmative, the Terminator reported.
See if the Sector has bugged his office. If so, tap in and patch it to me.
Serena shifted in her chair again. “Please don’t think that I want Mary Warren to have been murdered,” she insisted. “I just… have always found it so strange that
an experienced pilot on a frequently traveled flight path should go down in what were supposed to be ideal weather conditions. And now that the investigation of the wreckage has found no sign of mechanical failure, despite all that yelling about the engines…” She waved her hands helplessly. “Well, I just think we’d better be more cautious than ever. That’s all.”
Colvin smiled ruefully.
“Well, that is your job,” he said.
“Here,” he continued. “Before I let you go I should show you this.” He separated a sheet of paper from those in his out basket and handed it across the desk. “It’s from Ronald Labane. Have you heard of him?”
Serena took the paper and began to read. “No,” she said absently. She looked up.
“Should I have?”
Colvin shrugged. “He’s kind of a New Agey, environmentalist type. His book is still on the bestseller lists after I don’t know how many months. Go ahead,” he said with a sweep of his hand, “read his letter.”
“This came in the mail?” Serena asked.
“E-mail,” Colvin said. “I got it this morning.”
The letter was brief, and to the point. Labane told them that he’d heard about their totally automated factory concept and listed his objections to it. He pointed out that it would, if successful, put huge numbers of people out of work. He pointed out that such people would be very angry and warned that he would do
his utmost to organize them. It ended with a plea to Cyberdyne to reconsider their actions.
Serena looked up, her face grim. I don’t need this right now, she thought.
“How, I wonder, did he hear of this,” she said evenly, “when this is the first I’ve heard of it?”
Colvin cleared his throat and looked away. “We didn’t tell you this, but the military absolutely loved the idea. We’ve been moving
ahead on it and we’ve just broken ground for a munitions factory in Texas.”
“So the leak could be anybody.” She handed the paper back, her face stern. “In a way, I’m relieved. With so many other people in the loop, it need not represent a leak at the highest levels of Cyberdyne.” In other words, this didn’t happen on my watch. Of course, everything to do with Cyberdyne was on her watch, technically.
“I suppose not,” he agreed. “But it should be looked into.”
“Yes,” Serena said, with a slow nod. “It should.” You humans have to be “looked into” constantly, don’t you? she thought with a flick of exasperation. “This Labane character should be looked into as well,” she said aloud. “That was a threat he made against this company, and with Cyberdyne’s history, that shouldn’t be taken lightly. I advise you to mention this to Tricker.”
Colvin shrugged, looking puzzled. “It’s not like I can call him up, you know.”
“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. “He needs to know about this. He’d be the one
to question the types who are involved in this project.” She swiveled her chair slightly. “I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon. It’s his job to show up when he’s needed. Or not wanted,” she added wickedly. “I’ll look into who might have known about those plans at Cyberdyne. You’ll provide me with a list of people you and Mr. Warren discussed it with?” Since I don’t know anything about that because you certainly didn’t discuss it with me!
“Of course,” the CEO replied.
“Do you want me to investigate the contractors?” she asked. “Or shall we leave that to Tricker?”
Colvin thought. “It might be a good idea for you to do some preliminary checking into the company’s background,” he said. “I’m reluctant to step on Tricker’s toes. But it’s probably a good idea for us to know more about them anyway. And then, if he doesn’t want to investigate, we’ll have a head start.”
Serena smiled and nodded. This poor little human was terrified of the government liaison. I wonder what Tricker has on him, she thought. Perhaps she should do something to make him as terrified of her.
“I’ll be very discreet, whatever I do,” Serena assured him with a smile.
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