Terminator nodded. 'Better,' he said. He tossed Connor aside.
Connor picked himself up and rubbed his throat as he tried to catch his breath. He had been close to fuzzing out. 'Why did you do that?' he croaked.
But Terminator showed little or no reaction.
'You were dicking with me?' Connor demanded.
'Anger is more useful than despair.'
'What?'
'Basic psychology is among my subroutines,' Terminator said as if he were discussing the weather. He pulled the modified Stoner 63A .30-caliber machine gun out of the coffin, then grabbed a belt of ammunition and efficiently loaded the weapon, pulled the slide back and released the safety.
Connor suddenly remembered what Terminator was capable of doing. 'Jesus, don't kill them.'
'My reprogramming will not allow it. I am incapable of taking human life.'
Connor grinned wryly, still rubbing his bruised neck. 'Good to know.'
c.18
Near Victorville
They had left the BP station a few minutes ago. The black detective was driving the plain blue Chevy sedan, while his partner, Detective Martinez, spoke to someone by cell phone. Something was haywire with all the police frequencies, but so far cell phones didn't seem to be affected.
T-X, as Scott Peterson, dressed now in a light sweater and slacks, sat in the backseat listening. There was trouble not too far away from here. The San Bernadino County Sheriff's office and State Police had been called in, along with an LAPD SWAT team.
'Perps are still holed up?' Detective Martinez said. He nodded. 'Gotcha.' He broke the connection and turned to T-X. 'Good news, your girlfriend's okay.'
'Where is she?' T-X asked.
Martinez glanced forward. 'Valley of Peace Cemetery. But they're going to bring her downtown?'
T-X drove its left hand through the back of the front seat, its fist emerging from the black detective's chest, the fingers grabbing the steering wheel in a spray of blood, shattered bone, and torn tissue.
Martinez reared back, not able to grasp what he was witnessing except that it was bad. Worse than he'd ever seen.
'Oh, Jesus, God?' he blurted.
He grabbed for his piece beneath his jacket, but T-X smashed the man's head into the passenger side window with its free hand, breaking out the glass and shattering the detective's skull.
T-X drilled into the Chevy's dash panel and connected with the automobile's computers. The cemetery was highlighted on a map in its head-up display.
Its arm still through the detective's chest, T-X hauled the car into an accelerating U-turn and headed off.
Valley of Peace Cemetery
The LAPD SWAT team leader hustled Kate down the hill to one of the waiting ambulances, where he turned her over to a paramedic whose name tag read stewart.
Police radio units, the SWAT team van, and fire rescue units were parked along the base of the hill thirty yards from where the hearse and Cadillac limousine were parked. No one had found the drivers of the two vehicles. They had probably taken off the moment the trouble started.
Officers, some of them dressed in dark jump suits with visored riot helmets and Kevlar vests, armed with various weapons including the Colt Commando assault rifle and the 9mm Heckler & Koch MP5 room broom,
were fanned out behind headstones, statues, and one of the large mausoleums near the crypt
Other cops were positioned behind their squad cars, their sidearms drawn. Still others held shotguns at the ready.
Dense clouds of tear gas poured from the entrance to the crypt as shell after shell was fired through the open doorway.
Kate shivered, and the paramedic put a blanket around her shoulders.
A heavyset man, with thinning white hair and a smarmy look on his round face, came over. He had a manner that Kate supposed was meant to be comforting.
'You're safe now,' he told her.
She couldn't determine if he was for real or not. But then he hadn't seen that thing that had kidnapped her.
He dropped the cigarette he'd been smoking and ground it out. 'Kate, my name is Dr. Silberman. I'm a post- trauma counselor for the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department' He smiled pleasantly, trying to reassure her that everything would be okay. 'How are you feeling?'
'He's not human,' Kate said softly. 'He's really not human?'
An understanding look came into Silberman's eyes. He sat down next to her in the back of the ambulance. 'I know what it's like to be in a hostage situation. I've been there myself.' He looked away and stared into the distance. He had been there. He knew. 'The fear, the adrenaline. You find yourself imagining things. Impossible things. It can take years to get over it'
Six SWAT cops wearing gas masks made a dash for the entrance to the crypt, leapfrogging by twos so that they could provide covering fire for each other if need be.
Kate shrank back, but Silberman patted her hand. 'It'll be fine, you'll see.'
One of the stained-glass windows burst outward in a spray of colored glass shards. Terminator stepped through the opening. The machine gun was cradled in his right arm, and with his left he balanced the stainless-steel coffin on his shoulder. Dense smoke swirled around him.
The SWAT chief waiting farther down the hill raised his megaphone. 'Drop your weapon.' His sharply amplified voice rolled across the cemetery. 'And the coffin!'
Terminator headed down the hill away from the crypt toward the pet van without breaking stride, looking neither left nor right.
Kate's heart hammered out of her chest Dr. Silberman jumped to his feet.
The SWAT team at the entrance to the crypt swung around and opened fire. Bullets slammed into Terminator's back, ricocheted off the coffin with angry whines, and tumbled away at oblique angles.
They crab-walked behind him down the hill, laying down a continuous line of intense fire. Some of the bullets struck the pet van, opening the gas tank, and it caught fire with a dull thump.
Terminator paused momentarily, then turned and took a couple of steps toward the hearse parked about twenty yards away. He was still taking heavy fire to his torso, his legs, and to the back of his head.
He stopped again, raised the Stoner machine gun, and began spraying the cemetery in a long, looping arc; the large caliber bullets shattered headstones, cut down small trees and statues, and destroyed several police cars.
His targeting computer, which showed up as a reticle in his head-up display, overlaid with the heat signatures of humans, was meticulous in avoiding nonmechanical targets.
The police officers and SWAT team crew dove for cover.
Silberman's face turned ghostly white. He stammered something incomprehensible.
Kate got to her feet, the blanket falling off, and she backed away from the ambulance. 'They can't stop him,' she babbled. 'We have to get out of here?'
She turned, but Silberman was already gone, running as fast as his legs could carry him from the battle zone.
'Oh, God,' Kate cried, and she started after him.
Terminator reached the hearse during a momentary lull in the return fire. He tore open the rear door, shoved the coffin inside, and slammed the door shut.
The police units opened fire again as he moved around to the driver's side, got in behind the wheel, yanked the ignition set out of the steering column, and hot-wired the engine.
Bullets had retorn the flesh from Terminator's neck and head, exposing bits of his metallic cranial case, but
