Infiltrator

information. Von Rossbach's immigration record came up with his picture attached and she swore softly. It—he looked exactly like a Terminator. Mce to know I'm not hallucinating anyway.

An hour and a half later she had some information, but not much. And what there was somehow just didn't quite ring true.

Or maybe I'm looking for problems, she thought, chewing on a thumbnail. She hadn't felt this bad since she'd escaped the Pescadero mental hospital and was coming down off the Thorazine and the nightmares were really bad.

Could it possibly be an hallucination? A slight resemblance built into something more by her cana-deprived brain. Oh, I don't like that thought.

With a little shiver she got back to work. The only cure for this was to find out more. And that passport picture is too unflattering to be a lie. That picture was of a face from the future.

By the end of the day she hadn't made much progress. Her Austrian neighbor

was indeed rich, from a rich family. According to what she'd read, he had spent most of his life in the international-society scene— attending openings, sunbathing on exclusive beaches, dancing at charity balls.

He hadn't done much good with his life, but then he'd done nothing very bad either. There were no juicy scandals attached to his name. Which, given the people he ran with, was something of a surprise. Perhaps he'd taken up cattle ranching as a whim, or as a way to connect with something real.

I need a closer look at this guy, she thought. She wouldn't be able to rest until she did. But she'd have to be cautious. People who knew her in Villa Hayes would start speculating the moment she started asking questions. They'd have me planning a wedding before the day was out. There were pleasant things about living in a small town, but there were also annoyances.

Neither of the other Terminators had bothered to build a background at all, let alone one as elaborate as this one. There had been nothing so delicate in their approach as moving in next door to their victim and making friends with the neighbors. So does this represent a new approach by Skynet? Has it finally learned to be subtle? Now, there was a bone-chilling thought.

On the other hand this could be a coincidence. She'd never managed to become paranoid enough to believe that there was no such thing; but she'd become plenty paranoid enough to doubt every one she'd ever encountered.

Dieter von Rossbach could be nothing more or less than what his public record showed him to be: a rich playboy. So why have I seen this face before on top of the bodies of killing machines? That really was the crux of the matter, wasn't it?

She knew she wouldn't be telling John. Not just yet anyway, not until she knew more. This had shaken her, if it hadn't actually frightened her.

Sarah remembered her reaction at lunch. It had frightened her all right.

Information, she said to herself. I need to know more.

Sarah rose just before dawn and dressed in the dark. Slipping quietly from the house, she went directly to the barn and saddled Linda for an early-morning ride.

That ride just happened to take her in the direction of von Rossbach's estancia. It was a little chilly, one of the few times in the Chaco you could say that; the dry clear air lost heat quickly at night.

She felt guilty for not feeding the horse immediately, but it was early for her breakfast.

'It's only a two-mile ride,' she murmured to the mare as she tightened the girth strap. 'It'll work up a nice little appetite for you.'

Linda's ears flicked as though she were expressing some doubt about that. But she was a good-natured beast and took this strange departure from routine in her stride.

A half hour later Linda was contentedly grazing and Sarah lay on her belly, her field glasses trained on von Rossbach's front porch. Where, early as it was, the man himself sat with his feet propped up on the railing, sipping from a cup he held in one hand as he read a folded newspaper he held in the other.

He's up pretty early for a playboy, she thought cynically. Then again he might

not have gone to bed yet. Or maybe he wasn't yet sick of his new toy and the demands it made of long and early hours.

Von Rossbach sipped, von Rossbach read, Sarah watched. Eventually she checked the time.

'Shit!' she muttered.

John would sleep in this week at least, she knew, so he might never suspect that she'd been out. But she had to feed Linda and get herself washed, dressed, and off to work. She pushed herself backward until she could stand without being seen by anyone in the house and jogged to where she'd left the horse.

Riding home, she thought about what she'd seen. He'd sipped at that cup until it was empty. What does that prove? She'd never seen a Terminator eat. But they must. They weren't keeping that skin alive with batteries.

And reading the paper was a reasonable thing for a Terminator to do; there would be a lot of useful information in one. But could a Terminator interact well enough with humans to be their boss? Sarah considered that and with a sigh concluded that with careful training the answer was yes. After all, by the time they'd lowered 'Uncle Bob' into the molten steel she'd formed an emotional attachment to it.

This was getting her nowhere, not even home. With a shake of her head she kicked the horse into a trot. Maybe John sent another one back, she thought suddenly. That was a comforting thought.

Or was it? If John had sent back another protector for his younger self, it meant

that there was still a Skynet in the future. The idea sent a shiver shooting down her spine. Linda's ears swiveled back toward her as if asking what was wrong.

Stop it! she ordered herself. Then forced herself not to concentrate on how badly she wanted a cigarette. Or a drink.

* * *

Sarah came into a kitchen redolent of fresh-brewed coffee and hot toast. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. 'Glorious,' she said. Opening her eyes she looked at John, already seated at the table. 'You're up early.'

'Look who's talking,' he said, buttering his toast.

'I was restless.'

John looked at her sympathetically. 'You're doing great, Mom.'

Sarah snorted and reached for a cup just as the toast popped up. 'That for me?'

she asked.

'It is if you wash your hands first.'

With a laugh she went to the sink and began to scrub.

'When, exactly, did we reverse roles?' she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

'Mmm. It's just for now, while you're going through nicotine withdrawal,' he said, licking jam off his fingers. 'I thought you could use the pampering. Don't

get too used to it.'

'Thanks for the warning,' she said dryly, flicking him with the towel.

Then she kissed him on the top of the head and moved off to claim her toast. I do like my son, she thought.

CHAPTER FIVE

PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT

Dieter von Rossbach shifted in his saddle, irritated by the turn of events that had drawn him from his office to the edge of this stagnant mud hole. Mosquitoes whined through the hot still air of the Chaco summer; reeds stood still in the scummy green water of the marsh. Birds flicked by like living jewels, but no matter how many of the insects they ate there always seemed to be more. He took off his baseball cap and ran a hand over his short blond brush cut—just starting to go a little gray at the temples— and looked down at his overseer from atop his massive