Infiltrator

'You ain't seen nothin' yet,' Ron said.

He went along with the two young men to their hotel room—free shower at last!

—so that they could discuss the film and terms. They talked like kids from money. They had that insouciant near arrogance of youngsters who'd never had

to go without. The hotel was one of those where everything that wasn't cream-colored was pastel, and where the room service came with chased-silver napkin rings.

It was pretty certain that these two wouldn't go out of their way to save the world. So what? Ron thought. There's nothing wrong with a mutually agreeable arrangement.

If he got lucky it could be like being the lead singer in a rock group. If this movie hit, he'd be the one the public remembered. Not the two kids singing backup. Ron smiled. Oh yes, he'd milk these kids for all they were worth, and if he did it right, by the time he was finished they'd still believe he was a starry-eyed idealist.

The thing was to get the message out to those with the ears to hear it. A simple message, really: stop the madness of overproduction, whatever it takes.

Mentally he sneered at the spoiled boys beside him. He was certain they saw themselves as rebels because they wanted to make documentaries instead of getting real jobs in their daddies' companies.

WILMINGTON, DELAWARE: THE PRESENT

Jordan Dyson chewed on his lower lip. The advertisement for a head of security for Cyberdyne was no longer listed. He'd seriously considered applying for the job; he knew that some agents had gone on to lucrative civilian careers in security or related fields. But he liked working for the Bureau. Besides, he probably didn't have the street cred. His job here was primarily research and he was very, very good at it. But they would probably be looking either for

someone who had climbed the corporate ladder, or someone who'd been outrunning bullets and clipping on handcuffs.

Jordan tapped his fingers against his chin. Of course, he could join the firm in a lesser position. Being in the FBI would definitely be an entree to Cyberdyne then. The difficulty would be in getting the time; he really did not want to quit.

The difficulty would also lie in surviving up to a six-month break in his career.

But I have to get inside there! It was the only way he could get to know the workings of the place, get to know the people, maybe get into the files that most people didn't get to see.

But most important, he needed to be present at Cyberdyne because he was certain, as certain as anyone relying on pure gut instinct could be, that within three months the Connors would find out about Miles's project starting up again.

And then they'd come knocking on Cyberdyne's doors. Probably with high explosives.

Jordan sighed. I wonder if I can work out some kind of part-time arrangement?

LOS ANGELES: THE PRESENT

Danny pushed his home fries around his plate while he stared into space, apparently unaware that his mother had stopped eating to watch him, as if she knew he had something to say that he didn't think she'd want to hear.

Tarissa pursed her lips, then smiled. 'You have something on your mind son?'

'I've been thinking,' he said, with an alacrity that made her blink. It was rare that

he was so forthcoming these days. 'I think we ought to tell him.'

Tarissa felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She looked down, fiddled with her napkin for a moment, then folded and dropped it onto the table. She looked at her son's determined face. 'Don't think I haven't thought about it, Dan,' she said quietly. 'I have—a lot. Especially right after it happened.'

It suddenly occurred to her that she'd known instantly who and what Dan meant.

She tipped her head, considering him. 'But I couldn't think how to make him believe me, honey. Look what happened to Sarah Connor. All that time in Pescadero.' Tarissa shook her head sadly. 'Didn't matter that she was telling the truth. Nobody believed her.'

Tarissa sat back and let out her breath in a long sigh. She looked across the table at Danny and knew she might as well be looking across the country. She wasn't reaching him.

'I don't want to go to that place,' she said between her teeth. 'I freely admit it scares me to death. I saw what it did to that woman.' Tarissa put her hand to her forehead. 'If I had told your uncle what happened just after… your father died, I am absolutely certain that I'd have ended up in a straitjacket.'

Dan nodded. 'And I was just a little kid,' he said. 'No way could I back up your story.' He leaned forward, his hands reaching out. 'But I'm older now! I'm sure he'd believe me now.'

Tarissa tilted her head, a pained expression on her face.

'Mom! We have to tell him,' Dan said in measured tones. 'This is destroying his

life! And if he ever does find the Connors, he'll destroy them! C'mon, Mom, we've got to tell him!'

God, she thought fondly, he's so dramatic. But maybe he's right. Maybe it is time. She sighed. 'All right. But I want him here with us when we tell him. I want him to be able to look us in the eye.'

It might just be the one thing that destroyed their relationship. But Danny was right, this was torturing her brother-in-law and they couldn't just stand back, knowing the truth, and not try to help. Maybe knowing everything would help.

Dan nodded solemnly.

'Good,' he said. 'But don't leave it too long. I've got a feeling he might do something drastic, like talkthe FBI.'

CHAPTER NINE

SERENA'S LABORATORY: THE

PRESENT

A soft, long inhalation of breath, a pause of thirty seconds, then the long, slow exhale. Serena sat cross- legged on the steel table, her eyes half-closed as she breathed. Attending to her breathing helped to center her, allowing her to ignore the pain.

Her lap filled with blood as her hands worked, slicing into the skin of her abdomen, sliding out the small parcels that contained the neural-net processors and power cells that would activate her small army of T-l0ls.

The diminutive plastic-wrapped processors were a new generation, more advanced than the chips that had activated her teachers. These were smaller, slimmer, and even more efficient. As were the power cells, three to each Terminator, one of Skynet's innovations, introduced just before she'd left.

For all their light weight and smaller design Serena would be glad to be rid of them. She had been constantly aware of them just beneath the surface of her skin and concerned that she might damage them in some way. But with no safe place to store them she'd kept them close.

Now she possessed the equivalent of a vault. Serena paused in her work and looked around the long, narrow room. It was approximately thirty feet long and fourteen feet wide, with the ceiling six feet six inches from the floor: neither she nor the machines she'd be creating needed the psychological comfort of a ceiling high above their heads. Brightened by banks of fluorescent lights, gleaming steel tables, and glassed-doored cabinets, it made a pleasant place to work. True, it still stank of the antimagnetic white paint she'd used, but the air-scrubber was doing an excellent job of thinning the fumes.

Across the room the heads of two T-l0ls propped on a steel table grinned at her with demented glee. The backs of their gleaming skulls were open and waiting for the gifts of life and intelligence. Her fingers twitched with eagerness to get back to work. She picked up the scalpel and made another cut. It's a little like giving birth, actually, she thought, and smiled with grim humor.

Beside her, the culture-growing vats she'd adapted hummed contentedly as they grew flesh for her new subordinates. In the far corner of the room, well out of the way, two hulking, headless metal skeletons stood, their large, intricate hands