Infiltrator

'Whoever this is,' Mary Warren said icily, 'and whatever this is about, it—and you—can wait until tomorrow. My husband and I are entertaining guests. Good night!'

She hung up the phone and turned to her husband. 'You can't let them start calling you at all hours like that, Paul.' She stabbed the dark surface of the desk with a pale finger. 'I am not going to be one of those work-widows who only get to see their husbands when they come home to shower and change clothes. I thought we had that understood between us.' She glared at him.

'Mary, we may have a lead on the terrorists who destroyed the factory and murdered Miles Dyson.'

She raised one brow coolly. 'Who?' she asked.

Warren let out an exasperated breath. When she was in this mood he wouldn't get anywhere with her.

He led his wife out of his office, she closed the door behind her so firmly he looked over his shoulder at her. Mary's face was set. He knew she wouldn't give him any opportunities to call his security chief back tonight. He turned away and tightened his lips once more. He hated scenes, and if they fought he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. Not to mention the havoc it would wreak on his digestion.

Warren adjusted his face to a pleasant smile and apologized for leaving his guests for so long.

'A new, overly enthusiastic employee,' he explained.

John Rudnick, a newly elected judge, nodded solemnly.

'Some of these kids would take over your life if you let them,' he said. 'We've got a strict rule about it at home.' He smiled at his wife, who returned him a you'd-better-believe-it smile.

Paul shrugged. 'So do we,' he said.

'Perhaps tomorrow, when you go to work,' Mary said with arctic calm, 'you should make that clear to the person who called you.'

'I intend to, dear,' he said, and changed the subject.

Serena hung up the phone, genuinely astonished. She'd been trained to a strict and all-consuming pragmatism; otherwise she might have had trouble believing the evidence of her own ears. She stood with her hand on the receiver, certain that Warren would call her right back. Surely this was a bizarre way for one spouse to treat another? Even by pre-Skynet human standards.

She crossed her arms and stared down at the quiet phone. One thing is certain, she thought, if Mary Warren is going to make herself an obstacle, then Mary Warren is going to have to be eliminated.

Serena had been considering an affair with either Colvin or Warren as a means of ensuring that she would always know what was going on. Paul Warren might be the more receptive of the pair.

Or perhaps not, she thought as the minutes lengthened.

Humans, especially the males, had extremely fragile egos. Being humiliated like that in front of an employee, especially a female, couldn't be good for Warren's.

He would probably be embarrassed the next time they met. She put one hand on her hip and sighed.

A discreet affair was all she'd had in mind—something that would cool to a warm friendship spiced with occasional bouts of physical pleasure.

Mary Walsh-Warren was the daughter of a very wealthy, very influential family.

It was her family's money that had given Cyberdyne its start, and Mary's political contacts that had provided their first lucrative government contracts. That gave her a disproportionate share of power in her marriage.

Which made poor Paul's wife a potentially dangerous enemy. Serena had also learned from company gossip that Mary was almost pathologically jealous. One whiff of a warming relationship between herself and the president and Serena had no doubt she would be summarily fired.

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the worktable. So. Terminating Mary Warren rather than undermining her marriage seems to be the most logical course of action.

Serena had hoped to avoid killing indefinitely, because Skynet would not be well served by her spending decades in prison.

Unfortunately she sensed that it was inevitable. The woman's influence was just too poisonous. Poisonous enough to make the risk of terminating her worthwhile, besides being aesthetically satisfying.

Since it was inevitable she might as well do it now while she was an unlikely suspect. After all, she'd never even met Mrs. Warren, she barely knew the president, and at present their association was purely professional.

I suppose an auto accident would be best, she mused. A flaming wreck could hide all sorts of precrash mayhem. Perhaps she could send the Terminator. A sort of test run.

Meanwhile, she would find and hire a private investigator in the Asuncian area.

Someone competent, but low profile!

She had done her own checking into Dieter von Rossbach and had found out that he, like Mary Warren, came from a wealthy, prominent family. He had entered the army after university, then had disappeared from all official records appearing only in a few society columns, all of them very thin on detail, until now. When he resurfaced it was as a rancher in Paraguay, which was extraordinarily unlikely.

She'd been too late to get a tap on his conversation with Goldberg, getting on the line just in time to hear them say good-bye and hang up. She'd left the tap on von Rossbach's line and had listened in to a number of utterly prosaic phone calls.

Let the PI do it, she thought, exasperated. Tomorrow she would get on it, first thing. For now, she still had that tissue to check.

TARISSA DYSON'S HOME, LOS ANGELES: THE PRESENT

Jordan gave his sister-in-law a warm hug. Dan stood beside her, looking nervous and slightly embarrassed. He held out his hand to shake.

Jordan raised an eyebrow at him. 'Come here!' he growled playfully, and swept his nephew into his arms. 'A handshake?' he chided. 'That's no way to greet family!'

Dan grinned and ducked his head, shrugging, his eyes shyly downcast.

'How long can you stay?' Tarissa asked, closing the front door behind him.

'I have to go back Sunday,' Jordan told her. 'And I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. That's something I want to talk to you about, by the way.'

He looked at her to check her reaction. She looked interested, but distracted.

'But the rest of the time,' he said, holding out his arms, 'I am all yours.'

Both Tarissa and Danny instantly wore identical sick smiles.

Jordan put his suitcase down and waved them into the living room. 'Why don't you tell me what's on your mind,' he suggested. 'I've got a feeling it might kill you, or at least cause serious damage, if we wait much longer for you to let me in on whatever it is you brought me here for.'

He sat down and looked at them expectantly.

Tarissa and Danny looked at each other, then looked into the living room as if they weren't sure what to do. Simultaneously they chose the couch and sat, both of them on the very edge of the cushions. They exchanged anxious glances again, wringing their hands and chewing their lips.

'So what is this?' Jordan asked. 'Mother and son competitive nervousness?

What?' He held out his hands. 'Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can't possibly be

that bad.' He grinned. 'I'll still love you, even if you've gambled away the house.'

Tarissa and Danny looked at each other for a long moment. Then they faced Jordan.

'It's so hard to know how to begin,' Tarissa said, her voice was shaking. Turning the corners of her mouth down, eyes on her hands she continued, 'But I'm afraid that you will find that what we have to say… might have a profound effect on our relationship.' Tarissa looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

The first thing he thought was, Cancer? Could Tarissa be sick?

Tarissa saw the fright leap into Jordan's eyes and hastened to reassure him.