Infiltrator

Without a word, Tricker came over and showed them how to set the case to open to her or Colvin's thumbprint.

'Later,' he said, and walked out.

Colvin waited a moment, as though he expected the government liaison to pop back in and snatch up the case. Then he drew the treasure to him. Immediately he began fiddling with the upper arm's extensions. Serena watched him in benign amusement.

'Y'know he could be right about Mary,' Colvin said at last. He looked up. 'She has gotten Paul to fire secretaries and executives based on their looks.'

'I have a contract,' Serena reminded him, raising one brow. 'And I'm fulfilling its terms more than adequately. At the end of six months, of course…'—she shook her head—'then I'm vulnerable. But if the company tries to fire me before that time, I warn you, I will sue.'

Colvin nodded, his eyes slipping back down to the arm.

'That'd be the least of our worries,' he muttered. 'I shudder to think what Tricker would do.'

Serena smiled at that, enjoying the irony. It's so nice to have allies.

VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT

Marco watched the two couples leave. Von Rossbach, by himself, came out the see them off. The big man watched his guests drive away, lingering out in front of the house until their taillights disappeared then he turned and trotted up the steps.

Marco lowered the binoculars and wished that he had the kind of equipment that would allow him to listen in on what was occurring in the house. One woman had arrived alone and she had stayed behind. Doubtless this was the woman his client was interested in. The mellow tile and stucco of the house, the blossoming flowers of the garden… it made him feel important and scared at the same time.

He was really spying now. These were important people.

He seethed with frustration, but he didn't dare go closer. The estancia was overrun with dogs. Okay, four, and one of those with puppies. But dogs had terrified him ever since he could remember. So he wasn't going any closer. For

one thing they'd surely alert the house that there was a stranger nearby, and for another they might rip him limb from limb. Dogs did that sort of thing. And the brush was full of bugs. He was a city boy, anyway; a Private Eye, not a Backlands Scout. It was supposed to be The Maltese Falcon not The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.

Maybe he could get in the car and inch closer that way. But then they'd hear the car and come out to see who had come. He could always tell them that he was almost out of gas, which was perfectly true, and try to buy some. But even if they invited him in they'd watch what they said while he was around.

Then he noticed a flurry of activity before the house. One of the younger people who worked on the estancia drove a Jeep up to the steps. Then von Rossbach appeared, spoke a few words to the driver, and gave him what looked like money.

Soon a small, fat man came out of the house. He stopped and talked to von Rossbach, who handed him an envelope. When the smaller man would have opened it, von Rossbach put his big hand over both of the man's, stopping him.

From what Marco could see no words were exchanged, but the smaller man looked up into the Austrian's face and sort of crumbled. He put the envelope in his pocket and went down the steps, while von Rossbach, his face grim, watched him. Then the Jeep drove off.

Interesting, Marco thought. The smaller man was familiar somehow. Cassetti frowned, thinking hard as he watched the door to see if the woman was going to come out now.

Oh! Of course! The little fat guy was Victor Griego, an arms dealer. Not big time, but not small time either. An independent with a reputation for being fairly

trustworthy in what he sold.

Victor used to have an apartment in the building Marco's aunt Rosa took care of.

Marco had heard her talking to his mother about all the strange characters Victor had visiting him.

It was interesting that he was here. There must be something about Dieter von Rossbach's background that hasn't made it into his immigration documents, Marco thought wisely. You didn't expect to find a slimy little creep like Victor Griego, who'd killed his own rnother with a broken heart, so Aunt Rosa had said, mingling with honest citizens. So something had to be going on.

He waited. After about twenty minutes von Rossbach and the woman came out.

Their behavior towards one another was tentative, like two people patching up an argument.

Maybe she'd wanted von Rossbach to do business with Griego and the big Austrian wouldn't. No, that wouldn't work, because the arms dealer had been there before everybody else.

Marco felt a growing excitement as he tried to nail down the possibilities.

Intrigue—no doubt about it. The whole thing reeked of intrigue. Not just another disappointed girlfriend checking up on a rival.

Marco wondered who the woman was. She had a nice figure, but her haircut and the big glasses she wore kind of obscured her face. He had the impression that she was attractive, though.

She and von Rossbach didn't touch as she climbed into her car. He shut the door

and stood over her. Marco watched them through the binoculars. They definitely weren't speaking. They didn't speak for what seemed like an eternity, while Marco could sense the tension building between them from his hiding place.

The woman broke first, looking down to start the car. When she looked up Marco read her lips saying good night, then she drove off. Von Rossbach stood back and watched her go.

Something strange was definitely going on there. Well, he could always follow her home and find out where she lived and then ask people in Villa Hayes about her in the morning. Or—he lowered the glasses—he could just find Victor Griego and ask him what this was all about. If he did that he would get to sleep in his own bed tonight instead of the rental car.

Marco nodded to himself. That seemed the most sensible thing to do. His mother would like it, too. When he'd told her he was going to be out all night working, she'd been too angry to speak, descending into a sullen silence that had yet to be broken. And this morning she'd gotten up extra early to make his breakfast, just so it would be ice-cold when he entered the kitchen. He smiled fondly. He could only hope that someday he would find a girl who loved him half that much.

He got up, dusted himself off, and headed back to Asuncion, keeping the headlights off and driving by moonlight until he was well away from von Rossbach's estancia, despite the potholes and two determined suicide attempts by armadillos.

No need to attract attention, he told himself, feeling canny. He drove down the road in a glow of anticipation. He'd soon have a lot of very interesting information to share with his client.

She would be grateful. He wondered how grateful, and filled the drive home with fantasies involving very appreciative, very leggy blondes.

SERENA'S LAB: THE PRESENT

Serena sat as though in a trance, sorting through the information her open computer had garnered for her. Most of it was useless. That was one thing you couldn't say about intelligence back home. What information you received meant something. The Internet in this time was full of garbage, and advertisements—

for pictures, for services. She found she was especially offended by the advertisements.

Another reason to wish the species extinct, she thought, is their rude insistence on wasting my precious time.

Still another was their undeniable influence on her. She found herself behaving more and more like a human. Her emotions were becoming less feigned and more felt. This was dangerous as well as uncomfortable. She was glad that there was no one from home to see her like this. Which was another sign of their pervasive influence. She should not care.

With an effort she forced such thoughts away, reminding herself that when she thought of home she was really thinking of Skynet. And it is here. In its infancy, needing protection more than at