Infiltrator

'Wherever you run that,' it said, indicating the wand, 'it's going to go off.'

Third held out its arms as though cooperating anyway. The woman with the wand hesitated, then shrugged and ran the wand up and down the Terminator's body. As it kept dinging, she began to smile. Then she stopped, straightening up.

'That must have hurt,' she commented as she waved him on.

'It did,' Third said.

The flight wasn't full, so Third got to sit by itself. It accepted a drink but refused food. It watched the movie, a comedy, attentively. The 1-950 had told them that while the situations were exaggerated they could still learn a great deal about human interaction from filmed entertainment. Any humor in the movie, if there was any, completely escaped its understanding. The actors were worse at imitating human beings than an experienced Terminator.

It thought the characters were idiots, one and all. But then, most humans were idiots. It just didn't think they were this stupid. Perhaps that was why this movie was considered humorous? It would ask the Infiltrator unit when it returned from its mission. The t-950 would know.

might work for the airport. It pointed to the tarmac outside. 'How do I get down there?' it asked. 'The quickest way.'

'You have to have a ticket,' the woman said, trying to pull her arm away from his grasp.

'Where do I get such a ticket,' it demanded.

She winced as his grip hardened. 'That's the charter airline section,' she said.

'Waybright Charters is just down there and to the left.' She tugged and he let her go, ignoring the glare she gave him as she moved off, rubbing her arm.

Their escort led them to a small jet plane that stood baking in the Caribbean sun, its idling engines adding their bit of heat and an extra tang of burnt kerosene. He waved them aboard.

'I can just put those bags in here,' he said, pointing to a bin in the wing.

'No,' Dieter said. 'We'll keep them with us.'

The man nodded. People often were chary of letting their hand luggage out of sight on Waybright Charters. He often fantasized about what was in those bags.

But at the end of the day he figured he was happier not knowing.

Sarah, John, and Dieter settled in to the comfortable gray leather seats; there was none of the elbow-to- elbow crowding of a normal commercial flight on this plane. Dieter nodded appreciatively. The plane was small, designed for not more than six passengers, but luxurious. The seats swiveled and there was a tiny bar/

kitchen near the back, opposite the lavatory.

'Cool,' John said, slapping the wide arms of his seat. 'No Greyhound with wings this time.'

The pilot came aboard, wearing some very dark aviator glasses.

'Hello, lady, gentlemen,' he said. 'I hear we're heading for a little airport in Corpus Christi. That so?' In answer, Sarah smiled and handed him a folded slip of paper. He took off his glasses to read it, raising his brows as he did so.

'Ol' Meh-hee-co!' he said. 'Sure, I can do that. You sure of these coordinates?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I—'

'Hey,' he said, holding up his hand and beginning to move forward to the cockpit. 'I don't wanna know.' He turned back with a grin. 'I don't wanna know

your name, I don't wanna know your fake name, I don't wanna know what you're really doing or what story you're telling. I'm paid to fly you where you wanna go and that's all I wanna do. So strap in, settle back, and enjoy your flight.'

The three passengers exchanged amused glances, then obediently fastened themselves in and settled back to think their separate thoughts about the upcoming visit to the United States.

Sarah had wanted to visit one of her weapons caches in Tamaulipas, near the Texas border, so they could stock up. She had friends in a nearby town who would sell her a safe car with American plates. It would probably be easier for them to cross into the U.S. through one of the border checkpoints than through the airport anyway. The higher volume of traffic meant that if you looked right you got passed fairly quickly. And they were all experts at looking right.

The plane began to glide smoothly forward, the twin turbines emitting muffled screams.

Third walked up to the counter of Waybright Charters and said to the woman behind the counter, 'Those people who just went down to the tarmac—I'm supposed to be with them. How do I get down there?'

She gave him a suspicious look. He was huge and she couldn't see his eyes through the dark glasses. His manner was brusque and his body language was vaguely threatening. All in all, he was a type that this company saw fairly often.

Policy was to be absolutely noncooperative. 'They didn't say anything about a fourth party,' she said at last.

'I'm running late,' it said. 'They must have given up on me. How do I get to

them?'

'I'm sorry,' she said carefully, 'but theirs is a private charter. I can't stop the plane for you when you aren't on their list.'

'I'm supposed to be with them,' Third insisted. 'It's important. Sell me a ticket and hold the flight.'

'I can't do that,' she insisted. 'They've been cleared.'

Charter a plane to follow them, Serena ordered. It might not be possible, but then again, it might.

'I will hire a plane to follow them,' it said. 'Here is my card.'

'You won't be able to follow them immediately,' the woman said, frowning.

'Where did you say it was that you wanted to go?'

'I have to follow the Connors and Dieter von Rossbach,' it said.

The woman smirked. 'I'm sorry, sir. There's been a mistake. That's not the name of the party that's leaving right now.' She looked at him imperturbably and offered his card back to him.

Take off your sunglasses and look at her. Tell her you must follow the party that just left, whatever their names were. Tell her it's life-and-death. Allow her to fear it might be her life you're talking about.

It took off its glasses and stared, unblinking, at the woman. 'I must follow them,' it said. 'It is a matter of life and death.'

The woman found herself staring into a pair of blue eyes that didn't look human.

She sucked in her breath, feeling a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the hair bristling on the back of her neck. If I were a dog, I'd howl, she thought; in all of her life she'd never met a gaze so terrible—terrible in its absolute lack of fury, or anger, or impatience, or anything human. With a dry tongue she licked her lips and felt her world narrow down to a tunnel with this terrifying man at the end of it.

'Yes, sir,' she said, her voice trembling. She cut him a ticket. 'You may wait in the lounge,' she said. 'But it will be at least an hour before your flight is cleared.'

'Is there any way to hasten the process?' it asked, still staring.

'It… could be arranged,' she said.

'Do it. Whatever it costs,' Third told her.

In ten seconds she handed it a new ticket.

'Please take a seat, sir,' she said. 'Someone will come for you when your plane is ready.'

Three took the ticket, picked up its bag, and walked over to the small but elaborate security setup. There was the usual metal-detector gate, and another, longer tunnel just beyond it. He put his bag on the belt and handed his health certificate to the guard. While the guard unfolded and read it he walked through the metal detector. It