Infiltrator

rang.

'You have metal joints?' the guard asked, looking up at the tall, apparently perfect specimen beside him.

'Yes.'

The guard handed the paper to another uniformed man behind a console.

'All right,' that one said. 'Everything seems to be in order. If you would please continue through.' The guard indicated the abbreviated white tunnel before him.

The Terminator looked at it suspiciously; there was nothing precisely like this in its files. There was no choice if it was to maintain its cover, though: it strode firmly forward. As soon as it did, Third knew it had made a mistake. The scanners were not simple X-rays; they included a highly sophisticated phased-ultrasound element.

The operator of the machine looked at his 3-D display in astonishment. He whistled, high and sharp. 'Lord Jesus! That must have been one hell of a degenerative disease! Look at't'is guy, Arthur! It unbelievable, mon! Every one of his bones is metal! Even his jaw and teeth, for Christ's sake!'

Go! Serena commanded. Catch them, terminate them, self-destruct rather than allow yourself to be captured by humans.

From a standing start it took the Terminator ten seconds and twenty strides to reach forty miles an hour. It crashed into the glass wall at the back of the waiting room with enough force to shatter the high-impact safety glass and hit the ground on its feet, legs flexed, and started running after the plane that was

making its final approach. Men and women working on the ground began to yell at him; some gave chase but gave up after a few strides. They looked at each other in wonder and someone called the control tower.

As the plane taxied toward the velocity that would allow it to lift from the ground, Third caught up to it. It leapt onto the wing and hung on just as the plane rose.

The plane dipped and they all brought their heads up and looked out the window.

'What the hell was that?' the pilot asked.

'Oh, my God,' Sarah murmured. It felt as though every organ in her body was trying to squeeze into the same place in her middle.

'Mom,' John said, his voice sounding like a warning. He felt like he'd been smacked in the center of the forehead with a tennis ball. The moment of shock before the pain hits, when you're so disoriented you're almost uncertain what's happened.

Outside, a man in sunglasses was clinging to the wing of the plane. His face in profile looked remarkably like Dieter's.

'What is it?' von Rossbach asked. He undid his seat belt and rose to cross over to their side of the aircraft.

'Sit down, please!' the pilot said.

Sarah looked out and down; they were already over the ocean. When she looked

up she was staring into the Terminator's face.

'Shit!' she said, real terror in her voice.

It clung to the wing until they were airborne, then it moved, hand over hand, toward the body of the plane. Once it was close to the fuselage, Three raked its nails down the jet's metal skin. One of the T-950's improvements had been to give the Terminator titanium steel claws, hidden beneath the human-looking fingernails. Its blow to the side of the plane broke away the fragile keratin covering that disguised this asset; the bloody bits fluttered away as steel ripped beneath Three's hands.

It looked up to confront Sarah Connor's white face and considered tearing away the window plastic to get at her. Three rejected the idea. The opening was too small; it could not reach her this way. She would escape, and it would be too vulnerable. Causing a crash at this low altitude and speed also lacked sufficient probability of mission success. It began to work its way down the fuselage, one careful blow at a time.

'What the hell is going on out there?' the pilot asked, his voice sounding desperate.

He was still too close to the heavily trafficked airport to put the plane on autopilot so he could go back and look. The instruments didn't show any reason for those vicious thumping sounds, or that wild dip of the wing while they were taking off.

'This is Owen Roberts Control,' the headphones spoke. 'There is… there is a man clinging to the exterior of your aircraft.'

'Oh, very funny,' he snapped. This wasn't a frigging biplane, for God's sake. He was doing better than three hundred mph already.

Then he thought about that dip on the wing, those weird pounding sounds. 'Give me clearance for an emergency landing,' he said. 'I'm turning back,' he called to his passengers.

'NO!' his passengers shouted as one.

'John, stop him,' Sarah said.

John tightened his lips, but nodded and headed forward. Sarah and Dieter looked out the window, watching the Terminator's progress.

Three clung to the side of the door frame and began to tear away the metal around the handle, careless of its flesh sheath. It would self-destruct soon anyway.

John slipped into the copilot's seat.

'Please return to the passenger cabin,' the pilot said sharply. He didn't need this distraction, not with the tower giving him instructions and some maniac outside the plane. How was that even possible?

'You can't turn the plane around,' John said.

The pilot looked at him. 'Hey, kid, there's somebody in trouble out there. We can't just ignore him!'

'I can fly a plane,' John said quietly. He held one hand up, and there was a sudden click. The blade of the knife looked short, but extremely sharp. 'If you attempt to turn back we will kill you and I will take over. My advice is to keep to your route and let us take care of this situation. Do you understand?' he asked.

The pilot snapped a look at the kid, ready to face him down. Then something in John's eyes registered. He wasn't looking at some dumb, punk kid who didn't understand the situation. He was looking a man who meant what he said.

'Sure,' he said wonderingly. 'You got it.'

'Good.' John said. He smiled and squeezed the pilot's shoulder, then turned back to the passenger compartment.

Somehow the pilot felt better for that brief contact. Damned if he could figure out why. He licked his lips and toggled the com to talk to air traffic control.

'Seems we don't need to turn back after all, Owen Roberts. My passengers have the situation under control.'

Which, from the continued pounding, they did not. But he wasn't prepared to die on behalf of someone stupid enough to hitch a ride this way no matter what Owen Roberts had to say.

Three peeled back the metal skin and bared the locking mechanism. Reaching into the hole, he worked it, pushing hard against the pressure of air escaping the cabin with its free hand. Simultaneously it tried to bring its foot forward, ready to step into the hatchway when it slammed open.

Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling and dangled ignored as Dieter flung himself at the door, catching it just as the lock disengaged. He hauled it closed by main strength, bracing one foot against the frame to give himself leverage, and looked around for something to jam the mechanism.

Sarah dragged her bag close and pulled out the lid over the hidden compartment.

Outside, Three patiently worked the mechanism again.

Dieter grabbed it as he saw it begin to move and tried to hold it closed. He held the handles and twisted until