Rising Storm

'As I said, I think it could be beneficial to both of you. It might well help you to put the pain behind you.'

Looking thoughtful, Jordan sat silent for another moment, then looked up decisively. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll do it.' I'll have to get word to Paraguay somehow. This weather-report thing has its limits.

VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY

John was watching the clock, waiting to call Watcher, aka Wendy Dorset, when Dieter came into his room, all smiles.

'Good news,' he said.

John didn't doubt it; the big man fairly lit up the room with good vibes. It made a nice change from the solemn Teutonic atmosphere they'd all been living in for the last three months. He sat up, setting aside the magazine he'd been reading.

'What's up?' he asked.

'Your mother is up for a move to minimum security,' Dieter said, his blue eyes aglow. 'Sometime in the next six weeks, Jordan said.'

'You spoke to Jordan directly?' John was both surprised and disappointed.

Surprised that Dyson would risk it, disappointed that Dieter hadn't called him to get on the line.

'For about forty seconds only,' Dieter said. 'I barely had a chance to say hello and he was gone again. He said he'd call back at the next opportunity. After three months of tapping his phone with no results, he's sure they'll soon move on.

There's never enough manpower or equipment,' von Rossbach added.

You should know, John thought. He glanced at the time; almost exactly four.

'I'm about to call a possible recruit named Watcher,' he said regretfully. 'I think she might be useful. Can I talk to you later about this?'

Dieter nodded cheerfully. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'We have much to talk about.'

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

Wendy brushed back her smooth dark red hair and eyed the phone lying on the table before her, willing it to ring, as she took a sip of the cooling coffee. Her eyes swept the almost empty confines of the shabby cafe, with its bored waitress

and long-dead pastries behind filmy glass; she felt nervous, wary… and a bit excited, she admitted to herself.

Perhaps this secret watchdog group could help. Perhaps they were part of the problem and were onto her and just trying to find out what she knew before they

—

Wow, she thought sardonically, great plot line, there. Maybe I should take a course in screenwriting. Zzzzzt! Cue the black helicopter!

Real life didn't have a plot. It just bumbled aimlessly on its way, unless you directed it by sheer force of will. Which was harder to do than to say, she knew.

She'd seen that in her lather's life. When he was her age he'd been an ardent activist, fighting against the war in Vietnam, fighting for civil rights.

Now he ran a moderately successful insurance business, just like his dad had done. And as far as Wendy could tell, he had no idea how he'd gotten from firebrand to burnout. She saw herself at his age, complacently middle class, being careful not to rock the boat too hard.

Did middle age bring about a failure of will, or did you just have more to lose? I guess, she thought, that you always have a lot to lose, it just seems less important when you're young. So I guess it's better that you're inclined to fight the good fight when you're young and don't have a lot of commitments. Yeah, commitments, that's the glue that slows you down, and when it sets, well, your life's over, I guess.

Wendy lifted a brow. Maybe this wasn't the best attitude to assume when she was about to meet AM. Or anyone else for that matter.

She tapped the cell phone on the table before her. It belonged to the house mother, a really nice woman who left it all over the place, so it wouldn't be missed. Everyone 'borrowed' it, then returned it with a cheerful 'Were you looking for this?' She glanced at her watch. It was four; AM should—

The phone rang.

She bit her lip and stared at it. Just before the third ring she picked it up. 'Yeah?'

she said.

'Watcher?'

It was a young voice; the youth of it hit her before the fact that it was also a male voice. 'How old are you?' she demanded.

There was a long-drawn-out sigh. 'I get a lot of that,' he said dryly. 'Not as young as I sound, I know that for sure.' Damn! he thought. 'Does it matter?'

'Ye-ah! Why would I want to get involved in someone's high-school project?

Look, kid—

'I found you, didn't I?' John asked, letting his voice get hard. 'It took about a minute.'

'Oh, no it didn't,' Wendy snapped back. She'd worked very hard obscuring her trail, no way some kid could find it in less than an hour.

'Wendy, if I'd known you were going to be so judgmental about my voice, I would have had you speak to one of my associates. If this is an issue for you I

can hang up now. It's up to you.'

Associates, she thought. The kid has associates. Well, that was intriguing.

Besides, though he sounded young he sure didn't come across as a kid. Still…

'Look, this was supposed to be a get-acquainted conversation,' she said at last.

'So why don't you tell me something about yourself and, uh, your organization, I guess.'

'We're not exactly an organization,' John explained, relaxing a little. 'We don't have a central location, for example. Our associates are spread all over the world, all over the Net—

'Do you have a central address where their reports can be accessed,' Wendy interrupted. 'I mean I assume that you're collecting information for a reason, which means that you interpret what you collect. Presumably you allow your contributors to assist in that.'

'Actually…' John thought for a moment. How to put this? 'Evaluating the kind of information we're going after isn't something a person can just walk in and do.

You need training.'

'So, train me.' Wendy tapped a fingernail on the Formica table. 'That's my price

'cause I don't work for free, and I refuse to work blind.'

John raised his eyebrows at that. He didn't need a loose cannon on board.

'You're not even hired yet and you want a seat on the board,' he protested with a light laugh.

'Look, why did you even want to talk to me if you don't think I'm worth investing time in?' She was beginning to get annoyed. Speaking of time, this is a waste of it.

'It was obvious that you're very smart,' John said. 'Also that you might be so bored you didn't realize you were killing time in a very dangerous way. A lot of you computer jockeys think that what you're doing on-line isn't real and doesn't count. You think you're perfectly safe behind your keyboards and monitors, but let me tell you, Wendy, if you kick the tiger hard enough it will find you and it won't be friendly. Those are real fanatics you were talking to.'

He paused and ran a hand through his dark hair. 'I wanted to take your intelligence and talent and direct it into a useful channel. I'd like you to be safe, lady. You're at MIT, for God's sake! To the Luddite movement that's like ground zero, and you think they couldn't find you. You're kidding yourself.'

Hunh, Wendy thought, the kid's really passionate about this. She knew she was suppressing the unease his words had awakened in her. Perhaps she had been foolish. Careless? Well, unwise, maybe.