Rising Storm

subjects it was like they'd come from another dimension. Just say the word government to them and they were off and running. Running in a direction he really did not want to go.

But—and it was an important but—they knew their stuff. Their survival skills were second to none. They were like a family of Green Berets or navy SEALs.

Even Suzette, the youngest, a blue-eyed little girl of seven, could handle light firearms with efficiency and survive in the woods on small game she brought down with a throwing stick, plus gathered material. He'd drawn the line at her maggot stew, but he supposed if he had to…

He'd raced her one day at field stripping a FN Minimi and she'd come within an ace of beating him. They'd really gotten on well; John could relate to Susie on a level that he couldn't with most people. Of course, how many people have been raised by ordnance-collecting parents convinced the world is going to end? The fact that my mother was right and her parents really are crazy is irrelevant.

He stepped out of the line of disembarking passengers and looked around the usual glass-crowds-and- monitors ambience seasoned with the smell of burnt jet fuel. There was Dieter, leaning against a pillar. He was dressed in full motorcycle leathers and wearing wraparound sunglasses, his arms crossed over his massive chest. Jeez Louise, Dieter, could you be a little more obvious?

As he walked over to the big Austrian he struggled to slip his arm through the hanging strap of his backpack. By the time he'd hoisted it onto his shoulders and settled the weight, he was standing in front of him.

'A wet bird only flies at night,' he intoned.

'You bet your bippy,' von Rossbach answered grimly. Then he smiled. You got some old television programs in Paraguay. 'Good to see you, John.'

'And you,' Connor said. He looked his friend over. 'You're looking dangerous.'

'I don't feel dangerous,' Dieter said. 'I feel tired, and dirty.'

John glanced at him. He did look grubby; three days of stubble, at least, decorated his strong jaw.

'I would have changed to meet you, but I was held up,' von Rossbach went on.

John raised a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing.

'We'll talk in the car,' Dieter said.

MONTANA

The cabin had been trashed, windows broken, furniture ripped apart, some of it partially burned. Needless to say, the car, with the keys left in it, had been taken.

The vandals hadn't found the hidden basement lab, however, where a few emergency supplies, including a Beretta 9mm and some money, had been stashed. The Terminator reported the loss.

*Steal a car,* Alissa instructed. *Acquire some meat paste; baby food is ideal; liver, if there is such a thing, would be best at preserving your remaining flesh.*

*Understood,* it sent.

If the Terminator fed, the surviving patches of skin would eventually recover and spread through the matrix that underlay its protein sheath. That would save considerable downtime in a vat. The command made excellent sense. It nodded to itself, a mannerism cultivated during its contacts with humans.

Then it went hunting.

NEW YORK

Because of the unveiling gala, Lincoln Center Plaza had been blocked off with temporary walls of red velvet curtains attached at top and bottom to metal frames. Not an ideal solution since it was a windy place and the velvet tended to billow like sails, dragging the heavy frames forward or back with an ear-rending screech.

The glittering throng on the plaza gave every appearance of being deaf to the racket, and the string quintet might have been playing in an enclosed theater before a respectful audience instead of a noisy open space, being ignored by one

and all.

Clea stood at the gate, slightly nervous, which gave her some idea of the work her regulators were doing, and wondered at the ability of humans to compartmentalize their attention like that. It should be impossible for such inferior beings to do something so difficult so easily. On the other hand they provided themselves with endless opportunities to perfect this particular ability.

The line moved up and an usher took her invitation, leaving her tree to enter. It seemed to her as she paused on the edge of the party that everyone wearing a tie was looking at her, waiters included. Well, she thought, it seems the dress is having the promised effect. The saleswoman had assured her that she would be

'eye-catching.'

She looked different tonight. After spending the afternoon at a spa having every conceivable treatment, she looked dark and glamorous. The makeup artist had almost wept when Clea pulled out the glasses and put them on, and had insisted on making adjustments. The woman's efforts had paid off; Clea looked very little like her progenitor and the knowledge gave her a confidence that she was often sadly lacking.

Clea looked around; it was time to seek her prey.

Ron Labane sipped his champagne and looked around at the important, well-dressed people surrounding him. These days he was invited to every noteworthy event in the city. Usually he went, because it was an opportunity to speak with money; such opportunities were not to be overlooked. Occasionally he worried that he was in danger of losing his idealistic purity. Money was dirty, after all, and the filth could smear your soul if you weren't careful. Lie down with dogs,

get up with fleas. Ron was about to make some remark to the crowd around him when his eye was caught by a beautiful woman in a painted-on red dress moving across the plaza with the grace of a stalking panther. He thought she might be looking for someone. I'd like it to be me, he thought.

Clea finally spotted Vladimir Hill, surrounded by an admiring cluster of committeewomen. There was Mrs. Colvin, and by her side was her husband, the CEO of Cyberdyne. She approached the little knot of people with a slight smile that hid her nervousness.

Vladimir looked up; his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her and he smiled his welcome. He began walking toward Clea with a confident gait, almost a swagger. Clea's smile widened; he would be her entree to the group.

Vladimir introduced her to each of the committeewomen, every one of whom

'noticed' her dress. Their husbands did, too, but they approved. After the introductions Hill reclaimed everyone's attention for himself.

Clea leaned toward Mrs. Colvin and spoke out of the side of her mouth. 'I don't know how I let myself get talked into buying this dress.' she said. 'But I'm just a Montana country girl and that saleslady was a big-city shark if you ever saw one.

She said it was what everyone would be wearing and I'd look a fool if I didn't buy it.' Clea gave a little huff and looked around nervously. 'I think I look like a hussy!' she whispered.

Mrs. Colvin smiled at her, really smiled for the first time, and leaned close. 'You look fine. I've met a saleswoman like that a time or two,' she said. Then she gave Clea's arm a little pat. 'Trust me, you're coming out of it better than I did.'

MONTANA

Crack.

The Terminator raised its head, scanning in the visual and infrared. The sound had been a medium-caliber rifle with a 98 percent probability a of being a hunting weapon; it had been fired approximately 1.2 kilometers to the northeast.

It turned and walked in that direction, wading through a knee-high stream of glacially cold water, then through open pine forest. Animals fell silent as they scented its approach; that might alert the humans, and so might the unavoidable crackling of fallen branches under its five-hundred-pound weight. Otherwise it made little disturbance in the environment as it passed, dipping and bending with eerie grace to avoid the standing vegetation.

The two hunters—poachers, given that this was out of season, at night, and on private property—were