"And then you die, right?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Sorry, Mom. I guess that wasn't very funny."
Too many people had died, even in this reality, even without Judgment Day. Death had followed them round like a star-struck stalker. There were all the people killed by the Terminators in 1984 and 1994. There was Miles Dyson, shot dead by the SWAT team at the Cyberdyne site. John's father had been born after Judgment Day and come back-and died almost as soon as conceiving him. He guessed Sarah had never loved any of her other boyfriends like she'd loved Kyle Reese. What had happened to that reality where Kyle was born? It was real enough to have given Sarah a son. John was the product of that reality, even though it didn't exist anymore.
Or did it? Was it still there, in some ghostly, inaccessible way?
"Come on, then," Sarah said. "Maybe we should go and get ourselves killed tomorrow. Or maybe we can start living a normal life, like finding you a girlfriend."
"Sure, or finding you a boyfriend."
"Forget about that, I'm getting too old."
"Hardly, Mom."
"At least I've had you—I've had that much fulfillment in my life. I'd rather have a son than create a monster like Skynet."
"Mom!" he said, protesting. "In case you hadn't noticed, we saved the whole world about seven years ago. That should be fulfilling."
"Yeah, but for what? Maybe Judgment Day's still coming. Maybe nothing we do will stop it."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "At least we gave the world a chance. I just wish we could tell someone about it."
"Like Raoul and the others?"
"I mean someone sane—someone normal I feel like a spy or something, you know-" He put on a theatrical, melodramatic voice. "This teenage boy has a secret identity and a hidden past."
That got a laugh out of her. "I know. Come on, then. Starting tomorrow, we're going to train harder, just in case. And we're also going to meet some more people-just in case."
"Contingency planning, huh?"
"That's right."
"Okay, then. Rock and roll!"
And then someone pounded on the door. A second later, the doorbell rang—and again, and again, and again. John hurried back to the desk, Sarah a step behind him.
"We're closed for the night," she said, shouting to be heard through the door. "We open at five tomorrow afternoon."
An accented voice said, "Is that Sarah Connor?"
A shiver went up John's spine. No one in Mexico City was supposed to know their real identities.
"No, I'm sorry," she said, catching John's eye. "You're talking to Deborah Lawes. Who are you?"
She stepped around the desk, to the security unit that controlled the front door. It was built into a corner behind a pillar. There was a six-inch video screen connected to a security camera in the doorway outside. Sarah glanced back at John. At the same time, she nodded towards the big wooden chest near her feet, indicating where they kept a cache of weapons.
Robert drove quickly to the address of the El Juicio cyber cafe. As he brought the police car to a halt, a message came over the radio that a car had been stolen and its occupants killed. The car description and registration number were for the vehicle they were driving. Worse, it gave this address as the expected destination for the stolen vehicle.
"Everybody get out" Danny said. "We can't use this car."
"I'll get rid of it" Robert said. "I'll find another and meet you round the back." As the others piled out, he grabbed the radio microphone, imitating the voice of the tall cop whose uniform he was now wearing, speaking with an amused laugh. "What is this?" he said in Spanish. "No one has stolen our car..."
All the same, Anton realized, the police would investigate, no matter what Robert told them. They would have to deal with the Connors quickly, and find another car.
Anton hammered on the thick wooden door before he even noticed a doorbell. Anton pressed the doorbell several times, and then a female voice shouted from inside. "We're closed for the night. We open at five tomorrow afternoon."
"Is that Sarah Connor?" Anton said.
There was a pause and the woman's voice now came through a grate in the doorframe. "No, I'm sorry... you're talking to Deborah Lawes," the voice said. "Who are you?"
"My name is Anton Panov," he said, speaking into the grate. Presumably there was a microphone there.
"That doesn't mean anything to me."
From the distance came the sound of a police siren, then another, from a different direction.
"There's no time to explain," he said. "Come with us, quickly, if you want to live."
John didn't know what to make of the voice. It spoke in English with an accent that sounded Russian, like the name it had given. Whoever Anton Panov was, he knew their real identity, which was very dangerous. John and Sarah were still wanted by U.S. law enforcement authorities. Worse still, what if he was another emissary of Skynet? That would confirm Judgment Day was still coming.
There were police sirens, coming closer.
The security camera mounted outside, over the doorway, showed a big, gray-haired man in a dark brown police uniform. That was Panov, the one doing the talking. He looked really tough. There seemed to be three others with him: two young women dressed for a night out at a dance club, and a black guy in a flashy dinner suit. The black guy looked familiar. It was hard to tell from the low-quality image, but he looked awfully like Skynet's inventor, Miles Dyson. Yet Miles had died seven years ago.
"How many of you are there?" Sarah said. "I count four. Don't try to fool me."
"Four of us and one other, on his way back here."
As Sarah spoke, John shifted the wooden cabinet, then pulled back a strip of carpet and removed a loose floorboard to reveal a trap door. He opened this and took out a CAR-15 assault rifle. Quietly, he passed it up to Sarah. She checked it over quickly. John found two .45 caliber pistols, then a 12-gauge shotgun-the only light firearm that had ever shown enough stopping power to be useful against a Terminator. He stuck one pistol in the belt of his jeans and handed the other to Sarah.
"Is John with you?" Panov said.
"I'm with my son, David." Then she whispered to John, "Check the fire exit."
"Okay." As he stepped round the desk to check out the back, he opened the desk's large bottom drawer and took out his backpack, which had everything they might need in an absolute emergency: a stash of paper money, both American and Mexican; some of their papers; electronic equipment; a hand grenade; spare ammo; and an extra gun if they needed it-a 9mm. Beretta. All this might not be much use if they ever had to survive against another T-1000, but it gave them a start.
The police sirens were very close now. Their cars must be just around the corner.
Another voice spoke through the security system, one of the women this time. John couldn't see the screen, but she had a Japanese accent, so she must have been the Oriental-looking one he'd noticed. She sounded infinitely patient and sad, like some kind of saint returned from heaven. "Please, Ms. Connor, my name is Miho. You can call me 'Jade.' It is no good checking the fire exit. We are coming in now. You will have to trust us."
How had she heard them? Sarah had spoken so quietly, and you had to project your voice loudly into the security system to be heard clearly. The woman's hearing must be superhuman. Sarah signaled for John to stay put. She took up a position in the middle of the room, facing the door, backing away from it slowly, training her rifle.
The other man-it must have been the black man—said, "Jade's right. We're coming in."
There was a powerful thump at the door, then another. John slipped the backpack over his shoulders and took up a position beside Sarah, aiming his shotgun at the door. As they stepped away, the lock broke and the door flew open.