"How do you know all this?"
"This is important. Please check it out." It hung up. That should produce some more police activity and give additional protection to Dyson and Cyberdyne.
It was nearly midnight when the Dysons' phone rang. They'd put Danny to bed, but they were too worried to sleep after that motorcycle officer called by.
Tarissa took the handset. "Hello?" she said in a tentative voice.
"Mrs. Dyson?"
"Yes."
"This is Detective Weatherby from the Los Angeles Police Department. We've had a tip-off that you and your husband may be in serious danger. We're going to call on you. I'd like you and your family to pack some clothes. I'm really sorry to disturb you like this."
"Thank God you rang," Tarissa said. "Is this about Sarah Connor?"
The detective sounded surprised. "It is, but how did you know?"
"One of your officers came round a little earlier. A policeman on a motorbike."
"That's very strange." There was a pause. "On a motor-bike, you say?" He sounded skeptical.
"Yes, about half an hour ago."
Weatherby sounded puzzled. "We've only just received the tip-off."
"I can only tell you what happened," she said, feeling a bit irritated. The police needed to get their act together. That wasn't her problem.
"I really can't explain that," Weatherby said. "Anyway, we have information that Sarah Connor could attack your husband or his employer. She is armed, and the man with her is extremely dangerous. He's already wanted for questioning over the murder of seventeen police officers in 1984."
“Oh, my goodness." She remembered the news at the time, back before she married Miles, when they were both at Stanford.
"We're taking this very seriously."
"Okay. That's fine."
"We'll put you in a hotel tonight and stake out your house. Try not to worry, but please call me immediately if anything suspicious happens before we get there."
"Certainly, Mr. Weatherby," Tarissa said.
"Be careful if anyone comes to the door. We'll be there soon."
“Thanks," she said. It was stranger and stranger, more and more frightening. "We'll be careful. Thanks for all your help."
"That's our job, ma'am."
The T-1000 rode past the Dyson house one more time. After a few minutes, there was a call on the radio for a squad car to park here and wait, and another one to check out Cyberdyne. The T-1000 turned a corner and dumped the bike in the parking lot half a mile up the road. It was becoming a liability. The policeman's body had been found. Anybody using this bike would be questioned.
Retaining its default facial anatomy, the T-1000 changed its copied clothing from police uniform to casual wear—sneakers, jeans and a two-tone sweatshirt— as it walked back to the Dyson house. Then it blended into the trunk of a tree across the road, and waited.
Soon a marked car pulled up out the front. Not long after, another car arrived, unmarked this time. Two men in plain clothes and two uniformed officers got out of the second car, and went to the front door. Within another ten minutes, Miles and Tarissa Dyson had left, with their son, in the back of the marked squad car. One of the police moved the unmarked car moved round the corner, then returned. There were now four officers waiting inside the house in case the Connors appeared at the scene. That was a good trap.
Miles Dyson rang Oscar Cruz, Cyberdyne's president from the hotel and briefed him quickly about the police stakeout. Oscar was in bed when the phone rang, and he sounded tired and grouchy at the other end, but he soon gained his normal composure. He was always smooth with employees, or anyone else he had to deal with. He got his way subtly—always a good manipulator, a social engineer.
"Okay, Miles," he said. "I'll talk to Charles Layton and some of the others."
"Ring the cops as well," Miles said. "The tip-off specifically mentioned me, but you'd better be careful."
"All right. Look, come to my office in the morning, there's something else we need to talk about. I need to get your views."
"On this?"
"Not just this. But it's all connected."
"Sure, whatever you want. Just be careful tonight, Oscar." To Miles, the main thing was that his family was safe. Danny was playing with his radio-controlled truck,
guiding it all round the hotel room, zooming past the bed, then around Miles's feet. He really shouldn't be up this late. Tarissa sat up on the bed, leaning against two pillows and watching Danny play. She looked drawn, but at least she was all right. No one would find them here.
"How close do you think you are with the new processor?" Oscar said.
The question seemed to come out of nowhere—it was a funny time to be discussing business. "You sure you want to talk about that stuff, right now?" Miles said.
Oscar sighed into the phone, but then gave a laugh. "I'm sorry, Miles. I have my reasons for asking, I'm not just being a heartless boss. I'm worried about your safety—nearly as much as you are."
Miles laughed along tensely, glancing across at Tarissa and raising his eyebrows at her. "I kind of doubt that, right at the moment."
"Yeah, yeah, point taken, but your call has got me thinking. Look, we'll talk about it in the morning. Take your time getting in, but come straight to my office."
Next day, Miles arrived at 10:00 a.m., feeling tired as hell, but wanting to know what was on the president's mind. They met in Oscar's office, on the seventh floor of Cyberdyne's black-glass building. Oscar wore a light sports jacket over a plain black shirt. His office walls were hung with Brazilian expressionist paintings—wild splashes of freeform color suggesting selvas, broad rivers, and exotic animals.
"It looks like we're both in one piece," Oscar said. "How's Tarissa feeling?"
"Shaken up, but she'll be okay."
"Good. Take a seat, and I'll get to the point--it was time to bring you in on this anyway "
"Yeah? What's the big mystery this time?"
Oscar sat on the edge of his desk. "We've been worried about security at Cyberdyne--I mean me, Charles, the board. There's nothing wrong with our staff or our processes, but we're developing a profile that could attract psychos like Sarah Connor. That's not going to change, either. If II only get worse."
"Yeah, that's probably right."
"You can count on it. I was worried when Connor broke out of prison--or whatever you call it where they had her locked up---but I hadn't heard of any threats until you called me Thanks for doing that, by the way."
"Hey, no problemo."
"Yeah, well, it was appreciated. I'll get us some coffee and take you through the issues." Oscar called out to his secretary to bring café lattes for both of them He stepped over to Miles, sitting down and bending forward as if speaking more confidentially, though there was no one else to hear. "I asked you last night for your opinion on the new processor." He waved away any attempt at an answer. "I know, I get your reports, and I probably understand them as well as anyone."
"Right."
"Don't sound so skeptical," Oscar said. "Okay, there's Rosanna." That was Dr. Rosanna Monk, maybe Miles's best subordinate. "Anyway, I need a frank overall assessment right now. Are we as close as the reports say we are?"
"I was working on it last night," Miles said. "It's frustrating. We're so close to solving the problems."
"All right, but let's be realistic. You say we're so close, but what does that really mean? When will the problems be solved? Look, I'm not pressuring you, Miles, just trying to get some data."
"Uh-huh?"
"We've got some management decisions to make and this is vital if we're going to get it right. It's May now—do think you'll crack it by, say, August?"