Dieter pulled up at the gate of Ft. Laurel and waited for the MPs on duty to come out. He felt a moment of nostalgia; going through perimeter security was something he'd done most days of his life for twenty years. Sometimes legitimately, on his way to work; sometimes under assumed identities, very illegitimately… also on his way to work.
He'd borrowed the Chamberlains' army-surplus Humvee on the off chance that Cyberdyne could identify him, and Sarah, by their vehicle. In the back he'd placed a case of the expensive (and very hard-to-find) Danish beer that Ferri liked. The man was a real connoisseur; he sneered at mere Tuborg as fit only for peasants, barely better than Swedish brews.
The MP at the desk looked him over thoroughly before he picked up his clipboard and came out of the shack, narrow-eyed and slow. He was backed up by another soldier with a rifle, who moved to the right fender and stood at the ready.
Dieter had his passport in hand and passed it over to the MP without being asked. "I'm here to see Major Ferri," he said.
Then he went silent, keeping his face turned toward the MP, who read the passport—as well as he could, it being in Spanish. The MP looked from the passport to von Rossbach several times as though comparing individual features.
Dieter was amused by his thoroughness. When it all came down it wasn't going to be because this kid hadn't made sure of his identity.
"Are you boys expecting trouble?" he asked as the MP checked the backseat.
"Always, sir," the MP answered. He went around to the back and lifted the canvas cover. "What's in the box?"
"Beer." Which was obvious, the name was all over the case.
"I meant in the locker behind it, sir."
"A blanket, a tool kit, a flashlight," Dieter answered. "Some flares, stuff like that."
If it had been anyone else but the major's guest the MP would have asked the big man to open the trunk.
"You may proceed, sir," he said. Without waiting to be asked, he provided instructions to the Major's lodgings.
"Thank you," Dieter said amiably.
"You're welcome, sir."
Dieter glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove off and saw the rifleman
watching the Humvee for a moment before going back to the guard shack. It gave him a sense of unease, as though they knew more than they should.
Calm down, he told himself. The last I heard even the best MPs didn't have x-ray vision.
"You okay in there?" he asked Sarah.
There was a sharp tap from inside the trunk in answer. The code was once for yes, twice for no. He'd be glad when she could get out of there. The very thought of her crammed into that tiny space was giving him claustrophobia.
And Sarah only mentally present was even harder to take than the silent accusation that had been pouring out of her when she was there physically. Not the least of the shock was realizing how much he cared about her opinion.
Ferri's place was relatively easy to find, one of a row of base housing looking like a marked-down suburb two decades out of date, with plenty of kids and dogs. The Major was sitting in a lawn chair out front waiting. He checked his watch.
"On time, as ever," the Major said, rising.
Dieter grinned and waved. Then he lifted the canvas and dragged out the case of beer.
Ferri's face lit up and he waved his arms in a mock bow.
"I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy," he said with a grin.
"You know what? You're right," Dieter said. "I'll take it back and get a refund."
Alarm flashed across the Major's face and he rushed forward to gently remove the case from von Rossbach's arms.
"No, no, no!" he said. "You just let me take care of these babies." He cocked his head toward his front door. "C'mon in, set a spell, tell me what you've been doing."
"In a word, cows." Dieter said surrendering the carton. He glanced at a grill by the corner of the house as he opened the door. "You're not going to barbecue anything, are you?"
"I thought you might be homesick," Ferri said innocently. "Kung Pao chicken,"
he said. "My best chicken dish."
The Major led him into a small, sparsely furnished living room. Ferri had never been one to put his imprint on his quarters. Probably because early in his career he'd been on the move so much. A lot of guys acquired souvenirs of the places they'd been, but Ferri found they lost their charm fast when you had to pack and move 'em twenty or thirty times.
In the kitchen, he put his prize down on a gray-and-red Formica table, then ripped open the box and pulled out a sweating bottle.
"Hey! It's cold!" he said in delight.
"Well, I knew you would want one right away," Dieter said.
He reached in and took one out for himself. Ferri produced an opener and they sat down at the table. For a moment all that could be heard was men swallowing good beer.
The kitchen was full of late-afternoon sunlight and smelled fantastic, suffused with the rich aromas of good cooking. The counter bore evidence of much meat and vegetable chopping having taken place.
"When do we eat?" Dieter asked, a greedy look on his face.
" 'Bout twenty minutes," Ferri said with a grin. "You hungry?"
"Now I am," von Rossbach said fervently.
Grinning, Ferri brought out a plate of cheese and a box of crackers.
"Don't eat too much," he cautioned. "But good cheese does go well with good beer."
Sarah waited for what seemed forever; ten minutes as the universe counted time.
Then, when she heard no sounds from outside the Humvee, she pushed against the front of the locker with her hands and knees. It slid out slow and even and for a moment she just lay on her side breathing the sweet clean air that cooled her face and chest.
She rolled out, pulled out her supplies, and after a brief struggle in the semidarkness pushed the false front of the trunk back into place. Cautiously she sat up, lifting the edge of the canvas, she quickly checked the area around the car. People were visible in the distance, but their attention was elsewhere.
Excellent, they hadn't aroused the guards' suspicions. She could neither hear nor see Dieter or his friend. The coast was clear.
Sarah sat still for a while, letting the worst of the sweat dry from her face and hair. She'd been in the trunk only about thirty minutes but it had quickly become stiflingly hot.
Sensibly, she'd not donned her uniform blouse and it waited beside her to be put on. About her hair there wasn't much she could do. At least it was short. Maybe anyone who noticed it was wet would think she'd just taken a shower.
Ten minutes later she was striding away from the Humvee in the direction of the Cyberdyne facility; information John had teased out of the contaminated brain of the Terminator they'd destroyed. She carried a battered brown briefcase and wore the boxy cammo fatigues of the modern army, with an MP armband circling the sleeve, and a peaked cap worn level on her head.
In the briefcase were a set of detonators, timers, and several tools that would hasten her work. They'd made the fairly safe assumption that they would find everything else they'd need at the site.
We did the last time I blew up Cyberdyne, she thought grimly.
In the pocket of her fatigue jacket was a taser. It looked almost exactly like one of the bulkier cell phones on the market. The laser they'd adapted to disrupt a Terminator's electronics was clipped to her belt. She really didn't expect to find a Terminator minding the front desk after all and that one would fry a human—so she didn't want to get them mixed up.
Sarah crossed what felt like a mile of the compound before coming in sight of Cyberdyne. She kept her eyes front and by her manner indicated that she knew exactly where she was going and exactly what she was doing. No one gave her a second look.