"What do you think it is?" he countered.
She tapped her cigar into a crystal ashtray, watching the rich ash flake off as she spoke. "Well, I think that you want to sneak into the U.S., and for some reason you expect to be stopped at the border." She looked up at him, smiling. "How'd I do?"
He pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged.
"You're dead on, Vera. I have to admit I'm impressed."
"I had Arnie check your stuff, so I know you're not carrying contraband. And I may be kidding myself, but I don't think any of my regular guys is being your mule. So, why do you need to go sneaking around. Can we get to the point here?"
"Well, here's the problem." He paused, wincing. "My story is so unbelievable I'm kind of afraid you'll throw me overboard when I'm through."
"Oh, don't worry, honey," she assured him. "If I don't like your story, Mexico beckons." She took a sip of her brandy. "Start talking. Where were you all those years we were supposed to be partying together?"
"I was doing something else." Dieter began to unbutton his shirt and Vera's eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening and a little smile unconsciously curving her lips.
When he slipped off his shirt the first thing she noticed was how muscular his torso was, although not quite the standard gym-muscleman type. More functional, graceful despite its thick-muscled solidity. A thrill shot through her
as she wondered if he meant to seduce her.
Then she saw the scars.
"Ho-ly shit!" she whispered. "What the hell happened to you?"
Dieter smiled; he couldn't help but be pleased by her reaction. In a distant corner of his mind he wondered how Sarah would react. "This one"—he pointed to what looked like a second navel placed four inches to the side of his real one
—"is a bullet wound. I got that in Beirut. This"—his finger touched a crescent-shaped scar on his arm—"was a knife, one of those curved Arab jobs. Here"—he finally got to the one that really intrigued her—"is where a guy named Abdul el-Rahman tried to carve his initials. I killed him before he could finish. Sometimes these guys get so involved they forget they're not immortal."
"So, what? You were some kind of soldier of fortune?" Vera shifted a little nervously; this was not the way she'd imagined this conversation going.
"No." Dieter took a sip of brandy. "I was a covert antiterrorist operative. Now I'm a soldier of fortune." He smiled at her. "A very romantic designation, don't you think?"
She smiled in answer, a slight blush painting her cheek. Blinking rapidly, she took another sip of brandy herself.
"So, what do you want?" she asked.
Dieter took a deep breath and her eyes fastened on his chest.
She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Maybe you should…" She gestured vaguely.
He knew what she meant and was happy to oblige, putting his shirt back on.
"Right now I want to get into the U.S." He tipped a hand left and right. "Under the wire, so to speak. I had hoped to perhaps gain your sponsorship of a mission of some importance."
Secretly Vera had always daydreamed about someone coming into her life and tapping her for some desperate mission. Of course she was no fool. From time to time people had tried to manipulate her, tried to get her to support some drug deal or vicious tyrant-in-the-making. But she had resources that the average millionaire didn't have. Over the years she'd built up a network of friends and information gatherers who could give her the inside story on almost anyone.
Von Rossbach, oddly enough, was pretty much a mystery to them. Though they all said he had a rep as a stand-up guy.
Vera sat forward slowly, her eyes glowing with excitement.
"Tell me," she demanded.
When he was finished Vera looked away, her eyes thoughtful, then her glance went back to him. "So, all you want is to stop this one project?"
He nodded. "But there are forces at work here that really believe in this project, and they have friends at the highest level."
"I have friends at the highest level," she said confidently. She smiled. "I could
have a talk with them."
Dieter shook his head, his face sad. "No. This project is so black that the people you know probably aren't yet aware of it."
A look of impatience crossed her still-pretty face. "So how much do you want?"
How much will you give me? "Two million," he said aloud. For a start.
"Whoa! You don't want much, do you?" she said. "You're rich, why don't you kick in?"
"My entire fortune is dedicated to stopping this project." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "All I ask is that you consider it."
Vera took a deep drag on her cigar, studying him with narrowed eyes through the smoke. She tightened her lips.
"All I have is your word on this."
"That's right," he agreed. "And you don't know me very well, so you don't know that my word is good. But I don't know you very well either. And these are very secret matters. Until and unless you commit to this project; I'm not at liberty to tell you more. As I said, think about it. Consult with your friends about me. I only ask that you not mention what I've told you. It could be dangerous, for you and for them."
"What about you?" she asked, arching a well-shaped brow.
Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "I'm in so deep I consider myself lost at sea."
Vera snorted, then bit her lip. "All right," she said at last. "I'll consider it." She raised a finger. "No promises. Understand?"
He raised his glass in salute. "I've asked for nothing more."
Vera returned from her business appointment feeling depressed and thoughtful.
The South American side of her affairs was doing all right, but hardly spectacularly well, and she was disappointed. Maybe it was time to do some pruning of her investments.
She leaned against the yacht's railing and sighed. It wasn't just business that had her down. This whole thing with von Rossbach/Ingolfson certainly hadn't lived up to her daydreams. She got so sick of people hitting her up for cash for this or that project.
Though with his money von Rossbach hardly needed to do that. Which made his appeal for money somewhat puzzling.
Though the appeal of those shoulders and that chest… Vera sighed again, this time in pleasure at the memory. Two million, hmm? That was a lot to pay for just a peek. She could tell by the way she was thinking that he was going to have to go begging for his money to somebody else. I do so hate being used, she thought, pouting.
On the deck below, a pair of hands grasped the railing, followed by von Rossbach. Vera stood back and stayed very still, watching as he came over the rail, soaking wet and… He's naked! Vera thought in disbelief.
She suppressed a laugh, watching as he looked all around, confident that he couldn't see her. She'd had this balcony at the back of her private quarters constructed so that she could see the deck below while being hidden herself.
There was something odd about von Rossbach, besides his being stark naked, but she couldn't put her finger on it. He finally moved off.
I have got to call him on this! she thought. If they were going to be cited for public nudity by the local police, she'd be the one blamed, and ticketed. She had some standards after all, the last thing she wanted was the reputation of running a floating brothel. She hurried out of her quarters, meaning to catch up with him.
Vera smiled as she imagined the expression on his face as she gave him a dressing-down while he stood there beautifully undressed.
The Terminator moved down the short, narrow corridor on its way to the crew quarters. The design of this yacht, with the exception of the owner's quarters, which were customized, had been on the builder's Web site, so it knew the layout of the ship. After observing the boat for two days it could also identify everyone on it. One of those humans was Dieter von Rossbach. The I-950 had affirmed the request to terminate.