“Kind of hard to rest when there are Terminators nearby,” Barnes told him.
“I suppose,” Preston conceded.
“No resting, but they’ve been doing a lot of talking,” Trounce reported. “So Connor came through, huh?”
“He did indeed,” Preston said, his eyes on Barnes. “Two Terminators down, and we didn’t lose anyone.”
“Good,” Trounce said. “‘Cause these two have come up with the world’s craziest idea.” From the direction of the kitchen came the sound of a knock on the door. “They think—”
“Hold that thought,” Preston interrupted, frowning in the direction of the door. “Who is it?” he called.
“Oxley and Lajard,” a faint voice came back. “We need to talk.”
“Mayor, we need to talk, too,” Williams spoke up quickly. “In private.”
“Oh, no, you gotta let them in,” Trounce said before Preston could reply. “You gotta see their faces when Barnes drops his theory on them.”
“Mayor?” Williams repeated, her voice urgent. “Please.”
“Hello?” Lajard called again from outside. “Can we come in?”
Preston gazed hard at Williams.
“Make it quick,” he said.
And then, suddenly, it was too late. Across the room came the sound of an opening door, and Oxley and Lajard walked through the kitchen into the living room.
“I didn’t say you could come in,” Preston growled.
“Didn’t you?” Oxley asked innocently. “We thought we heard you.”
Preston’s lips compressed briefly. “What do you want?”
Oxley gestured toward Barnes and Williams.
“Now that Connor has proved himself, it occurred to us that our other guests might want to make some revisions in their story.”
“When exactly did this grand proof happen?” Williams asked.
Oxley snorted as he crossed to the window behind Trounce and Smith and took a quick look outside in both directions.
“Wrecking a pair of T-700s without losing anyone is all the proof I need,” he said.
“You’re remarkably easy to please,” Williams told him.
“You got any other theories, we’d love to hear them,” Lajard invited, walking over to Preston and coming to a halt behind the mayor’s chair. “But do try to keep them simple. We’ll have to explain it to Susan later, and twisted conspiracy theories always confuse me.”
“She’d have been here with us, but she went out hunting,” Oxley put in, a subtle edge to his voice as he turned back around to face the room. “She’s with Preston’s daughter Hope.”
“Though personally I don’t really care who you are,” Lajard added with a nonchalant shrug. “You’re trouble, and I’d be just as happy to see you get on that helicopter of yours and go away.”
An icy sensation settled onto Barnes’s back. So he and Williams had been right. This whole thing—this whole damn town—was nothing but a big Skynet test lab. Now that Jik was firmly established in his John Connor role, the scientists in charge of the lab rats were hoping to kick the two visiting troublemakers out of town so that they could get their little experiment back on track.
And just in case the troublemakers were tempted not to cooperate, Lajard had layered a bit of extra extortion to their demand: Hope, somewhere out in the woods, with an armed woman who Hope thought was her friend.
He looked at Williams. She’d gotten the message too, both parts of it, and Barnes could see the fire simmering behind her eyes.
But if Williams could occasionally get overemotional, she also wasn’t stupid. A quick flight back to San Francisco, a quick report to Connor, and they could be back here by dawn tomorrow with a full Resistance strike team. Whatever experiments Lajard and the others were planning, surely they wouldn’t be ready to close up shop before then. The best thing Barnes and Williams could do right now would be to confess that they were con artists, or mercenaries, or whatever it took to satisfy Preston, and get the hell out of here.
And then, before he or Williams could speak, the decision was snatched away from them.
“This’ll kill you,” Smith spoke up sardonically from the window. “They think Connor is one of these Theta Terminator things, and that all you have to do to prove it is wave a magnet at him. And they say that you—” he shot a glance over his shoulder at Oxley “—and you, and Valentine are running the show for Skynet.”
Lajard shook his head. “Now it’s gotten ridiculous,” he said.
“Probably,” Preston agreed. But his voice was thoughtful, and his eyes were steady on Barnes. “Easy enough for Connor to clear away any doubt, though. Maybe when he and the others get back we’ll go see if Chucker has a magnet stashed away in one of his junk drawers.”
“Well, if you want to play games with these lunatics, that’s up to you,” Lajard said. “Fortuna favet fortibus, as they say. Personally, I have better things to do.” Patting the top of Preston’s chair once, he headed toward the kitchen.
“Just a minute,” Preston said, standing up and turning to face Lajard, his hand dropping to the grip of his holstered gun. “What’s your hurry?”
And abruptly, Lajard’s measured pace became a flat-out run as he sprinted toward the kitchen and the door beyond.
“Kill them!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Watch it!” Barnes snapped, leaping off the couch and grabbing the arms of the chair Preston had just vacated. “Smith, Trounce—behind you!”
He was too late. Standing behind the two thoroughly bewildered guards, Oxley reached up and caught each of the men just above their shirt collars.
And as Barnes heaved Preston’s chair off the floor, Oxley gave a quick double twist of his wrists and snapped both men’s necks.
Barnes swore viciously as he charged toward Oxley, his legs shoving hard against the floor, putting every bit of speed and power into his attack that he had. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flurry of motion as Williams grabbed one of the wooden chairs near her, ran to the kitchen door, and hurled it at Lajard’s retreating back. There was a crash and a muffled curse, and Lajard was gone. In front of Barnes, Oxley let the two dead guards drop to the floor and reached for the rifle Trounce had dropped.
With the chair pressed to his chest like a combination shield and battering ram, Barnes slammed straight into him.
The impact threw Oxley backward, and for a stretched-out second the two men and the chair moved together toward the window, Oxley’s feet scraping across the floorboards, his arms trapped between the chair’s legs. He managed to get one hand free and reached around the side, trying to get to Barnes’s arm.
He was still trying when he and the chair went hurling backwards through the window.
Barnes nearly went through with them. He was scrabbling for balance when a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“Come on!” Preston snarled. Letting go of Barnes’s arm, he snatched up the two rifles from the floor, shoved one of them at Barnes, and sprinted across the room toward the kitchen.
Williams was already in there, looking cautiously out the open door.
“Clear,” she announced as Preston reached her. “What’s the plan?”
“Go to ground while we figure out what the hell is going on.” Preston handed his rifle to her. “Here.”
Williams shook her head.
“Keep it,” she said as she reached over and plucked her Desert Eagle from the holster around Preston’s waist. “I’ll take this.”
“Right,” Preston said, peering past her out the door. “Let’s go.”