A discreet affair was all she'd had in mind—something that would cool to a warm friendship spiced with occasional bouts of physical pleasure.
Mary Walsh-Warren was the daughter of a very wealthy, very influential family.
It was her family's money that had given Cyberdyne its start, and Mary's political contacts that had provided their first lucrative government contracts. That gave her a disproportionate share of power in her marriage.
Which made poor Paul's wife a potentially dangerous enemy. Serena had also learned from company gossip that Mary was almost pathologically jealous. One whiff of a warming relationship between herself and the president and Serena had no doubt she would be summarily fired.
She tapped her fingers impatiently on the worktable. So. Terminating Mary Warren rather than undermining her marriage seems to be the most logical course of action.
Serena had hoped to avoid killing indefinitely, because Skynet would not be well served by her spending decades in prison.
Unfortunately she sensed that it was inevitable. The woman's influence was just too poisonous. Poisonous enough to make the risk of terminating her worthwhile, besides being aesthetically satisfying.
Since it was inevitable she might as well do it now while she was an unlikely suspect. After all, she'd never even met Mrs. Warren, she barely knew the president, and at present their association was purely professional.
I suppose an auto accident would be best, she mused. A flaming wreck could hide all sorts of precrash mayhem. Perhaps she could send the Terminator. A sort of test run.
Meanwhile, she would find and hire a private investigator in the Asuncian area.
Someone competent, but low profile!
She had done her own checking into Dieter von Rossbach and had found out that he, like Mary Warren, came from a wealthy, prominent family. He had entered the army after university, then had disappeared from all official records appearing only in a few society columns, all of them very thin on detail, until now. When he resurfaced it was as a rancher in Paraguay, which was extraordinarily unlikely.
She'd been too late to get a tap on his conversation with Goldberg, getting on the line just in time to hear them say good-bye and hang up. She'd left the tap on von Rossbach's line and had listened in to a number of utterly prosaic phone calls.
Let the PI do it, she thought, exasperated. Tomorrow she would get on it, first thing. For now, she still had that tissue to check.
TARISSA DYSON'S HOME, LOS ANGELES: THE PRESENT
Jordan gave his sister-in-law a warm hug. Dan stood beside her, looking nervous and slightly embarrassed. He held out his hand to shake.
Jordan raised an eyebrow at him. "Come here!" he growled playfully, and swept his nephew into his arms. "A handshake?" he chided. "That's no way to greet family!"
Dan grinned and ducked his head, shrugging, his eyes shyly downcast.
"How long can you stay?" Tarissa asked, closing the front door behind him.
"I have to go back Sunday," Jordan told her. "And I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. That's something I want to talk to you about, by the way."
He looked at her to check her reaction. She looked interested, but distracted.
"But the rest of the time," he said, holding out his arms, "I am all yours."
Both Tarissa and Danny instantly wore identical sick smiles.
Jordan put his suitcase down and waved them into the living room. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind," he suggested. "I've got a feeling it might kill you, or at least cause serious damage, if we wait much longer for you to let me in on whatever it is you brought me here for."
He sat down and looked at them expectantly.
Tarissa and Danny looked at each other, then looked into the living room as if they weren't sure what to do. Simultaneously they chose the couch and sat, both of them on the very edge of the cushions. They exchanged anxious glances again, wringing their hands and chewing their lips.
"So what is this?" Jordan asked. "Mother and son competitive nervousness?
What?" He held out his hands. "Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can't possibly be
that bad." He grinned. "I'll still love you, even if you've gambled away the house."
Tarissa and Danny looked at each other for a long moment. Then they faced Jordan.
"It's so hard to know how to begin," Tarissa said, her voice was shaking. Turning the corners of her mouth down, eyes on her hands she continued, "But I'm afraid that you will find that what we have to say… might have a profound effect on our relationship." Tarissa looked up at him, her eyes pleading.
The first thing he thought was, Cancer? Could Tarissa be sick?
Tarissa saw the fright leap into Jordan's eyes and hastened to reassure him.
"We're both all right," she said, reaching toward him. "It's nothing like that."
"Well, for God's sake, Tarissa, lay it on me! You're making me crazy here."
"It's about the night Dad died," Dan said. "There's stuff we didn't tell you."
"But now we think we have to," Tarissa said, taking up the tale and her son's hand.
She paused to collect her thoughts. Tarissa could see that she had all Jordan's attention and he wasn't angry with them. Yet. He looked puzzled and concerned, but not actually upset. That's a relief. She looked around the room and made a decision.
"This is a discussion for the kitchen," she announced. "I want something to wet
my mouth and it's more comfortable there." Without another word she rose and left the room. Once in the kitchen she put on the kettle and reached for the teapot. It was more of a tea than a coffee kind of conversation coming up. Danny trailed in a moment later, eyes downcast.
"Put out some cups, would you, hon?" she asked. She poured hot tap water into the pot to warm it.
Jordan came in, his hands in his pockets. "Hello?" he said, his head tilted to the side.
Tarissa smiled at him and motioned to the table.
"Sit down. It'll be ready in a minute."
She and Danny bustled around, continuing to set the table while he stood and watched them as though they were performing some bizarre ritual.
Eventually Jordan shrugged and with an exasperated expression made a point of pulling out a chair and seating himself at the table. Then he clasped his hands in front of him, head titled to the side, an expression of deliberate patience on his face.
Inside he was still a bit scared.- He didn't know where they were going with this, but he didn't like the sound of it. I wish we could get on with this.
When everything was ready—the plate of cookies, the cups and saucers, sugar and milk—Tarissa placed the teapot on the table; it had been his mother's.
Jordan looked up at her. Whatever it is they have to tell me, he thought, they are my family and I will protect them. He nodded at Tarissa and she poured.
"We've told you before how it started," she said, her eyes on his cup. "But then we sort of segued past a lot of very important stuff."
"Stuff?" Jordan said flatly, watching her pour for Danny.
"Sarah Connor shot Miles," she continued, pouring her own cup. She put the pot down and reached for the milk. "Danny ran into the room and threw himself over his father, demanding that she not hurt him. He was so brave. I was all but paralyzed myself," she admitted.
Then she tightened her lips, looking into her cup as though she could see it all happening again in there. Tarissa turned the cup carefully, then picked it up and took a sip.
"At this point," she said slowly, "what we have to tell you, now, is different from what we've told you before."