The dinner had been delicious and the company was wonderful. John had a lot of charisma and probably would go far in life. Suzanne he found more intriguing every time he saw her. He found himself trusting her; she exuded an aura of competence and reliability.
And yet he was also convinced that Suzanne Krieger was Sarah Connor. A woman wanted for gunrunning, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, bombings, suspected murder, and last but not least, escaping from a mental institution.
I must belong in one myself, he thought dryly. After all, he was holding back because he was certain down in his soul that there was a reasonable explanation for everything she had done. Suzanne just didn't feel like a murderer. Of course, she is a smuggler, so the gunrunning could be a legitimate charge. Talk about grasping at straws.
But he was an experienced agent and the shape of the Sarah Connor case… to him it was obvious that a piece of the puzzle was missing. A damned important piece. And it might be the result of sheer boredom, but he wanted to be the one to find that piece.
"I'm having a small dinner party at the end of the week." Von Rossbach turned to Griego. "The woman will be one of my guests; you'll stay until then. After having dinner with her, you should be able to make an identification, one way or the other." Victor nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Dieter looked at the agent. "Will you also be staying with us?"
The man rose in a fluid motion; Dieter's private estimation went up a notch or two.
"Unfortunately I cannot," he said. "I must be going. Senor Ferarri said that you would be taking care of our friend's needs and expenses."
One corner of von Rossbach's mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "Well, if that's what he said, then I suppose that's what I'll do."
He rose and offered the agent his hand. The two men shook, eyes meeting eyes, evaluating, you know, Dieter thought, I don't miss having to be that wary. The man turned and left, leaving the informant and Dieter alone together.
"I suppose we'd better get you settled. Do you have luggage?" Dieter asked.
"No." Victor laughed. "Our friend there was in a bit of a hurry."
"Well, we'll find you something clean to wear. And my housekeeper can wash your clothes for you while you shower.
"No need," Victor said cheerfully.
"I insist."
The man looked at Dieter anxiously and saw that his gigantic host wasn't joking.
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "A nice shower would be… uh, nice."
* * *
Dieter closed the door of the guest room and trotted downstairs, his face grim.
Marieta wasn't going to like this. At least he won't be putting his greasy head on her nicely ironed pillowcases, he thought. Living with Griego for three days was going to be like living with a very large, bipedal rat. But at least they wouldn't have to share the same bathroom. "Marieta is going to kill me," Dieter whispered.
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
Serena rose and came around her desk as her secretary escorted the young man in. She observed with interest how very much Jordan resembled his brother, Miles; the same large, fine eyes, broad straight nose, high cheekbones, smooth dark skin. It fascinated her. The way that faces emerged from the genetic soup to perfectly combine the features of the parents in the offspring.
She offered her hand and Jordan took it.
"Why don't we sit here," Serena suggested, indicating her sofa and coffee-table arrangement. "Would you like something?" she asked. "Coffee, tea, a soft drink?"
"No, thanks, I'm fine," he said, settling himself.
"I read the resume you sent me." Serena said, sitting beside him, her body turned slightly toward him. "Very impressive. Does the Bureau know that you're doing this?"
Jordan's mouth opened slightly in surprise. That wasn't the first question he'd expected to be asked.
"No," he said carefully. "I chose not to discuss it with them."
Ms. Burns wasn't at all what he'd expected. She was incredibly young for this post for one thing. For another, even for California, she was an absolute babe.
"Mmm," Serena said, her eyes slightly narrowed. "We've had several applications, as you can imagine. And you're one of the youngest candidates."
She gave him a bright smile. "And, as you can imagine, I'm favorably inclined toward a younger candidate." She shifted her shoulders against the couch and crossed her legs. "I'd be happy to answer any questions you have to ask me."
Jordan was somewhat taken aback. He'd expected to be answering questions, perhaps defending his decision not to inform his superiors at the Bureau of his job search. To immediately move to his questions felt a little like hitting the ground hard after expecting the famous step that wasn't there.
"I want this job," he said aloud. "Am I going to get it?"
She smiled. "Yes. You are." Serena rose and moved to her desk to gather up
some brochures. "These will tell you about the company and the rules. I've also prepared this for you." She held up a black folder. "It describes what I expect from you and what I consider to be your job." She sat down beside him again, placing the whole bundle on the coffee table. "You'll have things to take care of at home, and you'll have to give two weeks' notice, I suppose. How long before you can begin?"
"Two weeks ought to do it," he said. "It might not even take that long."
"Would you like us to find you a temporary apartment out here?" Serena asked.
"That would be great," he said.
"Furnished or un?"
"Uh, furnished for now," he said. "I can put my stuff in storage until I find permanent digs."
"Great. Anything else?"
He laughed and shook his head.
"I guess I should ask how much I'll be making, about benefits, that sort of thing."
Jordan brushed his hand over the top of his head. This is too easy! he thought.
He'd had a tougher interview for his first job. Which was shoveling Mrs.
McGill's driveway when he was eight. But what am I gonna do? Say I'm here in hopes of catching the Connors? He wanted this job. So he sat back and listened to Ms. Burns's answer.
"Your initial salary will be seventy-five thousand, with the usual comprehensive medical and dental plans. You get two weeks' vacation a year to start and paid holidays. Theoretically, anyway." She grinned at him. "There's a lot of work to be done here and you'll be getting in on the ground floor. Or, to put it another way, you and I will have the challenge of doing everything because this company hasn't got any significant security in place. I tend to work seventy hours a week myself. I could work more if I wanted to."
She tipped her head. "Will that be a problem for you?" she asked. "I mean"—she spread her hands—"is there family, or a girlfriend?"
"No, no," Jordan said. Not anymore, anyway. In fact it would be good to get so involved with something that he had no time to think about his family. "Not a problem."
"Good." She slapped the arm of the couch. "So, you'll be joining us, eight A.M.
Monday morning two weeks from… Monday?"
"Yes," he said.
She rose and offered him her hand. "I'm glad to have you on board."
"Glad to be on board." Jordan clasped her hand firmly.
"You have a good handshake," she said. "I like that."
He smiled, gave a little shrug, pleased at her praise and feeling damn silly about it. But he had the job! That was the important thing. I just hope the Connors don't show up before I'm ready for them.
"Thank you very much," he said. "I'm looking forward to working with you."