Infiltrator t2-1 Page 14

  He was lucky at the first few turns; the ground was wet and she’d left footprints in the mud. Then the ground began to get hard, and he began to pant. Finally he came to an open space, surrounded by buildings, seemingly abandoned. He tried doors and windows, but all were securely locked. There were no footprints’.

  Dieter wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around, letting his breathing return to normal. Tomorrow morning, first thing, he thought, back to running ten miles. He was sweating like a pig! Next thing he knew he’d have a potbelly.

  He listened, and heard nothing. There were voices in the distance and some traffic, but nothing nearby. A dog stuck its head around one of the buildings and whined at him.

  “Hey, boy,” Dieter said, leaning down. The dog came up to him, wagging its tail so hard its whole stern was lashing back and forth. “Did you see her, huh?” he asked, scratching the mutt’s ears. His eyes moved over the surrounding buildings even as he appeared to be concentrating solely on the dog. “Did you see where she went?”

  The stray was wiggling in ecstasy, as it strained to lick Dieter’s hands, and grunting with pleasure when the big man switched to scratching its ruff.

  “Dat’s a good boy,” Dieter assured the animal in the baby-talking voice that even some antiterrorist operatives used with animals.

  He straightened up and put his hands on his hips, realizing just a little too late that he might have acquired a new friend. Looking around, von Rossbach tightened his mouth while the dog looked up worshipfully.

  The woman could be anywhere by now. Probably she’d gone to ground in a previously scouted hiding place. Obviously he wasn’t going to find her here, he looked around at the blank building faces.

  Unless, that is, he was willing to put time into it, finding a niche somewhere and blending into the scenery until the woman felt safe enough to emerge from hiding. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  No, he was retired, he was no longer obligated to chase everyone who ran. They would know who she was at the trucking company, so that was the logical place to go for information. Besides, he needed that shipment.

  Sarah watched in the mirror before her, aimed to catch the view through a filthy window, as the man she’d been almost certain was a Terminator reached down to pet the dog. She stood up slowly and let out her breath in a rush, then stood there panting, shaking from adrenaline reaction.

  Licking her lips, she tried to think what to do. If a dog can tolerate him, he can’t be a Terminator. Humans can be fooled, but not dogs. As von Rossbach turned to walk away, she made up her mind.

  Unlocking the window, she lifted it and slipped through, easing it down behind her. “Wait!” she called weakly.

  If he wasn’t a Terminator she had to find out what, or rather who, he was, and why he had come looking for her. He couldn’t have seen her spying on him this morning, could he? Her skills were rusty, but surely not that rusty.

  She went to the nearest building and peeked around the corner. The man was

  leaning over, trying to persuade the dog to go home, though it was obvious just looking at the mutt that it didn’t have one.

  “You’ve got a friend for life there,” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The man looked at her. Her voice had quavered a bit and her hands were still shaking; she might as well try to use that, along with her diminutive size, to seem harmless. It might wipe that closed look off his face.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’m so sorry.” She brushed her hair back and gave a nervous little laugh. “I thought you were someone else.” She looked at him, wide-eyed, then burst out, “But you’re not. Obviously.”

  “Who did you think I was?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but his eyes were hard, evaluating her.

  She lifted her hands and then dropped them; shaking her head, Sarah walked a few steps toward him.

  “Please,” she said, her eyes on the ground as she walked, “I’d rather not say. I’m so embarrassed as it is. Anyway, you don’t want to know about it. It’s just…”

  She waved her hands helplessly. “Please, could we start over?” Sarah looked up at him and smiled tremulously, trying to look innocent.

  “Who are you?” he asked, still suspicious.

  “I’m Suzanne Krieger,” she said, holding out her hand. “That’s my trucking company.”

  “Oh, really.” He sounded dubious.

  “A lot of people are surprised to hear that,” Sarah assured him, smiling weakly.

  There was an awkward moment of silence. “I just want you to know that was a very uncommon reaction,” she said, twisting her fingers together nervously. “I really don’t make a habit of running away from my customers. Honest.” Don’t overdo it, Connor, she warned herself.

  “You’re an American,” Dieter observed.

  “Yes. But my husband was Paraguayan.”

  “Was?” Dieter walked by her side as they wended their way back to the trucking company.

  He found her face attractive in an angular way; her blue eyes were very expressive and her mouth was… tempting. A good figure, too, he thought.

  But he was still not lulled by either her fluttering manner or her refusal to explain. He noticed that she kept as far from him as she could in the narrow alley.

  “Yes, he died the year after he bought the company.” She lapsed into silence for a few moments. “Anyway, that’s enough about me,” she said as they came to the open door of the garage. “What is it you came here for?” Boy, do I want to know that. .

  Dieter could actually feel the word “sperm” pressing against his teeth, but he restrained himself. “I have a shipment from the King Ranch,” he said instead.

  “Oh, yes,” Sarah said with a smile. “It’s in the fridge, I’ll go get it for you. You know the way out front,” she said with a little laugh and a gesture toward the

  open door to the offices.

  Sarah looked at him sweetly until at last he nodded and headed out to the front office. When he was gone she leaned against the wall and allowed her shoulders to sag.

  How can this be? she asked herself. Her stomach clenched. He’s the spitting image of no less than two Terminators! Except for the beard. She wondered briefly if Terminators could even grow beards. He even sounds like them! Well, maybe the accent wasn’t as pronounced. But in every other way Dieter von Rossbach was a physical duplicate of the T-101’s she’d known. But how? There has to be a connection, but what?

  Sarah brushed her hair back off her forehead and blew out her breath. It’s time to discuss it with John, she thought. He’ll probably have some ideas. Meanwhile…

  Sarah went to the fridge and took the special box out. King Ranch— probably sperm, then.

  The labels and stamps and customs papers all seemed authentic, so if this was some kind of ruse, it was a very elaborate one. Also irrelevant. No one smuggled drugs from the United States to South America as far as she knew. So, obviously, that wasn’t it. And going by the paper trail this box had traveled by legitimate courier all the way. So Mr. von Rossbach, in this instance at least, probably was just a rancher interested in improving his cattle.

  She wondered why they’d never dealt with this guy before. Most likely he’d used somebody in Asuncion. It didn’t really matter. Getting rid of him and returning home to John to discuss this weird situation did.

  Though I have to wonder if his choosing Krieger Trucking was happenstance or if there’s some motivation behind it. The coincidences were mounting up. She could feel the paranoia taking over.

  “Here you go,” she said as she walked into the front office. Sarah picked up a clipboard from Meylinda’s desk. She noticed that her hands were still shaking.

  Okay, so we use that, she reminded herself. I’m just a shy, decent widow doing her best.

  Von Rossbach stood foursquare behind the counter, his eyes never leaving her, taking in every movement, every nuance of expression.

  “You’re making me nervous,” Sarah
accused as she laid down the box. She presented the clipboard to him with a pen. “Would you sign here, please?”

  He took them, but continued to study her. Sarah ducked her head and looked away. “Please,” she said.

  “I would really like to know who you thought I was,” Dieter said steadily.

  “Please explain.”

  Sarah took a deep breath, not looking at him and let it out, then nodded. “I can easily see why you might be offended,” she said, swallowing. “Okay.” Sarah paused for effect, biting her lips. “When Paul died someone wanted to buy the company. But I wanted to keep it for our son, and because I’d put a lot of effort into it myself. This guy who wanted to buy it took my refusal personally and was very, very angry. He made threats. I told him to leave us alone.”

  She stopped and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. That unwavering

  stare of his really was making her tense. Not that I need any help with that, she thought ruefully.

  “You thought I was this man?” he asked.

  “Uh, no, not exactly. Anyway, for a while nothing happened. Then little accidents began to occur, things went missing, and some of our shipments were hijacked. He came back and made another offer. This one was ridiculously low, insulting actually, and I told him to go away.”

  She dipped her head, and shrugged. “That’s when things began to get scary.

  There was this man, a big man; I began to see him everywhere, watching me, getting closer all the time. I’d be shopping for groceries, for instance, and suddenly I’d feel someone behind me and I’d turn and it would be him, just…

  looking at me. One day he asked me about my little boy.”

  Her voice broke on the last word. Sarah was proud of that touch; she hadn’t been sure she could do it. She took a deep breath, blinking as though afraid there might be tears to hide. “There’s really not much else to tell. I decided to move the company here to Villa Hayes because I thought there’d be less competition. But I liked that it was so near a big city. I thought we’d be safe here.”

  She gave a little laugh. “I gave up smoking today, so I’m nervous as a cat at a dogfight, and when I looked up all I could see was your outline and”—she shook her head regretfully—“I panicked. I’m so sorry. I am not, ordinarily, such a scaredy-cat. It was like a flashback. You know?”

  Dieter gave her a long look, revealing nothing. He watched her fidget for a few moments, then signed her form. She tore off a portion of it and gave it to him as

  his receipt.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling bravely, her heart thudding in a nerve wracking combination of anger and fear. “Good luck evading that dog.”

  Sarah could see the disreputable mutt waiting hopefully outside her front door. I hope he sticks to you like a burr and gives you some horrible parasite, she thought viciously.

  Given her plausible explanation and, to her mind, very convincing performance, she couldn’t help but think of him as a bully. If she really was a helpless little widow she’d be ready to burst into tears by now.

  Dieter turned to look and his shoulders twitched. Sarah liked that; it made him seem more human and she finally began to calm down.

  He picked up his box.

  ” Hasta la vista,” he said, and walked out. The dog fell in behind him, its chin a fraction of an inch from the big man’s boot heel.

  Sarah closed her eyes slowly. Then she turned to check the clock. Five-thirty. I can’t keep quitting early like this, she told herself as she headed for her office.

  Picking up her purse and her keys she went into the garage.

  “Ernesto,” she called. Her voice was still shaking a little and Sarah frowned at the evidence of weakness. She cleared her throat.

  He came out from under a truck. “You are all right, senora?” he asked, his face

  full of concern.

  “Actually, I feel lousy, Ernesto.” She was willing to bet that she looked almost as bad as she felt. “I’m going home early. Can you close up for me, please? I’ll lock the front door myself, if you’ll take care of back here.”

  “Sure,” he said, sitting up. “That man… ?”

  “Oh…” Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Mistaken identity. I feel like a complete fool. He’s just a rancher, I guess.” She shook her head. “Nothing to worry about, my friend. I’m just nervous and feeling rotten. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  ” Si. I hope that you feel better soon,” he said and waved to her before pushing himself back under the truck.

  He’d learned early in their relationship that Suzanne Krieger did not take kindly to being coddled. So showing that he was on her side was all he was prepared to do right now. But he would love to know why his tough-as-nails boss had gone running out of the garage with “just a rancher” in hot pursuit. Although he had to admit, at least to himself, if that man had started chasing him, he’d have run, too.

  “Not my business,” Ernesto muttered, picking up a wrench. She knew where to find him if she needed his help.

  Dieter tucked into his desk and booted up his computer. He had an Identikit program and he brought it up now. In about twenty minutes he had a fair likeness of Suzanne Krieger and made up a version with and without glasses.

  The woman didn’t feel to him like a terrorist; there was an aura about them that Dieter could usually pick up on.

  Besides, females were rare among their ranks. Those who chose the terrorist lifestyle, though, tended to be excellent actresses. So he couldn’t afford to eliminate the possibility solely on gut feeling.

  It was also possible, given that she owned a trucking company, that Mrs. Krieger was running drugs. Her overreaction today indicated that she was coming down off of something. But it might just be cigarettes, as she said. When he’d quit smoking he’d been close to dangerous for six weeks.

  She’s probably smuggling, he thought. But in Paraguay it’s more likely to be DVD players than drugs. Smuggling is the national industry, or was.

  Von Rossbach studied the stark portraits he’d created of Suzanne Krieger, looking for something in the images that would give him a clue. She’s guilty of something, he thought. An innocent woman doesn’t take off like a hare being chased by hungry hounds. She calls for help, she runs to the nearest man, she doesn’t clear out for parts unknown without even making a sound. That, he felt, was a telling detail. She knows how to run. If she didn’t, I’d have caught her.

  And the way she moved… She had combat training somewhere. Martial arts, certainly.

  Dieter flattered himself that the mere sight of his face wasn’t likely to send women running for their lives. Maybe she’d bumped off Paul Krieger before moving down here. Whatever—he composed a note to Jeff Goldberg, his former partner in the Sector Operation.

  Hi Jeff,

  Sorry to bother you, but I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about this woman, who currently runs a trucking company in Villa Hayes.

  Strangely enough she ran from me the moment she saw me (no comments please) and gave me a story about being threatened by some man who wanted to buy her business.

  She’s going by the name Suzanne Krieger, widow of Paul Krieger, and she has a son. It might be nothing, but my antennae are up on this one. Looking forward to hearing back from you.

  Dieter

  P.S. When are you and Nancy coming to my ranch to visit?

  Soon, he hoped. There was a lot to like about this country and this life, but after eight months away from the Sector he was finding it incredibly dull. You could be bored in “the business”— were bored, most of the time—but there was always an edge of anticipation.

  He supposed it was to be expected; compared to his old life running down terrorists and international criminals, pursuing cattle across the Chaco was an inevitable come down. Each day ran into the next here with very little to distinguish them from each other.

  Today, though, had been exceptional and he felt good. He might just be chasing shadows here, but at least h
e wasn’t chasing cows.

  “John? John?” Sarah stood in the tiled-and-whitewashed hallway of her estancia and listened, but the house was silent. He couldn’t have gone far, though; he wouldn’t leave the house open like this if he wasn’t in earshot. She went out onto the portal. “John!” she shouted.

  She heard a distant call in answer and looked in that direction. Of course, the barn. He’d been riding Linda. She leaped down the three steps and trotted toward his voice. Sarah found him in the paddock at the back of the barn, grooming the bay mare, who was trying to wrap her neck around him in a horsely hug.

  “She says that you neglect her shamefully and leave her to starve as often as not,” John said with a grin, pushing the horse’s big head away gently.

  “She lies like a rug,” Sarah said, crossing her arms atop the paddock gate.

  “Which she might soon become if she keeps blackening my reputation that way.”

  “Y’hear that, Linda?” John asked, scratching under her chin. The horse stretched her neck out in ecstasy, a foolish expression on her long face. “I may be your favorite human but you have to know which side your hay is buttered on. This lady is your meal ticket, don’t you know that?”

  Linda sneezed, splattering John’s T-shirt with green.

  “Auuggh! Thank you, Linda!” he said, holding his arms out in disgust. John whipped off the shirt and used the clean side to wipe his face and arms.

  Sarah gave a short laugh at his expression. “Come out of there before she starts to lick you.” She opened the gate, and then she turned serious. “We have to talk.”

  Unlike most teens, John’s automatic reaction wasn’t What am I supposed to have done now? Instead he asked, “What’s gone wrong, how can we fix it?”

  He slipped through the gate and turned to fasten it behind him. Then he squinted up at the sun. “You’re early,” he said, almost a question.

  Sarah opened her mouth. Now that she was in front of him she didn’t really know how to begin.

  John lowered his head and raised his eyebrows. “Mom?”

  “I had… a really strange experience today,” she began. With one hand she brushed her hair back and frowned into the middle distance.