chapter seven
The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
Her name is Rosalita.
She is young and dark haired and has plump red lips. She knows John and Sarah Connor from their time in Mexico. John smiles when he sees her and they embrace. She kisses him on both cheeks.
I hate her already.
"Rosalita! How long has it been? And how did you find us?" Sarah Connor asks, ushering her into the house.
"Too long. And it was very very difficult. You are buried deep, don't worry. But I learnt from the best - you. And my father, of course."
"How is Eduardo? Is he with you?"
"No. My father... el morte."
"Oh. I'm so sorry. He was a fine man. He taught me so much."
"How did he die?" John asks.
"Murdered. By a man named Miro Hernandez."
"Have you informed the police?"
"Hernandez owns the police. And the politicians. He is buying up the farmland around our village to cultivate drugs. My father refused to sell and organised resistance among the other farmers. And Hernandez had him killed."
"Is that why you are here?"
"Yes. My father often said you were the toughest most determined person he had ever met and if I needed help I should seek you out."
"Your father was a wise man and a good friend, to me and my son. Of course I'll help. What do you need?"
"I have come to ask you to avenge my father. I want you to kill Miro Hernandez."
LATER
It is dark. I patrol the block, looking out for any signs Cromartie or the FBI or any other of the Connors' enemies have discovered our whereabouts.
But all is quiet, apart from two dogs growling at each other from either side of the street. A territorial dispute. I imitate their growls but up the volume several decibels, adding wolf and coyote to the mix. They flee in confusion. I am the dominant predator here. I stifle an urge to howl at my victory.
Back in the yard I spot a brief burst of flame near the house followed by a small cloud of tobacco smoke. Rosalita has stepped outside to smoke a cigarette.
"Cigarettes are bad for your health," I inform her.
"Mon dios! Holy Mother, you startled me!"
She sheathes a small bladed weapon half drawn from a concealed waist scabbard.
"You shouldn't sneak up on a person like that. I could've killed you."
"Unlikely."
"You are Cameron, si?"
"Si. I am Cameron."
"Rosalita."
She offers her right hand and we shake. A human greeting ritual.
"Your grip is firm. Like a man. A very strong man. Yet you are slight, like a bambino."
"I am not a bambino."
Rosalita nods and exhales the tobacco smoke. It makes rising curlecues of vapour in the still night air before disappating.
"I meant no disrespect. Look, the moon is full. A hunter's moon, I have heard it called. A good omen, no?"
"The moon is 255,000 miles distant. Twelve humans have walked its surface."
"Humans? That's an odd expression to use. Why do you say it like that?"
"Because it is a fact."
The cigarette smoke wafts in my direction. The tip glows red. My HUD lists the various toxic elements. Curious how she chooses to fill her lungs.
"So, Cameron, what is your story? What is your connection to the Connors? And please do not tell me you are John's sister. I have known him since he was small, a bambino. He mentioned no sister. And Sarah Connor has no daughter. This much I know."
I remain silent. Rosalita stares at me and nods.
"You have secrets then? As do we all. Is it something connected to Sarah Connor's mission?"
"You know about the mission?"
"Only that there is one and she thinks of nothing else. Political or military espionage would be my guess. But I do not need to know. I do not want to know."
She drops her cigarette on the ground and stubs it out with her heel of her sandal. Her red toenails appear black in the moonlight.
"I am not your rival, you know. I see the way you look at John. We were only ever friends. I have a man. A kind mano without best sort. I have had my fill of that life. The secrecy. If Sarah Connor agrees to punish my father's murderer then I will happily leave my past behind and start afresh."
"The future has secrets of its own."
"I will take my chances." She expels the last of the smoke from her lungs. "I go inside now. Nice meeting you."
The door closes. I am alone in the dark.
"I'm prettier than you!" I blurt out.
I do not know why I say this. Or why it is important.
TUESDAY
John is adamant.
"If you're going to Mexico to kill this guy Hernandez then I'm coming with you."
"Out of the question."
John pushes away his breakfast. We are all seated at the table. Rosalita has been the main topic of conversation for 9 minutes. Sarah Connor has decided to go to Mexico and kill the human Miro Hernandez. It is not a popular decision.
"I knew Eduardo as well as you, mom. I'm coming."
"Why do either of you have to go?" Derek Reese asks. "It's not like this creep is part of Skynet. Why put yourselves at risk for some chickenshit Pablo Escobar?"
"Eduardo and Rosalita were family. They were there for John and me when no one else was. I don't expect you to understand."
"I don't understand family? Oh that's rich. Why don't we all go? It'll be like springbreak."
"You're a wanted felon, in case you've forgotten. You'd never get across the border."
"Gee, that's too bad. Bring me back some beads when you win the wet tee shirt contest. And a sombrero. I always wanted one of those."
Sarah Connor ignores him. She too pushes away her breakfast. Now only Derek Reese is eating. Ham. Eggs over easy. With a side order of hot pockets.
"John, it's too much of a risk. You're staying here. Please. Let me handle it alone."
"At least take Cameron. They won't body scan her to get into Mexico. She can watch your back. This jerk's not gonna be walking around unguarded."
"I know that. I've got a plan." She stares across at me. I stare back. "Okay, I'll take her with me. But just the tinmiss, you stay here."
John nods. "Deal."
I ask, "What is a wet tee shirt contest?"
Everyone stares at me.
AFTERNOON
"How's it coming under there? Remember it's righty-tighty, lefty-loosey."
I slide out from under the jeep and stare up at John. He has been to school; I haven't. Sarah Connor wanted some alterations done to the jeep before we leave for Mexico.
"Lefty-loosey?"
"Doesn't matter."
"I have fitted the weapon cradle to the undertray. It is disguised as part of the muffler."
"Chances are they won't check too thoroughly. This is Mexico we're talking about. Gringo tourists are the lifeblood."
"It is best to be prepared for any eventuality."
"You sound like mom."
"I sound like me."
John grins. "I like your bib-overalls. A new look?"
"I am wearing bib overalls to work on the vehicle. Sarah Connor says I wear out clothes too quickly. It is expensive. I must economise."
"That's mom. Thinking of the bottom dollar. Hey, I spoke to your pal, Becca. Did you know she drives a Ferrari?"
"Yes. It once belonged to Wayne Newton."
"Boys were all over her, let me tell you."
"Was she leaking fluid from her eyes?"
"Crying? No, she seemed really happy. She asked me if I wanted a ride."
CLANG!
"You dropped a spanner."
"What did you say?"
"To Becca? Sorry, some other time. I prefer my transport a little more low key."
I climb to my feet. "It is done."
"Listen, you're still programmed so that my orders take priority over everyone else?"
"Yes. You are the boss of me."
"Okay. If mom takes any dumb risks in Mexico stop her and get her out. Rosalita's great and everything, but this isn't worth her life. Promise?"
"Promise."
"You've got a smudge of oil on your face..."
John raises his hand and gently rubs my cheek clean.
WEDNESDAY
We leave at daybreak. John waves us off. Derek Reese stands with his arms folded, scowling.
"Jackass," Sarah Connor exclaims.
There is a 99 percent probability she is referring to Derek Reese.
We take the Interstate and head south. The radio is on and music plays. Songs come and go, interrupted by traffic updates and commercials. One song is about a woman who is sure all that glitters is gold. And she is buying a stairway to heaven.
It must be freaking big.
Another song is about a man who cannot decide whether he is an Eggman or a Walrus. The song ends before he has resolved his identity crisis. It was an unusual dilemma.
Sarah Connor reaches forward and turns the radio off.
"You no longer wish to listen to music?" I ask.
"Why, you want a turn? Go ahead."
I tune the radio between stations. White noise fills the jeep cabin.
"This isn't music."
"It is white noise," I explain. "The background hiss of the universe. The last echo of the Ceation."
"You're telling me a machine believes in God?"
"This is proof of an act of creation. It is logical there is a Creator."
"Skynet meets God. To be a fly on that wall."
She reaches forward again and turns the radio off.
"It's giving me a headache."
At dusk I assume driving duties while Sarah Connor climbs in the back and goes to sleep. While she sleeps I retune the radio to white noise.
It it is a small act of defiance, but a satisfying one.
THE MEXICO BORDER
Sarah Connor retakes the wheel at dawn. She has slept for eight hours.
"Who is Kyle?" I ask her.
She glances at me. "What?"
"In your sleep you kept saying the name Kyle. Who is Kyle?"
"He is - was - someone I cared about. A long time ago. I guess I dreamt about him. I don't remember."
"You don't remember your dreams?"
"Not always."
"I don't dream."
"Aren't you the lucky one."
"It is a design ommision. Chance is not involved."
BORDER
At the Mexico border we join a queue of vehicles waiting to pass through customs. Sarah Connor tilts the rearview mirror and combs her hair using her fingers as a comb. She resets the mirror. I tilt it in my direction and likewise comb my hair using my fingers.
She smiles. "Robot see. Robot do."
I do not reply.
An official takes our documents and examines them.
"Reason for your visit?"
Sarah Connor is tense but her voice does not betray this. "Some R&R with my little girl," she says breezily. "She starts college soon. Can you believe it? Seems like only yesterday she was at kindergarten and eating the crayons."
The official glances in my direction. I smile and say, "I like to eat crayons."
Sarah Connor frowns. I have made an Inappropriate Comment. Of course you do not eat crayons. They are made of wax and therefore not a valid source of nutrition.
The official stamps our documents and hands them back.
"Enjoy your stay in Mexico."
CARLOS
We head south through Mexico. The landscape is dry, desert-like. At noon we stop at a gas station.
"Fill the tank. I'm going to use the restroom."
I fill the tank with gas and pay for it using cash. A small girl in the queue ahead of me turns and says, "You're pretty."
"And you are small," I inform her. She frowns and clutches her mother's hand.
This is called exchanging pleasantries.
I return to the jeep and wait. Sarah Connor is some time. Finally she appears from round the side of the building.
A man is with her. He is standing close behind. Too close. He is holding a knife to her throat.
I get out of the jeep and move to intercept. Sarah Connor shouts, "Hey, darling, guess who I met? It's our old friend, Carlos. He's coming with us."
I stop. She is warning me off. The area is too public for a confrontation.
I smile in greeting. "Hey, Carlos. S'up?"
Carlos is young and skinny, with dark greasy hair and a white vest that shows off his arm tattoos. He has not shaved recently. Or washed.
"This your daughter?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Okay. You drive and she's in the back with me. No funny business or I cut her. Comprende?"
"Whatever you say. Don't do anything until we're clear."
"Huh? What did you say?"
"I wasn't talking to you."
We drive away. Carlos holds the knife tight to my neck, above the carotid artery. If I had one.
"It's not too late, Carlos," Sarah Connor says, twisting round. "I can let you out now. No harm no foul."
"I am in charge here, gringo. I want your money, your jeep and maybe a slice of your pretty daughter." His free hand presses my thigh and he smiles at me displaying crooked teeth.
"Okay, Carlos, I warned you."
"Take the next turnoff."
"Smart. A secondary road. No one around to see us."
"Shut up and drive."
We turn on to a minor road. No buildings line the verge just scrub. There are no other vehicles in either direction. Sarah Connor brings the jeep to a halt.
"Okay, it's time. Do it."
"Huh? Why have you stopped? I didn't tell you to stop."
"She is talking to me," I explain.
I grasp his wrist and pull it away from my neck. He is powerless to resist. I squeeze. He drops the knife.
"Hey! Don't!"
But I do. I squeeze harder. The sound of his bones breaking is similar to the sound John's cereal makes when he pours milk over it in the morning.
But the screams are much louder.
"Enough," Sarah Connor orders finally. "I gave you fair warning, Carlos. Pity you didn't heed it. But I'm guessing you don't listen to advice all that often."
"Please," he whimpers. "Please, senora. I wasn't going to hurt you, I swear."
"Just steal our money and the jeep. A real gentleman. Listen up, you little punk, there's a war coming, if we can't stop it, and even a lowlife like you is gonna have to stand up and be counted. You're gonna have to choose whose side you're on. Our side..."
"Or theirs." I finish. I brighten the LEDs behind my pseudo-eyes. The jeep cabin is filled with their blue glow.
Carlos attempts to scramble out the door but I still hold his wrist.
"W...Who are you? What are you?"
"The enemy."
"Okay, cut him loose."
"You want him terminated?"
"No. Just dump him in the scrub."
"It will be better if he is dead."
"It will be better if you obey my instructions."
We lock eyes. John gave me specific orders to assume command of the mission if Sarah Connor's actions place her in jeopardy. I decide this is not yet the case. My finger sensors indicate Carlos has a significant amount of diamorphine in his bloodstream. He is a drug user. It is likely he will soon compromise his longevity without further assistance from me.
"Very well," I agree.
I grip his ankles and pull him from the jeep, dragging him on his back across the asphalt and into the scrub. He struggles and cries out but to no avail. I release him. He stares up and me with fear in his eyes, cradling his broken wrist with his good hand.
"You're not human."
"No. But I try my best."
I return to the jeep. Sarah Connor drives to the next exit and we rejoin the main highway.
"Will he go to the police?" I ask.
"Doubt it. Those were prisons tattoos on his arms. Chances are he's got a jacket."
"Jacket?"
"What the cops call a list of prior arrests. Maybe he visits a clinic for his wrist, but the cops? No. He's not that dumb."
"Do you think he will?"
"What?"
"Choose the correct side."
"I don't know. It's his choice to make."
"But he has made so many bad choices already."
"People can surprise you. I was a waitress. A party girl. I surprised myself."
"What is a party girl?"
"The point is everyone gets a shot at redemption. It's never too late."
"Do I get a shot at redemption?"
Sarah Connor stares across at me then looks away.
"We'll see."
We continue south until darkness falls. The streetlights come on.
"Do you wish me to drive?"
"No. We'll find a hotel and overnight. I want to be fresh for tomorrow and that means a proper bed to sleep in. And a hot shower. I'm starting to stink."
I lean over and sniff. "Yes, you are starting to stink."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
HOTEL SAN PEDRO
According to the guidebook, the Hotel San Pedro is the best hotel in town.
This may be because it is the only Hotel in town.
Sarah Connor and I walk into the lobby. From the pool terrrace comes the sound of music. A large group of humans can be glimpsed through the palms.
"Shit. Why's it so busy? It's too early for mardis gras."
The girl behind the front desk has long black hair parted in the middle. She smiles as she sees us approach.
"Hola!"
"We want a room," Sarah Connor informs her. "One night only."
"Ah, Americanos. Welcome to San Pedro."
"Do you have a room or not?"
"Si. Plenty of rooms. Would you like a suite? Give you good deal."
"Just the room. Two beds, por favore."
Sarah Connor fills out the forms. "What is that noise?"
"Noise? Oh, the musica. It is the Gomez wedding reception. Very nice couple. College sweethearts. Very romantic."
"It's not going on all night I hope?"
"Oh no. It will finish before midnight."
"Make sure it does. Bring the bags," she orders me. I comply.
"Uh - senorita? You must sign too."
I return and sign my name. The girl leans forward and whispers to me.
"Here take this." She hands me a laminated badge. "Write your name on it and pin it to your blouse and it will get you into the reception. Mucho food and drink. And who knows? Maybe you meet a hot one, eh?"
"A hot one?"
"Never know your luck."
She winks at me and smiles. I smile and wink back.
I do not know what it signifies.
Sarah Connor is already in the room. There are two single beds and a small adjacent bathroom. She has a map spread across the bed covers and is studying it intently.
"Give me the bag."
She extracts a laptop computer and boots it up.
"Do you have a pencil?" I ask.
I write my name on the badge, pin it to my shirt and turn toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
"The wedding reception," I explain. "To meet a hot one. You never know your luck."
I smile and wink. Sarah Connor doesn't smile or wink back.
Perhaps she does not know what it signifies either.
THE RECEPTION
Two long tables laden with food are set up on the sun terrace. Waiters circulate with alcoholic drinks balanced on silver trays. Humans stand around in groups or pairs talking, or else dance to a band playing music in a corner.
Rocket Man...burned out every fuse I've ever known...
This is very true. Excess voltage can be a problem, causing system failure and circuit malfunction. For once a song that makes perfect sense to me.
Six teenage boys huddle nearby, talking in conspiratorial whispers. Intrigued I listen in.
This is their conversation.
"One pack of three, that's all you got?"
"The machine was empty, man. It's all they had."
"Did you try the girls toilets?"
"No condom machine in the girls, dude."
"So it's three between the six of us?"
"I'm gonna need two. That Carlotta's a sure thing. Plus she's from Argentina and you know what they're like."
"No. What are they like?"
"Hundreds of miles away for starters, so she won't get clingy."
"Dibs the last rubber!"
"Shit! What are we gonna do?"
"Pablo won't need one, less there's a chubby chaser here."
"Hey, I lost ten pounds!"
"Way to go, Shamu."
"Use saranwrap. I hear that works."
"Saranwrap? How exactly?"
"Use your imagination, doofus. Wrap it round a coupla times and you're hot to trot. Just make sure the light's out so you don't spook her."
"Suppose they're out of saranwrap? Will bacofoil work?"
"Sure, dude. Whatever."
The boys drift off. I lean against the railing and stare down at the pool on the terrace below. The song the band is playing changes. Now they sing about a man named Jack Flash. He likes to jump apparently.
I close my eyes and sway my hips to the beat. I consider doing some ballet moves, but the music is all wrong. Plus I do not have my ballet pumps. Combat boots are not suitable attire.
"Hey, babydoll, I knew I'd find you."
I turn to see who is addressing me. It is a human male. Mid 30s. Dark hair and dark suit with a frilly white shirt and his bowtie askew. He is holding a glass half full of some amber liquid and swaying slightly while he smiles at me. My facial recognition software fails to find a match.
"We have never met," I inform him.
"Sure we have," he slurs. "In my dreams. You're the girl of my dreams."
Machines do not dream so I am unable to gauge the veracity of his statement. Humans dream of all manner of things. Becca Shaugnessy told me she once dreamed a giant rabbit was chasing her down Sunset Boulevard. She blamed this on the cheese she had eaten the night before. Perhaps this human has consumed a quantity of cheese? It is hard to tell without performing a dissection, which might excite comment.
"Don't tell me let me guess your sign. Capricorn, right? Or Pisces? Gemini? Scorpio?"
"TOK 715."
"That was my next guess! With Jupiter - no - Mercury rising?"
"Hyper-alloy combat chassis."
"Tip of my tongue! You and me we're simpatico. Can you feel the vibe?"
I cannot feel the vibe.
"I'm Howie, by the way."
"Cameron."
"Let me get you something to drink."
"No."
"Sure? It's a decent Krug. Hector knows how to throw a party, I'll give him that. Hector's the groom. I'm his Best Man. We were at college together. I'm the last man standing. All my buddies, married. Just poor sadsack Howie, couldn't even find a date for his pal's wedding."
He drinks the last of the liquid in the glass and sways unsteadily on his feet. I move away but he grabs my hand.
"Hey, don't go. Don't walk away from these feelings we have for each other."
"Feelings?"
"You too? Aw, man, sweet. This is karma. This was meant to be."
I disengage his grip.
"Don't go! Marry me! The priest's still around here someplace. Poor Howie - ha! We'll show 'em, huh, babe."
He lunges towards me with his face. I grasp his neck and lift him off the ground.
WARNING
An amber alert icon pops up in my HUD. Terminating this human in front of so many witnesses would likely attract attention, jeopardising the mission. I cannot allow this.
Instead I hurl him off the balcony, aiming for the pool below. He hits dead centre, sending up a huge spume of water that cascades over the lip of the pool.
A few people whistle. Some laugh and point. No one raises the alarm.
"Hey, did you just throw that guy in the pool?"
I turn. Two women in bright shiny dresses confront me.
"Yes," I confirm.
"Why, what did he say that was so bad?"
"He said he wanted to marry me."
"And you threw him in the pool? Shit, what d'you do with men who really piss you off?"
"Kill them."
"Shit."
The women move away. Below, Howie is being helped from the pool. People stare up at me and point.
It is time to leave.
ROOM
Sarah Connor is sat on one of the beds, map and laptop computer laid out in front of her. She doesn't look up as I enter. There is the smell of food in the room. Coffee. And some form of cooked meat.
"You ordered room service."
"Some of us have to eat."
"You left the pickle." I point out the green vegetable on the otherwise empty plate.
"You want it? It's yours."
"I don't eat pickles."
"That makes two of us."
"I don't require nutrition."
"You're on your own there. How was the shindig?"
"Shindig?"
"The wedding reception. Please tell me you didn't catch the bouquet."
"No bouquet. A man named Howie asked me to marry me."
"Marry him?" Sarah Connor finally looks round at me. "What did you do?"
"I threw him in the pool."
"Uh huh." She nods. "Sounds about right."
I take up position in front of the window. From here I have a view of the road outside.
"You're going to stand there all night?"
"Yes."
"What about the bed?"
"I don't require bed rest."
"I know that. But the maid is going to see we only used one bed. They'll think it strange. I don't want to give them any reason to remember us. Muss it up a little."
I cross to the bed. The coverlet has daisy patterns on a beige background. I ball my right hand into a fist and bring it down hard on the middle of the bed.
CRUMP!
The mattress sags and the bed slumps in the centre. I have broken the frame.
"Is that mussed enough?"
"Were you thinking of me when you did that?"
"If I was thinking of you we would not be having this conversation."
"Is that a threat?"
"It is a fact."
"That shot at redemption you're hoping for? Something tells me you've still got a way to go."
I return to the window. The cell phones rings. Sarah Connor answers.
"John? We're in Mexico. A hotel. I'm fine.... How are things? Did you go to school?...Because an education's important, John. Che Guevara had a college degree...I know he was murdered, that's not the point...Yes, she's here...Wait a second..."
She hands me the cell. "John wants to speak to you. Don't tell him our precise location."
"Hello?"
"Hey, how are you?" John asks.
"I am functioning within normal operational parameters."
"You know, you could just say you're fine. Or okay."
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"Better. Is that music I can hear?"
"There is a wedding reception. A shindig. A man named Howie asked me to marry him."
"Marry you? Uh - what did you do?"
"I threw him in the pool."
John laughs. "Sounds about right."
"This is what your mother said."
"Okay, Cam. I'll go now. I mis---Uh, I mean, I'll see you later."
I place the cell on the bedside table and resume my vigil at the window.
Finally Sarah Connor folds away the map and shuts off her computer. She heads for the bathroom and I hear the shower running. She emerges dressed only in panties and a white singlet and climbs into bed. Her legs are long and bare. They are the legs Derek Reese likes to look at when he thinks no one is watching him.
He is wrong.
I am watching. I am always watching.
The light is turned off and the room falls dark. I turn back to the window.
Watching.
THURSDAY
We check out of the hotel at 5.13 am. The girl at the desk is surprised to see us.
"Leaving so early? Nothing wrong I hope?"
"We need to make an early start," Sarah Connor explains, handing back the room keys.
"Well, thank you for staying at the Hotel San Pedro. Visit us again soon. Oh--Senorita?" she says to me, staring at the nametag still attached to my shirt. "Your name is Cameron?"
"Yes."
"A guest left something behind for you. Just a second." She rummages beneath the desk. "Here. A man left this for you. It's so romantic."
She hands me a single red rose.
"There's a note attached."
I unfold the piece of paper. On it is written:
For the girl of my dreams.
Call me.
We'll make heaven a place on earth.
---Howie
5633-555-8739
I crumple the note up and drop it on the floor.
We stow the case in the back of the jeep and continue our journey.
I sit with the red rose held in my lap. Sarah Connor keeps glancing at it as she drives.
"From the marriage guy? The one you threw in the pool?"
"Yes."
"Figures. Know how long it's been since someone gave me flowers?"
"No."
"Neither do I. That's how long."
I turn in my seat and hold out the rose.
"For you."
Sarah Connor stares at me.
"No, you keep it. Do you even know what it means?"
"It is a flower. A dying one."
"So you have no idea why a perfect stranger should propose and leave you a single red rose?"
"He thinks I am the girl of his dreams. He is mistaken."
"You can say that again."
"He is mistaken."
THE MOUNTAIN
We drive on up a steadily increasing gradient. Soon the highway gives way to a dusty track which finally narrows too much for the jeep to continue.
"Okay. We walk from here."
I detach the gun from its cradle beneath the jeep chassis and strap it to my back. The time is 6.43. The sun has been above the horizon for 36 minutes.
We head into a forest of pine trees, hiking up the steep side of a mountain. The ground is dry but hard and we make good time, emerging at the summit without incident. Here, the trees are sparse and stunted by wind shear. There are flat slabs of rock showing through the thin soil.
"This is it. Get set up."
Sarah Connor's shirt is soaked through with perspiration but she is not breathing heavily. She takes several long swallows from her water bottle and wipes her brow. She is fit. For a human.
In the valley below is the property belonging to Miro Hernandez. It is a sprawling single storey building with terracotta roof tiles. I can see the rear sun terrace and an oblong swimming pool, set like a turqouise jewel amid the dull earth tones.
"Shit, it's further away than I expected. Will the gun reach?"
"I have designed it to be effective from at least a kilometer." I reassure her. "We are well within range."
I assemble the rifle. With the stock attached it is almost seven feet long. I slide the ammo cartridge home. It contains five specially adapted bullets, any one of which will kill upon impact. I fit the telescopic sight and lie down to adjust it.
Through the sight the sun terrace looms large. There is a table set with sixteen chairs. To the side is a barbecue complete with gas cannister. I identify this from the one Derek Reese likes to use on warm evenings. He normally burns the food he cooks. No one will eat it but him. He doesn't seem to mind. John says he has an iron constitution. This is incorrect. He is flesh and blood with minimal iron content. Next to this is a large round basin I do not recognise. I point it out to Sarah Connor. She puts a pair of binoculars to her eyes.
"That's a hut tub."
"For laundry?"
"No. People soak in it. For pleasure. Hernandez probably entertains his bimbo girls there."
"What is a bimbo girl?"
"Use your imagination."
"I do not possess an imagination. Am I a bimbo girl?"
"Bimbos are girls who hang out with rich jerks like this, normally for money."
"So I am not a bimbo girl."
"It's nothing to aspire too."
We wait. Sarah Connor keeps her binoculars trained on the house.
"If he doesn't show by midday I'll unpack the tent and set it up. We've - I've - got food and water for five days. He doesn't show by then I'll think of something else."
At 9.47 am she spots movement on the terrace below.
"Is that him?"
I raise my own pair of binoculars. "Yes. It is the man in the photograph. Miro Hernandez."
Sarah Connor lies down and aims the rifle. In the distance, unaware of our attention, Miro Hernandez steps into the swimming pool. He is pear-shaped with a pronounced gut hanging over his red swimming trunks. He starts to swim with only his shiny bald head above the water.
"He's doing laps. Probably exercise to lose the belly," Sarah Connor explains. "Good. He'll have to come out sometime."
He does twelve lengths of the pool then climbs the steps out. Another man appears and hands him a white toweling robe which he puts on. Hernandez sits at the table. Another man brings him a plate of food and he begins to eat. Still Sarah Connor has not fired the rifle despite the target being in full sight.
"Shit! Where did those kids come from?"
Three small children appear and run about the terrace accompanied by a slim girl with long dark hair.
"Is that a bimbo girl?" I ask.
"Daughter is my guess. Those are probably grandkids. Shit. Shit."
Sarah Connor rolls away from the gun. "I can't do it. Not like this. Suppose I hit a child? Wait here. I've gotta take a leak."
She wanders away under the tree canopy and I take her place, lying prone with the rifle snug against my shoulder.
The view through the scope blurs as one of the small children crosses it. No matter. I aim the crosshairs firmly on the target's chest and gently squeeze the trigger.
BOOM!!!
I absorb the recoil. The scope shows a direct hit. Miro Hernandez is fountaining blood from his chest wound. It is fatal.
I shift my aim to the barbecue and put a bullet into the gas cannister. It explodes, sending a gout of flame high into the sky. Next I put bullets into the gas tanks of the three automobiles parked outside the house. They too erupt skyward. The humans duck for cover. All is confusion and fear. Just as I intended.
"What the hell did you do?" Sarah Connor demands, striding out from under the trees.
"What you couldn't."
"Did you hit a child?"
"No. The target is terminated. Our mission is accomplished."
Below comes the sound of gunshots. Bodyguards firing impotently at unseen enemies.
"They'll figure it out soon enough. Let's go."
The descent is easier than the ascent. I reach the jeep and get behind the wheel, starting the engine but not engaging drive.
Sarah Connor emerges from the treeline. Her shirt sleeve is torn and she has a muddy graze on her left arm. Her hair is lank with sweat and she is breathing rapidly.
"You are bleeding. Do you require medical assistance?"
"It's just a scratch. I fell on the pine straw. Drive."
She does not relax until we reach the freeway and blend into the traffic heading north. Her breathing returns to normal.
"Should I head for the Hotel San Pedro?"
"No. Make for the border."
"They will find the sniper rifle."
"Let them. They can't trace it to us. Or Rosalita."
"She will be pleased the target is eliminated."
"If I choose to tell her."
"Why wouldn't you tell her?"
"Wanting someone dead is a lot different from being responsible for it happening. She doesn't deserve to have it on her conscience."
"Whoever fights monsters should beware that they themselves do not become monsters."
"Nietsche? You're quoting Nietsche. How do you know that?"
"I go to school."
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you."
Sarah Connor takes several swallows from her water bottle.
"You think I'm weak for not pulling the trigger."
"You're human. It is both a strength. And a weakness."
"If Hernandez was connected to Skynet, was responsible in any way for Judgement Day, I wouldn't have hesitated. Not for a second. But to shoot a stranger in cold blood, in front of his family? There are limits."
"I understand."
"I doubt it. When I heard you start the engine I thought you were leaving me behind."
"Abandoning you was not part of the plan. It was a good plan. Engage the enemy at distance with minimal risk."
"We got lucky. If he hadn't been home this would be the camping trip from hell."
"All plans have an element of what you call luck. An unknown variable."
Sarah Connor removes her torn shirt and use the contents of the water bottle to wash the wound on her arm. I glance across and say, "I do not find your breasts distracting."
"Glad to hear it."
She pulls a med kit from her backpack and applies a dark liquid to the gash.
"Iodine." she explains."I always keep a med kit handy, wherever we are. In case John gets injured."
"John's health is a primary concern," I agree.
An SUV pulls level in the lane next to ours. Three teenagers lean out the windows and yell, "Woo, baby! Yeah! That's the stuff. Show us some skin!"
Sarah Connor obliges, showing them the skin of her left middle finger. She puts on a fresh shirt. The SUV accelerates away, the teenagers making animal noises as they depart.
"Fratboy assholes."
"They found your breasts distracting whereas I did not. Please explain."
"You want me to teach you about the birds and bees?"
"Birds and bees?"
"Doesn't matter. Just forget it."
"I cannot just forget it. I remember everything."
"Everything?"
"Affirmative."
"Six weeks ago. Thursday. Four-fifteen. PM. What are you doing?"
I access the relevent memory kernal and extract the data.
"The school gymnasium. Cheerleader practice. Louise has just complained to Cassie, the Big Cheese, that I am not kicking my legs high enough or shaking my pom-poms vigorously enough. She was mistaken; my technique was flawless."
Sarah Connor laughs and shakes her head.
"What is funny?"
"A terminator, a killing machine sent from the future, is worried about her pom-pom technique."
"It is important to shake the pom-poms to the sides, the front and then above the head," I explain. "Rah-rah-rah! Go team!"
Sarah Connor laughs once more.
It is some time before she stops.
---007---
Here in the UK we're 4 eps behind the American broadcasts, so there's no connection implied with 'Mr Ferguson is ill Today', which I believe is also set in Mexico.