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ลำดับตอนที่ #7 : Part 1: Chapter 5: Friends in the Shadow, Enemies in the Light
TERMINATOR: THE SARAH CONNOR CHRONICLES
REUNION
Part 1: The Shadow of Death
Chapter 5
Friends in the Shadow, Enemies in the Light
Agent Auldridge to Sarah Connor, "I believe there are machines. I believe they've come back from the future to first kill you and then your son. I believe in time travel, I believe in cyborgs. I believe there's a world that I've not yet seen but you have, and John. In the last eight hours, I've received 37 calls from people who have met a young man named John Baum, or his sister Cameron or Sarah Baum, the mother. They now know her to be Sarah Connor. By all accounts, your son looks 16 and not 24, just as you look 35 and not 43. I believe you have participated in the miraculous and the terrible, and through it all you have maintained a moral and good soul. I want to help you. I want to help your son. Help me do that."
Guard, "Hey! You the guy who smashed through my gate?"
T-888, "Yes."
The T-888 Terminator shoots the guard.
Catherine Weaver, "Hey . . . I liked that gate!"
T-888, "Catherine Weaver?"
Catherine Weaver. "Sure."
The T-888 shoots her, with no effect. In return, Weaver terminates him by stabbing him through the chest with one hand while stabbing into a transformer with the other.
James Ellison, "I just wanted the girl to be safe."
Sarah Connor, "So did I."
James Ellison, "From whom?"
Sarah Connor, "I don't know."
James Ellison, "You don't know or you can't say?"
Sarah Connor, "I don't know, but if I did, I probably couldn't say."
Extracts from, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, S02E22 Born to Run, 10 April 2009
Minister, "I'm going to say a few words about my friend Gene Miller but before I do, I wanna take this opportunity to thank everyone at Desert Heat and Air's parent company, The Kaliba Group for their generous donations to this service."
Diana, "Is this all it costs to buy us? Flowers and a few kind words? Where is anybody from the company? Have any of you seen anybody from the company? Has anybody ever seen anybody from the company? No. You have not."
Extract from, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, S02E15 Desert Cantos, 20 Feb 2009
# # #
2009, Day 3, Morning
Agent Auldridge walks through the front entrance of the FBI at 8:50 AM sharp.
"Good Morning, Mr. Auldridge." An older woman with pure white hair says from behind the window at the reception desk.
"Good Morning Mabel." Auldridge says as he swipes his badge through the scanner so he can enter the offices beyond.
He walks through the door and can now speak to the woman directly.
"How are you today?" He asks her.
"I'm fine, Mr. Auldridge. How was your date last night?"
Auldridge frowns, "Oh crap! I was so caught up in this case I forgot all about it."
Mabel shakes her head. "You'll never get married if all you think about is work." She scolds him nicely.
"Look who's talking." Auldridge says back to her, both of them laughing.
"How long have you worked here? Did you ever once think about getting married yourself?"
"I had my youthful dalliances with many young men, but there was only one man I ever loved and he had a life and a mission far more important than I. I chose to be alone, because in my eye, no other man could take his place. But you are young, and the ideals of your age are far different from mine. Don't let work take the place of love, it's a poor substitute."
"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Auldridge clears his throat. "I heard that you will be retiring soon. You'll be missed."
"Yes I am." She smiles. "I'll miss all of you too. But its time for me to start the next chapter of my life. I've seen so many people get into trouble, through no fault of their own, that I've set up a foundation with money from my investments to help people in need."
"I'm sure they will appreciate your efforts. We should give you a good send off. A party, here at the office."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think our new director will go for that. He is a rather serious and dark fellow. He has too many secrets and doesn't operate this branch like past director's. One of the reason's I'm retiring now instead of next year."
Auldridge clears his throat nervously. "Any messages?"
"The new director is in. He'd like to see you in his office first thing."
"Speak of the devil." Auldridge murmurs, before he walks off to see the director.
# # #
Sarah is sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment that Mr. Ellison hid her in. In front of her sits John's laptop computer and the few printouts she still has on Kaliba. At one time she had a whole bunch of material on that attorney.
Trying to rub the sleep from her tired eyes, she remembers the conversation she had with Cameron about the papers. It was around the time Riley was killed by Jesse, Derek's girlfriend.
Sarah, "There was a stack of research here, on that lawyer. The one who set up the drone shell company."
Cameron, "Derek took it."
Sarah, "When?"
Cameron, "While you were gone."
Sarah, "So he's chasing it down?"
Cameron, "I don't know."
Sarah has no idea what Derek did with the rest of the documents, he was killed by a terminator before she could ask. She hopes he disposed of them properly, because, apparently, he didn't do anything about the attorney. So it is up to her to finish chasing down that lead, on her own. It's her only clue to Kaliba, the people behind Sky Net.
She scans through the data John saved on his computer, then turns her attention to the few printouts they still have. Sarah sorts through the papers until she finds a letter with The Kaliba Group's attorney name and address on it.
Pulling out one of the many disposable cell phones from her bag, she places a phone call.
A receptionist picks up the ringing phone from the switchboard on the desk in front of her and says, "Kenmore, Alvin, Irwin, and Barnard, Attorneys. My name is Tamara. How may I help you?"
"Hi Tamara." Sarah says in an affected accent. "My name is Lillian Peters. I'm a reporter for the Los Angeles County Journal. I'm calling about the recent fire and explosion which destroyed the business of one of your client's, Desert Heat and Air Conditioning."
The receptionist types the caller's name and newspaper name into her computer.
"I'm sorry, but we don't give out information on our clients."
"That's understandable, but I have just two questions I'd like to ask the attorney who helped them get their business license. I have information that shows Desert Heat was a dummy company used to undertake illegal research with heavy metals and other exotic elements."
The search window, on Tamara's computer, updates showing there is no one by the reporter's name who works for that newspaper.
Sarah continues talking. "I'm sure neither your business nor the company behind Desert Heat would want the EPA to find out about this. So if I could have just a few minutes of Mr. Vincent's time."
"I'll see if he's in, Ms. Peters. Please hold."
Tamara presses the hold button and checks her computer. No trace or caller ID on the phone call. Very questionable.
She presses a button on the speed dial and places a call.
It only takes a second for the other line to pick up.
"Sir, I've got a reporter on line two for Mr. Vincent, the attorney who set up Desert Heat and Air. She says that she has a couple of questions for him. No sir, the caller must be using a prepaid cell phone. There isn't a phone trace or caller ID. Sir, she gives a name which isn't on the employee records for the newspaper she claims to work for. Yes sir. I understand sir."
The receptionist presses the button on her phone. "Ms. Peters, are you still there?"
"Yes I am." Sarah answers.
"Mr. Vincent is presently in town on business. He asks if you would be willing to meet him at a café on Wilshire Boulevard to answer your questions."
Sarah purses her lips, before answering. "Sure."
Sarah writes down the address and time.
"How will I know him?" Sarah asks.
She writes down a brief description.
"Thank you." Sarah answers and breaks the connection.
The receptionist puts the phone back down on its cradle and says, "No thank you."
Tamara Sky works in one of many cubicles in a room with one wall of windows facing west. There are many signs on the walls, and on the wall above Tamara's head is a sign that says, Halcyon Cybernetics, A division of The Kaliba Group.
# # #
Agent Auldridge is angry and trying not to show it. The Director has just informed him that he is to close up his investigation and turn over all materials, law enforcement and witness reports, evidence, etc. over to him before the end of the day.
"With all do respect sir, why?"
"I believe you have taken too much of a personal interest in the case and as such your objectivity in continuing your investigation could be considered unreliable if and when the case gets to court."
Mr. Auldridge decides to press it further. "How do you mean I've taken a personal interest in the case?"
"Agent Auldridge, you were overheard speaking to Sarah Connor in her prison cell, by one of the guards. He says that he clearly overheard you tell Sarah Connor that you believed her." The Director stands up from behind his desk and smooths the wrinkles in his gray suit. "Then yesterday in this very building I heard you tell Mr. Ellison that you wanted to help him and Sarah. Now, I call that taking a personal interest. In fact it could be construed as interfering in a federal investigation."
"That's stretching it, a little." Auldridge says adamantly. "Besides, I only said those things to try to gain their trust."
"It doesn't matter."The director makes a chopping motion with his hand. "If defense attorneys ever learned of what you had said, the judge could easily throw the case out. I'm sorry, but you are finished investigating all cases related to Sarah Connor, Zeira Corporation, Catherine Weaver, and Mr. Ellison."
Auldridge pauses a moment before responding, "Okay, I understand. I need to transfer my notes to the computer database, and backup all data."
"Good." says The Director, smiling as he walked towards Auldridge. "Just as long as you turn over all evidence collected, to me, by the end of the day."
Mr. Auldridge turns and walks away. He stops when he hears the director's door close. Looking quickly up and down the hall to see if anyone is about. He quickly goes back to the director's door and stands there listening. He can hear him talking to someone on the phone, but only The Director's voice.
"It's all arranged. Auldridge has been taken off the case."
"What? No it won't be necessary to kill him. If he's smart. He will stay away from this case."
"Well if he does, then I'll have no choice but to kill him then, will I."
"Yes, assign people to keep tabs on him."
"No I don't expect trouble from him, but I rather play it safe than be sorry later."
"Well if he gets custody then he won't have time to be a nuisance will he?"
"Have you located her, yet?"
"Yes, I know she is still out there. Our only lead right now is Ellison."
"If we don't locate her soon all of my plans could be ruined."
"Well then, maybe there is someway we can flush her out."
"That's not your concern. Just find her."
Mr. Auldridge has heard enough.
He walks away as quickly as he can, without arousing suspicion, back to his office.
Once he reaches his office he begins to pace, but quickly discovers there isn't enough room, so he sits in his office chair. His mind races over the conversation he just heard. "Who was the director talking to? I must be close to something or why else would I be removed from the case, then threatened with death if I keep looking. And who was the director keeping tabs on, was it me or someone else? No it can't be me. The director said that he was going to be getting custody. Custody of who? Ellison, it had to be Ellison. It was highly likely he was going to get temporary custody of Savannah Weaver. The report crossed my desk just yesterday. And who is the 'she' the director is looking for? Catherine Weaver? Or Sarah Connor? Either way they were having a hard time locating her. He mentioned needing to flush 'her out.' Whoever the director is, he isn't working for the FBI? Then who is he working for? And why doesn't he want me checking into Sarah Connor and Zeira Corp.?"
Auldridge looks up at the clock on the wall. If he is going to do what he is planning on doing, he will have to move fast.
# # #
Ellison's day started off pretty good. Pending news on whether Zeira Corp was to restart its business or close, he thought it best to turn the company car back in.
He drives back to Zeira Corp and parks in his assigned space three levels below ground. He walks to the Security Guards room and turns in his keys.
"Hey Mr. Ellison. Have you heard any news?" One of the security men ask.
"I'm sorry Chuck, not a whisper."
"So do you think it's a lost cause then."
"Is what a lost cause?"
"Zeira Corp, is it closing its doors for good?"
"To be honest. I don't think Zeira Corp will restart. All we are doing is guarding a ghost."
And with that Mr. Ellison walks away and takes the stairs to the upper level where his personal car was parked. Not as sharp as the one provided by the company, but it was the best he could buy on an Agent's salary at the time.
As he approaches it, he observes that something doesn't look right. It was several days since the last time he drove it, but he can tell that the rear of the vehicle seems to be sagging a bit.
When he gets closer, he looks his vehicle over carefully, but can't spot anything else amiss. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he slowly unlocks the trunk. He listens carefully, for any clicks other than those of the lock. Nothing. He slowly raises the lid and feels around the edges for any trip wires or other devices. Nothing.
Taking stock of the situation, he raises the lid. Ellison is shocked to see a body. The body of an adult white male, with dark hair, angular jaw line, possibly in his mid-thirties. He looks around the parking garage. No one is about. Ellison leans in to take a closer look at the body. There appears to be some blood on the scalp. He reaches over and checked the wound. It is a deep semicircular cut. He touches it and a whole flap of skin falls back revealing a shiny metal skull.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Ellison exclaims pulling back quickly. It's one of them!, his mind shouts.
"Now how the hell did it get in my trunk?" He says out loud.
He takes another look around then examines the body. He finds a slip of paper in a shirt pocket. It is the only thing on the body other than two recently fired hand guns with silencers.
He closes the lid and gets in his car. He unfolds the slip of paper. It's in Ms. Weaver's precise and letter perfect handwriting.
Mr. Ellison,
I apologize for the shock you must have had when opening the trunk of your car.
It tried to assassinate me. It didn't know my little secret, which of course you must know by now. Please take care of the body. I assume you will know how.
Look after Savannah for me. I have become very fond of her.
Catherine Weaver
"When does this ever stop?" He thinks.
Turning the ignition, he puts the vehicle into gear and drives out of the parking garage. As he pulls out into traffic, a gray van pulls out from the curb and followed him.
2009, Day 3, 10:30 AM
Sarah has been parked for half an hour watching a man at the café who matches the description she was given. Sandy hair, wearing a blue blazer, a yellow sports shirt, and gray slacks.
Her appointment was for 10:15 AM, but she has no intention of keeping it.
Pulling out the cell phone, she used previously, Sarah dials the number for the attorney's office.
"Hello, Tamara. This is Ms. Peters. I called earlier and arranged to meet with Mr. Vincent at the café downtown. Would you please let him know that I'm unable to make that appointment and I will call again to reschedule. Thank you."
Sarah hangs up promptly and picks up her small pair of binoculars.
The man described to her as Mr. Vincent is sipping a cup of coffee at an outdoor table.
A couple of minutes later, she sees him pull a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. His suit coat tents enough for her to catch a glimpse of what appears to be a shoulder holster.
Mr. Vincent speaks for no more than a few seconds and then gets up to leave.
She watches as he gets into an expensive red sports car.
Obviously an import and probably over compensating for his own inadequacies, she thinks.
With a grin at her own private joke, she pulls away from the curb following the Kaliba Group's attorney.
As Sarah drives away, a motorcyclist in full leathers and helmet pulls out from a narrow space between two cars and follows her.
# # #
Mr. Auldridge has been working frantically all morning since given the news he is off the case. Something doesn't feel right about it, and against all his training he's going to defy the director's orders.
First he meticulously copied all his hand written notes by hand in fresh notebooks, these he placed in the box for the director. He placed the originals in his own box. He took all of the printed sheets, forms from other law enforcement agencies, witness testimonies, photographs, etc. and ran off copies on his personal copier. He took photographs, with his digital camera, of all objects and forensic evidence gathered at the crime scenes. All originals went into the box for the director all copies went into his box.
He then downloads gigabytes of data from the FBI servers. Everything he could find, all files, folders, photographs, every piece of detail related to Sarah Connor, John Connor, Zeira Corp, Catherine Weaver, and Savannah Weaver. All of this he burns to optical discs and places them in his box.
It was almost mid day by the time he had finished. He skipped lunch and his stomach is complaining from all the coffee he drank. He sealed up the box for the director, and wrote the case number and subject on the lid and signed the sheet, the first line, as the last person to have access to the box.
"Let's hope I'm not the last to look into this case." He says to himself, as he hefts the box onto his desk.
Auldridge takes one more look at his own box. It looks too much like an evidence box, he thinks. So he looks around his office and his eyes fall on the shelves which had been filling up with personal mementos over the years. He grabs a bunch of items, and places them in his box on top of everything. That's better, he thinks, less obvious.
He shoves his own box under his desk. Auldridge picks up the one for the director and carries it to his office.
The Director's door is closed. Auldridge struggles to hold the heavy box on one knee to knock on the door. There is no answer. Auldridge tries the knob and it isn't locked. He goes in and sets the box on the Director's desk.
The room looks very organized. There is nothing out-of-place, no folders or papers laying on his desk, his calendar blotter has no appointments written on it and no doodles. There isn't even any dust.
"What is this guy, some kind of neat freak?" Auldridge says low, then he sees the director's cell phone is laying on his desk plugged into the charger.
Seeing an opportunity, Auldridge closes the door, leaving it open just a crack so he can hear what's in the hall. He goes back to the desk and checks the cell phones directory of sent and received calls. There are two calls during the time in which he was outside the director's office this morning. He jots them both down on a post-it-note and shoved it into his pocket. He just cleared the cell phone's display and sets it back on the desk when the Director walks in.
The Director gives Agent Auldridge a firm but questioning look and glances quickly and sharply at him and around the room.
"Good Afternoon Director, I just stopped by to drop off all the materials you requested." Auldridge swallows. He hopes the Director wouldn't become suspicious.
"Thank you. May I ask what you are doing behind my desk?" The Director says very coolly.
"Well, I knocked and you weren't in. So I came in and placed the box of evidence on your desk. I was just deciding whether or not to leave you a note, when you walked in." Auldridge lies smoothly.
"Yes, well I'm here now."
"Ahh, of course." Auldridge comes out from behind the desk. "Sorry."
The director walks behind his desk and glances at the sealed box. "Is everything in here?"
"Yes, sir." Then Auldridge adds, "I'm sorry if my investigation technique hurt the case. I was only trying to extract more information from the suspects."
"So you no longer have a problem with my reassigning the case?"
"No, sir" Auldridge pauses a moment, then asked, "Who will be handling the case now sir?"
"The investigation is being turned over to Homeland Security. They will then assign someone from their domestic terrorism group."
"OK. If its all right sir, I'd like to take the rest of the afternoon off for a dental appointment."
"No problem. Just be here on time tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
Auldridge steps out through the door and closed it behind him. He audibly sighs and walks to reception, where he sees Mabel, so he decides to walk over and chat with her.
"Hey Mabel?"
"Oh hi, Mr. Auldridge. What can I do for you?"
"Do you have the name of the Detective on the LA Police force who was handling the Zeira Corp investigation from their end?"
"Yes. Just let me pull it up on my computer." She types away, and clicks the mouse on a few icons then a window pops up with Detective Macklin's name and phone number. "Shall I print it off for you?"
"Yes, please." He waits by the printer and pulls the sheet out when it is done. He folds it and places it in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
"I'd appreciate it, if you wouldn't tell anyone," and here he lowers his voice, "especially the Director."
Mabel's eyes brighten and she gives him a knowing look. "Yes, Mr. Auldridge. I understand."
"Oh, and I'll be out the rest of the afternoon. I have a dental appointment." With that Agent Auldridge leaves reception and goes to his office. He picks up his box and goes out the back door to his car.
Mabel goes into the ladies' restroom and locks the door behind her. She turns on the tap, and pulls out her cell phone and dials a number.
When Mr. Ellison's cell phone rang, he was driving through Los Angeles, wondering what to do with the body in his trunk. As it rang, he pulled over into an empty parking space. As he did so, he saw in his drivers side mirror a gray van come to a sudden stop.
"Hello, Mr. Ellison. Mabel here."
"Hello Mabel. What can I do for you?"
A small car had cut in front of the van and had parked in the only other available space. The van's driver looked like he was looking for another parking space.
"Mr. Ellison, I just want to let you know that I think Mr. Auldridge suspects something about the director."
"And why are you telling me this?"
Car horns start blaring behind the van, and the driver is forced to drive on past Mr. Ellison. It didn't stop until the next block where it parked in front of a florist shop. Mr. Ellison's curiosity was roused but he maintained his conversation with Mabel.
"You need friends in the agency Mr. Ellison. People with authority."
"Thank you Mabel. I'll keep it mind."
"I'm sending you his phone number. I have to go now."
Ellison looks at his phone as the text message came through with Agent Auldridge's phone number. He transfers the phone number to his phone book, then sits there and thinks a moment.
His eyes fall on the gray van parked on the next corner. Thinking over the last couple of days, he suddenly realizes that he had been seeing quite a few plain gray commercial vans wherever he went.
It could be just a coincidence, but his gut says otherwise. He quickly decides on a plan of action.
He flips on his turn signal for pulling out into traffic. As soon as a space appears, he pulls out and drives at normal speed approaching the intersection. The van is parked at the next corner. No one had gotten out, but Ellison can see movement in the cab reflected in the vans mirrors.
The light is about to turn red. Gunning the engine, Mr Ellison accelerates through the right hand lane. As soon as he cleared the cars on his left, he made a hard left turn and accelerated up the street.
Cars screech to a stop, to the sound of blaring horns as he cuts off vehicles in the intersection.
He drives quickly up the street, then takes the next right. He continues in a zig-zag pattern, sometimes down a street, other times down an alley until he's certain he's lost the tail.
Ellison doesn't know who the men are in the van, or if they are following him. But he knows he had to shake them. Not thinking it is wise to go home, he goes home anyway. He has to do something about the terminator's body in his trunk.
The men in the van are upset, and scared. They had lost sight of Mr. Ellison. They were due to check in soon and they knew their boss was going to be mad. One of them pulled out a cell phone and makes a call.
Back in the Director's office, the Director is sitting at his desk looking at the box of evidence. It is sealed against tampering. Slowly the Director raised his hand and points his index finger. It slowly extends into a silver blade, with which he slices open the seals.
# # #
Sarah is parked one block down from the red sports car in an abandoned industrial center. From her position she can see that there is no one in the car.
In the ground, next to the main office building, is a realtor's sign with a sold sign stuck over it.
What could bring a man of his obvious wealth to this district? Unless he has business with a client. But where is his client's car? Unless they are parked somewhere else.
Sarah approaches the car. Nothing inside of it.
Where is Mr. Vincent? Must be inside. Possibly meeting a client. After all, he is a business attorney.
She checks the door and finds that it is unlocked. Not trusting it, Sarah runs down a litter-strewn alley, beside the building. Across the street, someone watches her from behind a dumpster, in an empty parking lot. Empty, but for a single motorcycle parked behind the dumpster.
# # #
The Director is busy looking over the evidence provided by Mr. Auldridge. He is hoping that there is something that would lead to Catherine Weaver or Sarah Connor. So far he is disappointed. Nothing he has seen so far provides any information that he didn't know already.
His cell phone begins to ring. Picking it up off his polished desk, he flips it open and answers it.
"Hello."
"We lost Mr. Ellison."
"What!"
"He pulled over unexpectedly, and when we tried to park we got cut-off by someone. We had no choice but to drive on past Mr. Ellison and park." The voice on the other end whines.
"Now let me make one thing very clear. You will find him, today. You will call me when you do."
"We don't know where to look."
"Well then, I suggest you go back to his home. He is bound to return."
"But what if we don't find him?"
"If you don't find him, then lets just say I don't accept failure." He says coldly.
The director's eyes glint silver as anger flashes through his system. He places the phone back down and resumes going through the evidence."
# # #
Sarah is carefully making her way through the non-operational factory, having found a means of entry through the shipping and receiving office in the back. It was a simple matter of removing the window air conditioner to gain access. She can put it back when she leaves. If she has the time. These things never go according to plan, and she's making this plan up as she goes.
Pipes and conduits rise up from the floor and travel across the ceiling. Some diverging and entering other rooms or interfacing with equipment on the factory floor. She's curious as to what the factory once built. Some of the equipment bares a similarity to the factory where Kyle died to save her life. So its purpose is to work with metal, but in what capacity?
She quickly shakes off the melancholy, and focuses on the mission at hand.
After a few minutes, she reaches the doors to the front office, having encountered no other people inside.
As Sarah approaches the double doors entering the offices, she can hear voices. Muffled as if from coming from many rooms away.
Pushing carefully through the doors, the voices become distinctly louder.
Sunlight shines through the main office doors and filters down the corridor providing plenty of light.
Following the muffled voices, Sarah methodically checks each room in passing, to ensure no surprises will be behind her. Soon she finds herself outside a conference room door.
The voices are louder now, but still indistinguishable.
Glancing out the front door, she sees no other vehicles have joined the red convertible out front.
So if Mr. Vincent is here, which he is, and he arrived alone, which he did, then who is he speaking to?
Listening carefully, she begins to make out a certain repetition in the sounds. A recording maybe? Or a bad phone connection?
Pulling out her gun, she steps back from the double door and gives it a solid kick throwing it open.
Sarah walks inside the conference room to find a digital voice recorder playing back a conversation on the far end of the table. Nothing of importance is being said.
"Fuck!" Sarah swears, realizing it's a trap.
She turns to leave the room.
"Hello Ms. Peters. If that is your real name." Mr. Vincent says from just inside the door to the conference room. "Interesting places, janitor closets. Hardly anyone ever thinks to look in them, including you."
Sarah holds the gun behind her leg and doesn't take her eyes off the man in front of her. She decides to maintain her disguise. Mr. Vincent could be innocent of the going ons of Kaliba Group.
"I'm Lillian Peters, a reporter for Los Angeles County Journal. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions." She lies easily.
"Was there something wrong with the café? At least there we could have had a cappuccino or a latté while we talked."
"You might not want the answers to my questions to be overheard in public. Thought it best to follow you to someplace more private."
"Maybe." He gestures at a seat as he enters the room. "Please, sit down."
"I'll stand." She answers, knowing it would be easier to go on the offensive or defensive while standing.
"What do you know of Desert Heat and Air's activities or that of its subsidiary Western Iron and Steel?"
Mr. Vincent walks further into the room. "Both companies are owned by my client, The Kaliba Group. It owns many diversified businesses. In fact they've just purchased this factory to expand their current operations."
Sarah can only imagine what their current operations are, considering the HK drone she saw attack Zeira Corp.
"I have a report in my office that shows Desert Heat worked with some exotic metal alloy's, like Coltan. Could you explain why a heating and air-conditioning business would be using metals not common to that trade?" She bluffs, trying to hold onto her guise of being a reporter.
"I haven't got a clue Ms. Peters. You'd have to ask someone from the company." He curls his lips in an arrogant grin. "Oops. So sorry. They're all dead aren't they."
"Yes, and I haven't been able to contact anyone at Western Iron and Steel either." Sarah says, casually moving toward the door.
This character definitely knows something and his body language shows he has no fear. There are no other exits from the room, and without help around the corner, she needs to be closer to the door to make her escape, if it comes to that.
"That is easy to explain. The same employees worked for both companies, splitting their time between each as needed."
"Kind of strange that there was no mention of that in previous news reports or as to why all employees were at Desert Heat on the day of the explosion."
"Perhaps it was left out of the papers, for a reason." Mr. Vincent says more firmly. "Before I answer any more questions, I'd like to see some ID that proves you work for the newspaper."
"I've asked all the questions I wanted. If I have more, I'll call your office."
She pretends to ignore him as she moves to get between him and the door.
Mr. Vincent flexes his wrist, and an object slides from his forearm into the palm of his hand unseen.
"You're not going anywhere." He says, threateningly.
Sarah brings her gun up from behind her leg, when she is struck in the abdomen by two metal prongs, trailing wires. 50000 volts course through her body causing her to convulse violently and collapse, dropping her gun on the floor.
Mr. Vincent kicks her gun away and leans threateningly over Sarah's prone body.
"Now you will answer my questions," He says menacingly, "Sarah Connor."
# # #
Ellison arrives home just before noon.
Quieting any thoughts that he might still be followed, he drives around the block three times checking every driveway and niche for a gray van, but none are to be found.
He backs the car into his garage, and pops the trunk lid. Ellison gets out quickly, closes the doors to the garage and locks them.
Ellison drags the body out of the trunk, and down a set of concrete steps to his basement.
The house was built in the days of coal fired furnaces and there is still an old coal bin in the back corner of the basement. At one time he had hoped to convert the space into a workshop, but he had been too busy of late.
He lays the body on the floor, and shifts the stack of lumber so that it completely covers the body. It is the best he can do for now. He'll have to ask Sarah what she uses to burn the bodies.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he goes to the kitchen to get a bite to eat. He just finishes eating when his home phone begins to ring.
"Hello, Mr. Ellison, this is Ms. Williams from Child Protective Services."
"Good Afternoon. How is Savannah doing?" Ellison, cheerfully.
"She is doing quite well, and I have good news for you. You've been approved to act as Savannah's guardian until such time as a more permanent arrangement can be made."
"I'm pleased to hear it." Ellison says with a big smile. He is very fond of Savannah, and hopes he can provide her a good home.
"I thought you would be. You can pick Savannah up anytime this afternoon, or first thing tomorrow morning."
"Well if I know Savannah she is probably beside herself right now. I'll be there, around 4 o'clock."
"I'll look forward to seeing you then, goodbye."
"Good bye."
Ellison is in a quandary. "Now what am I going to do." He thinks. "Someone is tailing me, I have a body in my basement and a fugitive in hiding, and now I have a little girl to take care of. And I thought working in law enforcement was tough. It's got nothing compared to civilian life."
Mr. Ellison goes upstairs to change into a fresh suit.
He never saw the gray van that parked down the street, nor the man who got out and peered through his garage windows and the ground floor windows of his home.
Ms. Williams is very happy. It isn't very often she can place a child so easily with a responsible adult. It is especially pleasing when there is a strong bond between a child and an adult.
She walks into the room where Savannah is playing with another child.
"I have good news for you Savannah."
"What Ms. Williams?" Savannah asks, hoping it might be news about her mommy.
"I just spoke with Mr. Ellison on the phone. He will be coming over to see you this afternoon."
"Yeeaaaah." Savannah picked up her stuffed giraffe and jumps up and down.
Ms. Williams chuckled, "That isn't all Savannah."
Savannah stops jumping and looked at her with expectant eyes. "You will be going home with him."
"Yeeaaaah!" Savannah started running around the room shouting, "I get to go live with Uncle James! I get to live with Uncle James!"
# # #
Mr. Vincent checks Sarah's pulse. Her heart is still beating strongly. It wouldn't pay to deliver her dead. There are answers they need.
Pulling the metal prongs from her body, the man tosses the taser to one side and bodily lifts Sarah into one of the empty chairs.
"I can't wait to begin to ask you the questions, Sarah Connor." The man says, running his hands coarsely over her body as he searches for additional weapons.
"Like I wouldn't recognize the infamous Sarah Connor. You've been on every newscast for days now."
He continues patting her down. He just lays his hands on her wallet in an inner pocket of her leather jacket, when he hears a small sound behind him, alerting him to a new presence in the room.
Mr. Vincent stands up, turning quickly, while drawing a gun from his shoulder holster.
In a blink of an eye, he notices a figure in black leather motorcycle gear and a full coverage helmet, holding a gun on him.
In the time he takes to aim, his opponent begins firing. Three shots strike him in the chest as he returns fire. He only gets off two shots before falling back against the table, gasping for breath. Falling on the floor, he watches the figure enter the room.
My shots must have gone wild, he thinks. I could have sworn I hit the bastard.
As Mr. Vincent slowly succumbs to his mortal injuries, the stranger picks Sara's gun up off the floor, and places it in a jacket pocket. The stranger follows by gently picking Sarah up from the chair and carrying her out of the room.
His last thought, as Mr. Vioncent's life ebbs away, is, Fuck! The bitch had backup.
# # #
Agent Auldridge had just got off the phone with Detective Macklin. They didn't think it was a coincidence that they were both pulled off the same case. They both had questions that weren't getting answers. There was evidence or lack of evidence that didn't support the theory the authorities were going with.
They decide to get together that evening and compare notes.
Agent Auldridge calls the agency and leaves a message with the Director's secretary that he has to go in for emergency oral surgery tomorrow morning to have an abscess removed that had formed around a root of a tooth.
The secretary offered her sympathies and promised to pass the word along to the Director.
"Well that's taken care of." He thinks. "If they need documentation, I can just get my brother-in-law to falsify a few medical forms. After a few drinks he'll do anything for the right price."
Auldridge pours himself a drink and makes a toast, "Thank God my sister married an alcoholic dentist."
2009, Day 3, Afternoon
Sarah wakes to the sound of a buzzing noise. Opening her eyes, she sees a hornet flying around the room. It lands on a bedside digital clock as it flips over to 2:07 P.M. Beside the digital clock is her gun.
Startled she sits up and looks around, confused to finds herself back in the apartment.
"What the hell?" She asks the empty bedroom, wondering how she got back here.
She still has on the same clothes she had on the previous night and she can't fathom what happened.
Sarah quickly dashes outside to see her SUV is where she parked it last night. This doesn't make any sense.
Didn't I go out this morning? Or was it another dream?
She checks her vehicle out and sees everything is in place, including Cameron's body hidden by her other belongings.
Wait a minute. I moved my vehicle to the parking garage last night. Or was that another dream?
Making her way back up the steps, she sees a hornet nest on the ceiling of the balcony. While she watches, a hornet flies through a gap in the boards covering the busted window of the apartment where she is hiding.
Feeling some soreness on her stomach, she pulls up her shirt and sees two small welts with some mild bruising on her stomach.
Did I dream about being shot by a taser, or did I get stung by hornets in the night? Damn. All this running around, not enough sleep, and worrying about John. It would be weird if I didn't have strange dreams.
She goes back inside. John's computer and the paper's are where she left them, on the kitchen table. She definitely recalls pulling them out to complete the search this morning, being unable to sleep. Maybe she returned to bed half-asleep and just dreamed about chasing the lawyer down.
It's too late to do anything about it now. She has a long drive ahead of her and if she is to be back before dawn, she can't leave any later than 4:30 P.M.
"Everything is so confusing." She says with despair. "I never should have let John go."
She sees a reflection of herself in the microwave window. Her hair is unkempt, her clothes look like she's been sleeping in them, and she takes a sniff.
"I need a shower," she voices out loud.
Sarah goes into the bathroom and strips. Turning on the shower, she steps inside. She washes with the water as hot as she can, the finishing off with a rinse of cold water to close her open pores.
Getting out, she wraps a towel around herself and walks to the bedroom. Feeling physically better, if not emotionally better, Sarah decides it's time for a change of wardrobe. She drops her towel and pulls some fresh underwear out her backpack on the floor.
When she stands up, Sarah looks at herself in the mirror. She studies herself sliding her hands over her body, noting the curves, the tightness of her stomach, the firmness of her muscles, and the scars she had acquired in her life. Each one has a story. Her fingers slid effortlessly over the commonplace scars she got while gun running in Central America. They have little to say. Her fingers find the scars from fighting the machines. Her face flashes with anger. The stories they told are scary, horrendous, and are not important. Her face grimaces when her fingers find the new scar on her left leg she acquired when she got careless. She won't make that mistake again.
Her hands slide across her abdomen, and there, barely visible a few light scars from the stretch marks she got when pregnant with John. These had a story to tell she was proud of and loved to tell. She smiles as she thinks of John. No matter how old a child got and no matter how far away they were, a mother always had a connection to her children. Tonight, she'll do one more thing for John. To show him that she trusts him with the hardest decision of his life.
She sits on the edge of the bed sliding her panties over her feet and up her legs. Standing up, Sarah pulls them over her hips. She then picks up her bra, straightens out the twists in the straps, and then slides the straps onto her shoulders, reaches behind her back and snapped the catch close. Looking in the mirror, she repositioned the cups on her breasts, then opens the closet door.
She digs through the closet and finds a pair of jeans. The pant legs are too long, so she pulls her knife out and cuts the excess off and pulls the jeans on. Next are a pair of cowboy boots with a flat heal she puts on tucking the ragged end of the jeans inside the boots. George Lazslo's shirts were too big, so Sarah pulls a T-shirt out her bag and slips it on. She then used one of his denim shirts as a light jacket rolling the sleeves up so they were just below her elbows and ties off the long shirt tails around her waist.
Sarah looks around the room. With the instincts of someone who has always been on the run, she has the feeling that she will not return. She picks up everything that is laying around. All her belongings, she shoves into a plastic bag, and then stuffs it into her back pack. All of Lazslo's belongings are picked up and put back in the closet and drawers. She grabs a bag from the kitchen and goes into the bathroom and picks up the wet towels and shoves them inside. She does the same with the denim scraps, the empty tin of sardines, and the paper she used to write her note. The box of crackers she put in her back pack.
Then like she did before, she puts on the cap and tucks her hair up inside. Slipping on her backpack, Sarah grabs the bag of trash and goes out the door. It is 4:15 P.M.
# # #
Mr. Ellison couldn't be happier. He arrived at Child Protective Services at 4 PM and was greeted by one of the biggest hugs he ever had from such a small package. After signing a few forms, he and Savannah head home.
Ellison was wondering how Sarah was doing. He hadn't been able to stop by and check on her since leaving her all alone at Laszlo's apartment. He wondered if it would be safe to check on her now.
He looks in the rear view mirror. They were back. You'd think they would have changed vehicles after I spotted them this morning …amateurs, he thinks. But there they are, five cars back and still tailing him in that gray van.
He would have tried shaking them off, but he dare not do any fancy driving with Savannah in the car.
No, he thinks, I'll have to try something else.
Savannah is as happy as could be. She was sitting in the back seat happily chatting and playing with her stuffed giraffe.
"Savannah, how would you like to go out to eat tonight? Sort of a celebration."
"You mean, like a party?" She asks with enthusiasm.
"Well no. Not a party. Just a special meal to celebrate your coming to live with me."
"OK!" Savannah thinks a moment, then says, "Uncle James, can I have ice cream for desert?"
"Yes dear, you can have ice cream."
She can barely contain her excitement, causing the ex-agent to smile. Ellison drives to a nice little family friendly restaurant he'd take his brother and his family to when they would visit from Atlanta.
Along the way he pulls out his cell phone. This might be the time to call Agent Auldridge, he thinks.
# # #
Sarah is driving her SUV through the outskirts of Los Angeles, taking all the side streets and back roads to the desert highway. The police are more likely to be looking for her on the main roads.
She keeps her eye out for any police cars but sees few of them on her trip, and most haven't been facing her direction.
While waiting for a traffic light, a cop car pulls up beside her. Sarah reaches behind her and grabs the gun stuffed in the back of her jeans, but the police drive straight on ahead, when the light turns green.
Letting the cop car gain some distance, Sarah decides to take a right.
A few cars back, the same motorcyclist is following Sarah. The person is slim and dressed in full leathers. Their helmet completely conceals the driver's face. It is impossible to tell the sex of the person.
Unseen by Sarah, the motorcyclist pauses at the light, then continues on the route that Sarah took.
# # #
Ellison and Savannah were having a very good time at the restaurant. They were having burgers, steamed vegetables, and french fries. Savannah's personality charmed the waitresses. Each one stopped at the table to meet the little girl who had such a winning smile.
Savannah told her Uncle James all the things she did while under the care of Ms. Williams. Told him the stories she read, the games they played, and all about school time, nap time, and the other kids she met.
Ellison was a little worried that not once did she ask about her mother, but then this wasn't exactly the time or place for him to broach the subject. His cell phone beeps. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text message.
"Savannah, as soon as you finished your ice cream we'll have to leave." Ellison looks about the room and then calls over a waitress.
"Miss, if you'd be so kind as to get me the check, my niece and I would like to leave."
The waitress soon returns with the check in one of those fancy faux leather bound books. Ellison glances at the check, pulls a couple of large bills from his wallet and places it inside with the check.
"Savannah, let's go wash our hands before we leave."
"I'll need to use the bathroom Uncle James."
"Okay, but be quick." He says as the door to the ladies room clicks shut.
It seemed like several minutes had gone by, but it was only three, when the door opens and Savannah said, "I'm all done."
"Did you wash your hands?"
"Yes mommy showed me how." Ellison heart skips a beat, this was the first time she mentioned her mom since he picked her up that afternoon.
Ellison takes her hand, and goes through the door marked employees only.
"Hey, this isn't the way out." Savannah protests, as they make their way through the kitchen.
"I know dear, but we are playing a game."
"What kind of game Uncle James?"
"Well, it's kind of like hide-and-seek, and as long as we stay out of sight, it won't become tag." And with that last statement, he picks up Savannah and hits the crash bar on the back door.
The alley was still warm from the afternoon sun. At the moment he wasn't visible to anyone in the alley as there were trash bins on either side of the door. He sneaks a peek over the top of the bin to his left and he can see the roof of the gray van parked on the street blocking the entrance to the alley. He looks over the top of the other bin and can see the shoulder and nose of a man in gray overalls squeezed in a gap between two buildings.
Clever but not clever enough, Ellison thinks, He is hidden well, but from that position he'd be slow to react.
He places Savannah on the ground and kneels down next to her so they were almost at eye level.
"Savannah, the people we are playing hide-and seek with are in this alley." He whispers.
He smooths her dress and holds her hand. "I have a friend who will be driving up this alley and when he stops, I need you to run as quick as you can and get in the car. Okay."
"Yes," said Savannah. "Uncle James, are you in trouble?"
"No sweetheart. Please just do as I say and everything will be all right."
Savannah nods her head in understanding.
It was now or never. He pulls out his cell phone and punches in a number, and says just one word, "Now!"
A blue sedan flies up the alley from the opposite end and screeches to a halt in front of Ellison. The rear door pops open. Ellison grabs the little girl and leaps inside pulling the door shut as he goes.
"Drive man, Drive!" He shouts.
Auldridge shifts the car into reverse and hits the gas. The man who was hiding in the alley had just come out of hiding. He leaps wildly out-of-the-way as the car roars past. Rolling over and sitting up he pulls out a gun and fires five quick shots at the car. The bullets bounced off the grill, bumper, and mirrors. One goes through the windshield and lodges itself in the front passenger seat.
The FBI Agent drives in reverse all the way back down the alley, scraping his fenders against walls and trash bins. To the sound of screeching brakes and tires, he flies out into the street backwards, where he stops, shifts into forward gear and takes off down the street.
"I hope you got a damn good story as to why you were being followed and why they shot at me."
"Hey! No swearing in front of the little girl." Ellison sits up in the back seat and pulls Savannah up off the floor where he had laid her to protect her. "Are you okay sweetheart?"
Savannah is crying. "I'm scared. Why was that man shooting at us?"
"I don't know Savannah, but Agent Auldridge and I are going to find out."
Auldridge is cursing under his breath. He is going to have one hell of time explaining to his brother-in-law about the damage done to his car.
# # #
Miss Tamara Sky is making her way through the office building, the setting sun creating odd light and shadows in the cubicle filled office space.
An odd feeling comes over her as she walks through the mostly vacant building, but for a few others like herself who stay late. She glances quickly around herself as she reaches the elevator and sees nothing amiss.
Pressing the down button for the elevator, she is pleased when the door opens immediately. She steps inside quickly, pressing the button to take her to the lobby. The doors close before she faces the front, preventing her from seeing the carpeting undulate and then squeeze through the narrow gap between the elevator and the floor.
She has worked the last six months as a receptionist for Fox Industries, fielding calls for many of the businesses under its umbrella. Tamara felt herself lucky when she landed this job, having to drop out of modeling school to help raise her younger brother and sister when their parents died. She could have gotten far in modeling with her exotic blend of Asian and Native American looks. But family comes first and now she wonders if she shouldn't have found another job. Today she took two calls for their attorney. The circumstances of which, felt wrong. She followed procedure, but after the second call, she did some digging and found there is no legal firm with that name in California. It's just another shell company.
With a sigh of relief, Tamara exits the elevator when it reaches the ground floor. Waving goodbye to the security guard. She makes her way to the employee entrance.
She decides tomorrow, she'll tell them she is quitting. Better than that, she just won't go in to work. She'll find another job, maybe send out her portfolio to a few more modeling agencies.
As she walks across the tarmac to her car, she once again has this odd feeling. She turns around quickly, but no one is there. The parking lot almost empty but for a dozen or so scattered vehicles. The sun almost disappearing behind the hills.
Pulling her keys from her purse, she picks up her pace, trotting in her high heels to an old blue Dodge Neon she bought to get to and from work.
Behind her, the asphalt appears to shimmer and move, following close behind.
Tamara reaches her car and fumbles with the keys to unlock the door.
Just as she hears a satisfying click, she notices a reflected movement in the window. Some solid object rising up between herself and the sun.
Turning quickly she sees what looks like a humanoid figure of asphalt standing in front of her.
In shock, she drops her purse, as the figure shifts to a metallic form.
Before she can even cry out, or move, its arm suddenly thrusts forward piercing her heart, killing Tamara Sky instantly.
"So sorry Ms. Sky," the figure says as it shifts into a human male, "But then you were snooping and you knew too much about our late Mr. Vincent's appointments today."
# # #
The sun had set nearly an hour ago. Sarah is deep in the desert. She had stopped twice along the way. The first time to fill up the gas tank, the second time to empty her own.
She pulled off the highway onto a dirt track. She traveled another five miles then turned off following a dry wash. When she got to the standing rock, she turned south for about 150 yards then stopped.
It was pitch black in the desert. But for the stars in the sky, there were no lights to be seen. If Sarah was so inclined, she could just see the lights on the interstate from the roof of her SUV.
Sarah knows the area well.
A battered old Ford pickup travels through the desert sounding more like some giant child's rusty rattle than anything resembling transport. It comes to a stop and the cloud of dust that had been chasing it catches up to it and settles around the occupants.
"Where are we Mom?" A young boy's voice cries out beside her
Sarah turns in her seat and ruffles the hair on John's head.
"Where we are supposed to be, John." Sarah answers.
She hands her son a canteen. She's pleased to see that he remembers his training and only takes a small amount. Swishing it around inside his mouth and holding it there, letting it moisten every surface before letting the refreshing water slowly travel to the back of his throat, where he swallows it.
Sarah watches her son. They've had a hard life in Central America. It shows more around her eyes than anywhere else on her. They soften ever so slightly when she looks at John. How he reminds her of his father. She wishes so much that Kyle was here to see him.
Shaking the feeling, Sarah concentrates on the task at hand walking along the track, away from the truck along the same path, her feet somewhat dragging as she searches for the chain. She suddenly comes to a stop as her feet finds it. She turns back to John waiting by the truck and says, "Grab the bag. It's here."
John dutifully runs to the back of the truck and climbs up and grabs the heavy black bag. She knows it's too heavy for him, but she wants to see what he can do on his own.
Sarah grabs the chain that her foot kicked up, and lifts it. She pulls with all her strength. A gritty metallic sound is heard as the heavy door slides back on its runners. She decides it would be prudent to bring some grease with her on her next trip.
John drags the bag around to the front of the old Ford in time to see his mom drop the chain.
Sarah returns to the truck, giving John a smile of satisfaction for his efforts.
Sarah takes a flashlight from the glove box. Flipping the light on, she descends the cement block steps slowly, shining the light on the steps and the area beyond. Everything is just like Juan Pedro told her, before the authorities caught him and killed him. That's justice in Nicaragua. And the authorities are whoever is in control at the time, or whoever has paid off the police or Army the most.
No one knows about this place but her and John.
She shines the light around the place. "Good ole Juan Pedro. You were the best gun runner I ever knew."
Juan was a career gun runner. Supplying everyone from drug cartels, revolutionaries, counter revolutionaries. He supplied them all. He didn't care about anyone's beliefs or why they needed the weapons, all he wanted was their money. It was only fair. They wanted his guns.
Sarah had worked with him for a long time. She had learned a lot about weapons and weapons smuggling from Juan. She gave him the only thing she had to give him in trade. It was humiliating at first, Juan had some strange tastes, but she got over it. And it got her this, a large underground structure, made from cargo containers buried under the desert. More than enough room to store weapons for a small army. An army she hopes John will someday never need, but must prepare for anyway.
She hears a sound behind her and turns to look. John has carried the heavy bag of guns down the steps on his own. She never asked him to do that. The bag must weigh more than him.
Sarah smiles and gives him a look of approval. John just smiles back. Pleasing his mother is something he liked to do, because he knew it made her happy.
With a few tears in her eyes, Sarah opens the door to the underground bunker like she has done so many times before. Inside, is a generator and drums of fuel. There are racks of equipment, guns, ammunition, explosives, with timers and detonators. Over the years the weapons, in the desert hideaway, had steadily grown in number so that now there is enough equipment for a small army.
# # #
A gray cargo van pulls up outside a factory, parking behind a red convertible sports car.
Six men get out of the van and go inside. One of them holding an electronic device in his hand.
"GPS locater says he's in here." He says to the others while gesturing at the door marked conference room.
They enter the room to find a man laying on his back, in a pool of blood, most of which has soaked into the carpet.
"Damn. What was Mr. Vincent doing out here alone anyway?"
"He was checking out some snoopy lady reporter with questionable credentials."
"Looks like, she got the drop on him." One man says as he picks up Mr. Vincent's cell phone where it fell to the floor.
"All right guys, cut the chit-chat. We've found him, now we've got to clean this room before the building inspectors arrive tomorrow morning."
"The boss isn't going to like the fact his star attorney is dead." A man says as he and two others begin wrapping the body in a blue tarp.
"He'll just buy himself another one, as always."
Two of the men carry the dead body out to the van while the other four begin moving furniture. They'll have to take up the carpet and replace it or questions will be asked.
The six of them then proceed to remove the carpeting and scrubbing down the floor with bleach.
# # #
Sarah throws open the rear doors on her SUV, revealing the bags and Cameron's body, strapped to the hand-truck. Dropping the bags on the ground, she drags the dolly from the back.
Sarah wheels Cameron's body to the hatch and eases her down the steps to the floor below. She finds a place in the back where she can make room on a lower shelf.
She struggles a bit, but manages to slide her body onto the shelf. She sets the hand truck to one side. No need to bring it back. She checked the racks, selected a couple of extra clips for her gun and a few boxes of ammo. She stops at the file cabinet and pulls out the list and checks off those items she took. It's uncertain if she'll be back, but it's good to keep track of your inventory.
Sarah returns to the truck and puts John's computer back in his bag. She then takes both his and Derek's bags, that she made from left over pieces of the plastic sheeting used to wrap Cameron, and carries them down inside the bunker, setting them on the floor in front of Cameron.
She takes one last look at Cameron, and solemnly says, "Thank you, for protecting my son, and for getting me out of prison. I should have told you before. But now . . ."
This is stupid, she thinks, I am essentially talking to a mannequin. She can't hear me or respond to me.
Sarah gets up, leaves the hideaway and closes the hatch. She pushes the sand back over the hatch and smooths it out.
Fighting the tears, she pauses a moment to breath the night air. A part of her says that preserving Cameron's body is wrong, but she knows if she ever destroyed it, John would never forgive her. So hiding it here is the only thing she can do for her son and for Cameron.
Sarah is just opening the door to her SUV when she hears the click of a gun being armed.
"Hold it right there, Sarah Connor. One false move and I'll blow your head off."
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