The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

Note: This chapter contains references to characters and plot from previous chapters. Sorry, noobs, try and keep up.

Monday

I walk into the kitchen and find Daniel seated at the table reading a newspaper. He looks up and says, "Oh hey, Cameron, what's shaking?"

I get straight to the point.

"Do you have blue balls?"

"Uh - what now?"

"Blue balls. Do you have them?"

"Um - that's kind of a personal question. I know I haven't had much luck lately with-"

"I require your blue balls."

"Look, Cameron, I'm flattered. But won't John object?"

"Blue is Snowy's favorite color."

"Snowy?"

"I am walking him to the park. He likes to chase balls. It's a game we play."

"Oh. Oh, I get it. You want to know if I have any blue balls for him to chase?"

"Did I not make myself plain?"

"No, it's just...I thought you meant..." He starts to laugh hysterically.

John enters the kitchen. "Hey, guys. What's so funny?"

"Daniel is telling me about the status of his balls."

"You don't say."

"It's not what you think. It's Snowy. He wants to play with them."

"You know he has sharp claws, right?"

"But I don't have any."

"You don't have any balls?"

"No. Yes. No." Daniel massages his forehead with his fingers. He seems rather stressed. "Listen, I'm going to go outside and get some fresh air. I feel a bit dizzy."

"Just when you thought that dude couldn't get any weirder," John remarks when we're alone.

"Perhaps he's coming down with something?" I suggest.

"Could be."

Wednesday

"This showed up on Reddit?"

"Uh huh. The conspiracy theory subreddit. I'm a subscriber. I like to keep tabs on what people are saying about us."

"They're talking about us on Reddit?"

"Not specifically," Daniel admits. "Not by name. Stuff about the factory exploding. Plenty of folk don't believe the news report of a gas explosion. The mushroom cloud was visible for miles. There's even video footage on YouTube."

"Show me the page again."

Daniel turns his Macbook to show us the screen.

JOHN. SARAH. CAMERON

WE NEED YOUR HELP

THIS IS NOT A TRAP

CLICK THE LINK FOR MORE INFORMATION

"When was this uploaded?"

"Twelve hours ago. The username is usa1774. This is their first and only post."

"What are the odds this is nothing at all to do with us?"

"Three random names? Millions to one."

"What happens if we click the link? Do we get malware up the wazoo?"

Daniel is affronted. "Hey, I designed the house firewall. No one puts anything up my wazoo unless I ask them. Er - you know what I mean."

"Okay. Do it."

"You want I should click it?"

"Sure. I trust you. Do it."

The web page refreshes.

WHERE DID THE WIZARD DIE?

"The wizard? Do they mean Sam? What the hell?"

"I think it's a filter," John says. "To screen out the curious. People who'd click on anything."

"Sam died in Oregon. Should I type that?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay. O-R-E-G-O-N."

Once again the page refreshes.

GREETINGS JOHN CONNOR, SARAH CONNOR AND CAMERON BAUM

WE NEED YOUR HELP

THIS IS NOT A TRAP

PLAY THE VIDEO FILE

THEN CALL THE NUMBER BELOW

"How come I don't get a name check," Daniel grumbles. "Shall I play the video?"

"Is it safe?"

"It's an mp4. Anti-virus says it's kosher."

"Then do it."

The video is in black and white and lacks audio. It appears to be CCTV footage.

A tall muscular man enters the frame. He's dressed in black and has an Uzi submachine gun in each hand.

"Oh shit, that's a T-800."

The T-800 begins firing the weapons, strafing from side to side. We see the muzzle flashes but no sound.

"What's he firing at?"

"Well, I'm guessing he's not shooting skeet."

A jump edit. We're looking down a narrow corridor. The T-800 moves away from the camera, muzzle flashes show he's still using the weapons. Now we see his targets: men in uniform. Some fall and lie still. Others flee. There's some return fire which the T-1000 simply walks through.

"An army base maybe?"

Another jump edit. We see the T-800 moving along another corridor. He has something on his back.

"He's wearing a backpack. That wasn't there before. Looks bulky too. Maybe he's stolen something."

"Money? Soldiers have to be paid, right?"

"I'd imagine salaries are wired to their bank."

The video ends.

"Well, that was short and not very sweet. Do we call the number?"

"Not yet. I think we need to show this to mom."

-0-

Sarah Connor is brought up to speed. She watches the video three times, frowning all the while. She'll get even more lines on her face if she keeps this up. "You understand this could be a trap?"

"Of course. And it could be legit."

"Who's the we in we need your help?"

"Given we think that's an army base, most likely the military. Or the government. Or both."

"The very people who are trying to imprison us and replicate her as an army of super soldiers."

"So - what? -we just let them have a free run at capturing a terminator? You know we have no choice but to call that number."

"Can they trace the call to here?"

"Ansolutely not," Daniel states confidently. "If we call via the internet I can spoof the IP address so they think we're in Chicago. If they try a backtrace I can break the connection long before it reaches us."

"Put it on speaker. If I sense a trap I'll give you a signal to end the call."

"What kind of signal? It'll need to be something obvious."

"I'll hurl the laptop against the wall. Obvious enough for you?"

-0-

There's a series of beeps and boops like an old fashioned dial up connection. Then a pre-recorded female voice intones over and over: "Please hold for Agent Grant...Please hold for Agent Grant...Please hold for Agent Grant..."

"They put me on hold after all that build up?"

"Just be glad they're not playing Greensleeves," Daniel quips.

Two clicks and then a real voice, female, with a mild Boston accent.

"Hello? To whom am I speaking?"

"You first."

"I am Special Agent Eliza Grant of the Department of Homeland Security. Thank you for responding so promptly - Mr Connor, is it?. I assume you've watched the video?"

"Uh huh. Not going to win any academy awards."

"I'm contacting you because according to Colonel Ryan's copious files on your family you've had dealings with that particular individual."

"We've had our run ins, sure. And what happened to Ryan? I thought he was in charge over there?"

"Not any more. He chose early retirement."

"You don't say. He never struck me as the retiring type."

"He wasn't given a choice. Getting back to the video, what you saw was a raid on an army base in northern California. Three soldiers were killed. Ten wounded."

"When was this?"

"Forty eight hours ago."

"I've seen nothing on the news."

"That's because what I'm about to tell you is a highly classified national security matter. The man in the video stole a nuclear bomb."

"A nuke was in the backpack?"

"You noticed that. Good eyes. The footage was heavily censored due to nature of the attack. I've seen the full version with audio and I assure you the screams will live long in my memory."

"So a T-800 has a nuke. That's bad."

"I'm sorry - a what?"

"A T-800 class terminator. From the future. That's what we're dealing with."

Silence.

"Agent Grant? You don't believe me, do you?"

"What I choose to believe is unimportant; it's what I can tell the Joint Chiefs of Staff without being fired or sent to an asylum."

"Okay, if you like I'll refer to him as Bob from now on."

"Bob? Yes, that might be for the best."

"So how powerful is this nuke? Can it take out a city?"

"It's a battlefield nuke designed to make a decisive tactical breakthrough in enemy lines. It's lethal to a radius of one half mile with minimal fallout."

"A battlefield nuke? Didn't the Geneva Convention outlaw those?"

"If we have them you can be sure other countries do too. But that's for another day. What I need from you is information. This nuke requires a fifteen digit code to be inputed before it can be armed and deployed. The codes are kept at a separate secure area of the base. Bob made no move to acquire these codes. I need to know if it is at all possible he can still arm the bomb."

I say, "Does the bomb have a CPU?"

"Is that Miss Baum? Yes, it does have a CPU."

"He will hack the code in less than ten minutes."

"You're sure of that?"

"I could. So can he."

"That is...disturbing. My next question is, does he have a target in mind?"

"Target?"

"The President, for example. He's currently in Mar El Lago and plays golf every day. It would be extremely difficult to maintain a secure half mile perimeter around a public golf course without attracting the curiosity of the media. If this news were to leak there would be pandimonium."

"So have him go someplace else. Camp David."

"The Secret Service inform me the First Lady finds Maryland cold and damp. So that's a non-starter, I'm afraid."

"I've got a question for you. Were there any more nukes on this base?"

"That's highly classified information."

"Okay, well, good luck with your problem."

"Wait. There were ten bombs. It's a primary arsenal."

"So Joe could have stolen more than one?"

"I'm told they're quite heavy, around sixty pounds. And he had to know reinforcements were on their way."

"No, he could have stolen more if he wanted."

"Is this significant?"

"I think so. If he was going to use them against political targets he'd have grabbed them all."

"So why take just one?"

"Can you hang on a second I'd like to confer with my family."

John presses mute. "Any ideas?" he asks.

Sarah Connor says,"We could be his intended targets."

"Then why not steal all ten? Increase your chances of success."

"I have a theory," I announce.

"Shoot."

"Shoot? I will need a weapon."

"I mean, tell us your theory."

"Our powercells require nuclear isotopes to function. In this time period the only available source would be a nuclear bomb."

"You're suggesting he's running low on juice and needs a top up?"

"Or his powercell is damaged in some way. Repairs are possible with the correct tools."

"That's gonna be a hard sell for Agent Grant."

John unmutes. "Uh - Agent Grant, we have a theory. You're going to find it difficult to believe - we think it's possible Bob stole the nuke to recharge himself. His powercell, I mean."

Silence.

"Are you still there?"

"I'm here. If this was anyone else I'd hang up. However, I've read your file. Unconventional doesn't even begin to describe your past activities."

"I think there's a way to either prove or disprove this. Can you get hold of a geiger counter?"

"Of course."

"Examine the path Bob took. If his powercell's damaged it should be leaking radiation. A geiger counter will detect it. Or not."

"Very well. I suggest you call back in an hour. I should have news for you by then."

-0-

The hour passes. Snowy takes up position by the back door, anticipating the walk he usually takes at this time of the day. When he's informed the walk is postponed he whines and sulks, then goes out into the yard and complains long and vociferously to Mr Tibbles, the cat next door, who completely ignores him. They're such good pals!

Daniel asks nervously, "Suppose you're wrong and the nuke is meant for us. How would we even defend against something like that?"

"He'd have to find us first. Not had much luck doing that."

"We might not even know about it. He only has to get within a half mile then - kaboombang!"

"Kaboombang? That's what you think nukes sound like?"

"Well, obviously I don't know. And I hope I never find out."

"You never will. Your ears would vaporise long before the sound waves reached them," I point out.

"Not helping."

-0-

At nine o'clock John recontacts the number provided. Agent Grant answers immediately.

"Seems you are right. Radiation has been detected all along the route he took. We have a hazmat team on site as we speak."

"Can you track him?"

"No, the trail goes cold just outside the base. We figure he arrived and left in a vehicle."

"Well, at least we know he's not planning to detonate a nuke."

"Mr Connor, I've been authorised to offer you and your family an amnesty during the period of this investigation. No attempt will be made to apprehend you or track your location if you cooperate with us in finding and neutralising this threat to the nation's security."

"You expect us to trust you, after all you've done?"

"That was before my time. And I can offer you a legal contract signed by any government official you wish to nominate and feel you can trust."

"You're basically offering us a piece of paper with a pretty signature."

"I'd also like to schedule a meeting. Just the two of us. There's some information that's come to light that would be better discussed face to face."

"One second."

John presses mute. "You can't be seriously considering her offer?" Sarah Connor says. "It's clearly a trap."

"Cameron, has Agent Grant lied to us at any stage?"

"No, she is being sincere. Her stress levels peaked briefly when I told her the T-800 could hack the bomb, otherwise there is no evidence to indicate she is lying."

"That proves nothing. She might be telling the truth, but there may be higher ups who have a completely different agenda," Sarah Connor counters.

"So what do we do - sit this one out? Suppose they find him, what then?"

Sarah Connor has no reply.

John reopens the line. "Where are you, Agent Grant?"

"I'm presently in the Los Angeles area co-ordinating our response."

"Do you know Ralph's Shrimp Shack near Zuma Beach?"

"No, but I can find it."

"Meet me there at ten. Come alone and unarmed. Any funny business and we're in the wind."

ZUMA BEACH

"Will you stop fidgeting."

"It's my swimsuit," I explain. "It keeps riding up my butt."

"It's meant to. It's the thong style."

"Isn't baring your ass in public a felony?"

"You're thinking of topless sunbathing."

"Bare butts are okay not boobs?"

"Welcome to southern California."

John and I are at the beach, four hundred yards east of Ralph's Shrimp Shack, a restaurant that stands between the shoreline and the Pacific Coast highway at Zuma Beach. We're hiding in plain sight amongst the other couples and families on the sand enjoying the hot sunny weather.

"Almost ten. Should be here any minute."

As if on cue, John's walkie-talkie buzzes. Sarah Connor, she's a mile down the highway keeping watch for any doublecross. Daniel is a similar distance in the other direction.

"Picking up a black Escalade. Female driver. Could be her."

"Anyone with her?"

"Not that I can see."

John raises a pair of binoculars and scans the highway. "Got her. Sweet set of wheels."

We watch as the Escalade turns into the shack's parking lot. A woman gets out. Dark pant suit and a pair of sunglasses that mask half her face. She selects an outside table facing the ocean. A waitress arrives to take her order.

"She ordered a caramel latte." I lipread.

"No shrimp? It's a speciality. That's why the place is called Ralph's Shrimp Shack and not Ralph's Latte Shack."

John takes out his phone and calls. Four hundred yards away, the woman takes her phone out of her jacket.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Stuck in traffic. Be about fifteen minutes late. You at the Shack yet?"

"Just arrived."

"Order the shrimp. It's delicious."

"I don't eat shellfish."

"Religion?"

"Allergies. I puff up like a blowfish."

"Order it anyway; sitting in traffic is making me peckish."

John ends the call and picks up his binoculars. "Now we'll see. If it's a trap she'll call her team and tell them about the delay."

Agent Grant, if this is her, calmly puts away her phone. She hails a waitress and orders the shrimp.

"Damn. I should have asked for fries. And a drink. I'm really thirsty for some reason."

"It's the sea air. It dehydrates you."

Five minutes pass. Agent Grant sits at the table, looking towards the surfers at the breakline as they ride their boards in on the swells then paddle back out to do it all over again. That never gets old. For them at least.

John calls his mother. "It's her. She didn't take the bait. We're going in."

Next he calls Daniel, who takes a moment to answer.

"Yo!"

"Where were you?"

"Applying sunblock. My fingers were sticky."

"You're not here to get a sun tan."

"I know, hence the sunblock. UV rays can be very damaging.I'm from Florida, remember. We literally learn this stuff in kindergarten."

"You are destined to die in an explosion not from skin cancer," I point out."

"Not as comforting as you'd think."

"We're going in. Stay alert."

We don street clothes over our swimwear and walk up the beach to the highway. From here it's just a short jog to the Shack.

We pause in the lot to examine the Escalade.

"Looks empty. And brand new. This is how they spend our tax dollars."

"Do we actually pay tax?"

"Not the point."

We walk through the Shack and take the seats opposite Agent Grant.

"Agent Grant, I presume? Nice to put a face to the voice," John says with a smile.

"Likewise."

A waitress appears. "Extra fries. And a Diet coke with plenty of ice."

"Nothing for me," I add.

John eats a shrimp from the plate. "Hmm, these are amazing. You sure you can't eat them?"

"Quite sure."

"Ralph's have their own shrimping boats so you know they're fresh. None of that frozen stuff. You can always tell."

"You've eaten here before?"

"Uh huh."

Agent Grant has short dark hair cut in a mannish style. She's at least ten years older than John, has boobs no larger than mine, and best of all - a gold wedding ring on her left hand. This woman will have no romantic interest in him, unlike a certain blonde skank in Burbank.

The waitress returns with the fries and Coke. John drinks half the glass in one go.

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah. Being stuck in traffic will do that," he lies.

"Come far?"

"Far enough. So what's so important you just had to meet us?"

"We have a lead. A soldier went missing from the base twenty-four hours before the raid. We think he's the reason Bob was able go straight to where the nukes were stored. It's a large base and obviously not something they advertise."

"Okay, sounds plausible."

"There's a bar in the nearest town that's popular with off duty soldiers. An Irish themed bar called McGintys. That was his last known location before he went missing."

"Does the bar have CCTV?"

"No. Some of the men often pick up women there. And not all of them are single. Cameras would cost the bar custom." Agent Grant sips her latte. "The waitresses remember a tall well built man wearing a long duster coat. As part of their job the girls are required to flirt with the customers to encourage them to buy more drinks."

"And Joe didn't play ball."

"They said he ignored them entirely, like they didn't exist. They were extremely miffed."

"What is miffed?" I ask.

"Annoyed. Irritated. The girls rely on tips to supplement their pay."

"Did anyone see Bob leave with this soldier?"

"No. According to his friends he stepped out to buy cigarettes. When he didn't return they assumed he'd left with a girl."

"And no one missed him next day?"

"That was the day of the raid. His absence sort of got lost in the chaos."

"Was he married?"

"Single. We sent a hazmat team to the bar. Huge radiation spikes where Bob was sitting. We've closed the place down for a full decontamination."

"Under what pretext?"

"Roach infestation."

"The soldier would have been tortured for information then likely killed once his usefulness was over," I pronounce. Agent Grant puts her latte down. Even John stops eating. I'm very good at bumming people out. You should hear me discuss exit wounds.

"You're certain of that?"

"It's what I would do."

"Where would this take place? The torture, I mean."

"Most likely a motel. Somewhere that takes cash and doesn't require ID. Also, where the screaming would not be reported to the police as anything out of the ordinary."

"Sadly, there are quite a few places in LA that fit that description."

"He'll be close. Search within a ten mile radius."

"We already are. Will he still be there?"

"No. To repair a powercell he'll require specialist tools and a safe enviroment. He's vulnerable with the shielding removed."

Agent Grant runs her fingers through her short hair. Seen up close there are signs of fatigue under her eyes. No wonder she's wearing sunglasses. This is a woman who has not slept much since the nuclear bomb was stolen. Career-wise, she is staring into the abyss.

"Will he go back for another nuke if this one doesn't work? The army base is in full lockdown. We can reinforce if necessary."

"He won't be back," I assure her.

John's walkie-talkie buzzes. He raises it to his ear. Daniel's voice, tight with tension.

"White SUV just passed me. Four big guys who look like army grunts. And I think I saw gun barrels in the back."

"White SUV with four army types heading this way. Possibly armed. I thought we had a deal?"

"It's not us, Mister Connor."

"Call them off, Agent Grant. I can't guarantee their safety. And there are innocent people here who'll get caught in any crossfire."

"I promise you, this has nothing to do with us. Please don't do anything rash."

"Could a higher up have decided we're a greater prize than a missing nuke?"

"No. Because nothing is more important than retrieving that bomb."

On the road beyond the shack I spot the white SUV, travelling fast in our direction. I stand up and reach behind for the pistol wedged in the back of my jeans. My fingers close around the grip.

Showtime...

-0-

Scientists believe dogs cannot differentiate between colours. Scientists clearly don't write gags for fanfiction.

I have no idea if a tactical nuke is an actual thing. And perish the thought I do any research. It sounds like a thing and that's good enough for me.

Obviously, this chapter is taking place before our present shared circumstance. Stay healthy.