Unnatural Selection td-131

by Warren Murphy

  Unnatural Selection

  ( The Destroyer - 131 )

  Warren Murphy

  Richard Sapir

  A hungry enemy comes back for seconds . . .

  Man Eater

  Sexy scientist Dr. Judith White, who first attempted to repopulate the earth with mutant, man-eating tiger people, has bounced back from extinction with a new and improved plan for world domination. She's putting her formula into a popular brand of bottled spring water that's making its way straight into the boardrooms and cocktail parties of Manhattan, where savagery is getting into full swing.

  Remo and Chiun hit the Big Apple to check out the maulings. But even the cops have gone carnivorous and it literally is a jungle out there. Only one wild, wicked woman is capable of turning ordinary humans into slavering, slobbering jaws of death -- an old nemesis, the delectable but totally insane Dr. White. And when CURE's own wonder boy Mark Howard falls prey to her diabolical scheme, his top secrets may give the indestructible White the extra bite she needs to eat the Destroyer for lunch.

  Destroyer 131: Unnatural Selection

  By Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir

  Chapter 1

  In the last hour Burt Solare's intestines still worked; while his heart still pumped blood, his lungs and other organs toiled in concert-while all that comprised the inner workings of Burt Solare remained hidden inside his delicate flesh shell, as nature had intended-Burt Solare found he had a problem somewhere along the miles of compressed tubing that was his intestinal tract.

  "Dammit, this ulcer's gonna kill me." Check that. Make it two problems.

  "Helen? Dammit, Helen, where the hell's the Maalox?"

  At 220 pounds, five foot six inches and standing on tiptoes on a fragile rattan chair, Burt was a looming figure pawing through the cabinets in the upstairs bathroom of his Lubec, Maine, home. Given his size and disposition, he looked like a hungry bear rummaging for food in an abandoned vacation cabin.

  "What's with all the hollering?" Helen Solare said as she stomped into the big room, the pink fur fringe of her satin dressing gown swirling around her thick ankles. She stopped dead near the Jacuzzi.

  A mouth surrounded by too much Purple Sunset lipstick dropped open in horror the instant her eyes, decorated with Mediterranean Midnight Blue, saw the boxes of spare toothpaste and Gold Bond powder that had been dumped on the floor near the buckling legs of Burt's chair. A flung box of cotton swabs nearly struck her midpermanent.

  "What the hell are you looking for, you maniac?" Helen demanded, ducking below the box. It struck the aqua ceramic tile behind her, exploding on impact. Q-tips flew everywhere.

  "The Maalox! The goddamn Maalox, Helen. Where the hell did you hide it this time?"

  Burt flung a fistful of unused toothbrushes over his shoulder. They clattered into the porcelain basin. "Stop it!" Helen screeched, flinging up her hands. "Just stop where you are!"

  On his chair Burt wheeled on his wife. His eyes were bloodshot and black-rimmed. In his right hand was a jar of blemish cream. In his left, a can of hairspray-one of dozens Helen went through every month.

  "Where?" he barked.

  Sandals flapping angrily against her pumiced heels, Helen marched over to the medicine cabinet. Ripping open the door, she stuck a handful of Lee Press-Ons inside. They reappeared clutching a familiar blue bottle.

  "Next time try looking under your nose," she snapped.

  "Give it here." Burt scurried down to the floor, snatching the bottle from Helen's hand.

  He popped the lid and dumped the Maalox down his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed gratefully as the chalky liquid rolled down into his burning belly. "You could ask before you throw one of your fits," Helen complained as she surveyed the bathroom. It looked as if a hurricane had blown through the cupboards.

  "I wouldn't have to ask if you left the damn stuff where it belonged," Burt panted between swigs.

  As he gulped, Helen stooped to pick up a toothbrush. Halfway to the floor, she changed her mind. Straightening, she planted two fists on her ample hips. "No. I am not picking this up."

  "Big surprise," Burt grunted. Burping, he capped the bottle. Wiping blue gunk from his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, he headed out the door.

  "I'm not kidding," Helen warned, storming into their bedroom after him. "You made that mess. You can pick it up."

  "Have Mrs. Parkasian do it."

  Burt dropped onto the edge of their queen-size bed. He began pulling on a pair of white athletic socks. "Oh, no. I'm not letting that old bat see that mess. She'll tell everyone in town I'm a slob. That's all I need. They already look at me like I'm goddamned Zsa-Zsa."

  "What do you care, Helen?" Burt said as he stuffed his feet into his sneakers. The antacid wasn't working. His belly still burned. "In a month you'll never see anyone in this town again."

  Helen dropped into the chair at her dressing table. "You're still going through with this?" she asked morosely.

  "Yes," Burt said firmly.

  "Only an idiot runs away from a million-dollar business," she suggested.

  "Then sue me, Helen. I'm an idiot."

  Burt pushed himself from the bed. On heavy feet he trudged across the room. At the door he stopped. One hand rested on the doorknob as the other gripped his potbelly.

  "Geez, it feels like something's eating my guts for lunch."

  "Why don't you get medication for that thing?" Helen said impatiently. "They've got stuff that'll get rid of ulcers now."

  "They'd put me on pills or something." Burt winced. "It's not natural."

  "Oh, and I suppose it's natural to bail out of a million-dollar business?" Helen hollered as he headed out the door. "Is that natural, Burt? Tell me, because I'm dying to know."

  And rather than argue with the cause of fifty percent of his ulcer, Burt Solare quietly shut the door.

  ALTHOUGH BRISK, there was finally a tiny hint of warmer weather in the Northeast. Burt left his jacket unzipped as he headed down his front walk. Damp pine needles stained the slate.

  He was on his way to visit the cause of the other fifty percent of his ulcer for what would be the last time.

  The air was refreshing. Beyond the gate he took a few deep breaths into the pit of his ailing stomach. A sudden cold breeze tipped the tall pine trees.

  Burt cut across the driveway and struck off down the rutted dirt road.

  The surrounding forest made him feel as if he were the only man on Earth. As he walked along, he concentrated on the solitude, trying to will his flaming ulcer to heal. After all, that was part of the reason he had moved here in the first place.

  Burt hated cities. Despised crowds. Detested the thought of those teeming masses of humanity pressing against him, smothering him. It was a phobia that had nearly paralyzed him in his younger days. The worst thing back then was how his own life had trapped him. His living was made off those same teeming masses he so abhorred.

  Burt had run a successful ad agency in New York for more than ten years. In those days he had been driven. His goal was to make enough money by the time he was forty to leave the squalid city of his misspent youth forever. The greatest day of his life was when he finally achieved his goal.

  When he came home to his humble Bronx apartment with the news more than ten years before, Helen had been livid.

  "Are you out of your mind!" she snapped.

  "Helen, I've been talking about this for fifteen years."

  "Talking, shmalking. I figured that was all it was with you. Talk. I'm not going."

  "Fine. Stay."

  Helen was surprised by his indifference.

  Although she pretended nothing was changing the entire time he was selling his agency
and transferring funds to Maine, three weeks after his announcement she could stand it no more. She finally asked a question.

  "So where are we moving? Not that I don't think you should be moving to the rubber room, you're acting so crazy."

  "A beautiful small town called Lubec."

  "I hate it."

  "Did you ever hear of it?"

  "No, but I hate it."

  "Don't come."

  There it was again. Such firm indifference. Burt had never acted that way toward her before. Not only that, he looked different.

  "Are you feeling okay?" Helen asked, a hint of genuine wifely concern in her shrill voice.

  "Never better," Burt insisted.

  "You look funny. Not as pale. And you're standing different. Straighter."

  "My ulcer's almost gone. A month in Maine and I'll be a new man."

  "I'll say. You'll be a schmuck who gave away a million-dollar business."

  But Burt wouldn't be dissuaded. He dumped all of his New York business interests and moved everything he owned to Maine. A year after, he sold his last stock, severing his ties to New York forever.

  With the clarity afforded by hindsight, Burt realized that his life hadn't truly started until his big move. And in spite of the fact that Helen had accompanied him to Maine, his ulcer nearly healed. Everything was going along swimmingly until the day the well ran dry. Literally.

  "You've got two hundred acres here," Burt's neighbor, Owen Grude, had drawled. Among other things, Grude drilled wells for a living. "Lubec's known for our water. Shouldn't be a problem finding another source around here."

  It turned out his neighbor was right. Owen found water on the first try. Not only that, it was the sweetest water either of them had ever tasted.

  Owen sent a sample away for testing. The lab confirmed that it was purest water in a state filled with pure water.

  "You should bottle this," Owen Grude suggested when he brought the test results to Burt Solare's rural home.

  "Why?" Burt asked. "In case of drought?"

  "To sell," Owen had replied. "City folks'd pay a pretty penny for water this pure."

  "You mean like a business," Burt said levelly.

  Owen nodded. "Could be good for us both. I see you wandering around here, nothing to do. A man should do something."

  "I'm not sure, Owen," Burt said warily. "How big are we talking?"

  "Small operation. Couple of fellas. You won't even have to do much, unless you want to. But like I said, you don't have much to do now. Aren't you bored?"

  Like many people in that part of the country, Owen Grude was a lot more savvy than he let on. In his quiet, backwoods way he had cut to Burt Solare's heart.

  The truth was, Burt was bored. He was more fit than he had ever been in his life, but with nothing to occupy his days he was beginning to feel as if he were stagnating.

  Owen's suggestion came at a time of perfect weakness. It didn't take much convincing. That very afternoon, Burt Solare accepted his new partner's proposal. After that, everything happened in a blur.

  There were trucks and buildings-at Burt's insistence, confined to the woods on the other side of his land. Owen had underestimated the number of people they would need to hire. The employees numbered in the dozens at the Lubec plant alone. Soon the cacophony of the outer world began to intrude on Burt's rural life.

  Within two years, Lubec Springs water blanketed the East Coast. In five it had exploded nationally. The next year the tidal wave spilled into the international market.

  By the time his fiftieth birthday rolled around, the solitary existence Burt had longed for was long gone. Rather than remain the silent partner he had hoped, Burt had taken an active role in the growth of the business. The success of Lubec Springs was largely due to the advertising skills he had developed in New York. But, as had happened in New York, Burt's health suffered in inverse proportion to the health of his business.

  He was fifty-five now. Rich several times over.

  And with a gnawing wound in his gut that refused to surrender to all the medications he poured into it. For Burt it was finally enough.

  For the second time in his life, he was going to chuck it all. He'd sell his home, his land and his interest in Lubec Springs. He would move farther up into the wilds of Maine, and if success came sniffing at his door this time, he'd shoot it, bury it and move to Canada. Hell, he'd take a dogsled to the North Pole if he had to. This time enough was absolutely, unequivocally enough.

  The decision had been made a few days before. It was now just a matter of summoning the strength to tell Owen.

  When he had first moved up to Lubec more than a decade earlier, the only twisting path through these woods was his own long driveway. Now a half mile from his house was an electronically controlled gate. On the other side was another road, this one paved.

  During the week, trucks drove back and forth along that isolated path. Fortunately it was Saturday. The sounds of wretched civilization would not return until Monday.

  Burt slipped around the gate that separated his private property from that of his business.

  Someone had sneaked in during the night again. Green-and-pink paper from the local copy center had been nailed to dozens of the trees. A picture of a curled blob that looked like a bumpy comma was in the center of each page. Below were the letters S.O.L. The papers rattled in the breeze.

  When Burt saw the papers, he shook his head in disgust. His hand searched for his burning belly. Amid all the fluttering papers beside the paved road was a small sign. It read simply Lubec Springs. "May you burn to the ground and your ashes scatter to the four winds," Burt grumbled at the sign. Feeling the fire in his belly, he headed up the road to the bottling plant.

  SINCE ITS FOUNDING a decade before, the single-story Lubec Springs bottling plant had expanded from a small wooden shed to a sprawling complex nestled amid the lonely pines.

  The main plant was a cinder-block affair that had been erected hurriedly several years previously. Tucked around back, barely visible from the road, a few Lubec Springs trucks sat idle near concrete loading platforms.

  Jutting from the front of the larger building was a clapboard addition that housed the main offices.

  A car was parked out front. With a frown, Burt noted the out-of-state license plate. He had told Owen this meeting was business-related. Burt hoped his partner had sense enough not to bring guests to the plant. The last thing he wanted was to wait another day to tell Owen he was calling it quits.

  Wearily he climbed the three wide steps and pushed open the front door. Walking down to the offices from the reception area, he found Owen behind his desk. The cofounder of Lubec Springs was not alone.

  "Oh," Burt said, irritated. One hand gripped the door frame. "Owen, we had a meeting, remember?" Burt glanced at the three strangers in the room. Two were men in their late thirties or early forties. The third was a woman. When he saw her, Burt's irritation bled away.

  She was gorgeous. The woman's hair was as black as a raven's wings. Her eyes were quick and sharp. Her skin was cream. She stood with a confident grace that announced to the world she owned whatever room she was in.

  As the woman fixed him with a cold stare, Burt gulped.

  "I, uh... Sorry. We can do this later, Owen."

  "No," Owen insisted. "You said you had something important to tell me." His voice was a deep growl. It sounded strange. Stronger than normal. Burt tore his eyes away from the woman.

  Owen was stepping out from around his desk. He was even walking differently. Owen Grude was forty pounds overweight. He usually stomped and wheezed when he walked. But this day he seemed to glide. The other two men fell in behind him.

  "No," Burt insisted, suddenly clenching his molars with fresh pain. His ulcer was flaring again. "It can wait. You have company. We can talk tomorrow. Nice to meet you," he said, nodding to the woman.

  Silent until now, the woman seemed distracted by the men. A hint of disapproval creased her brow. "Please wait, Mr. So
lare," she said to Burt.

  In the doorway Burt paused. "Yes?"

  "This is so awkward," she said with a cool smile that indicated it was anything but awkward. "Mr. Grude wasn't sure how to tell you this himself, so I'm just going to tell you. He has signed his fifty percent of Lubec Springs over to me. I'm your new partner."

  For a moment Burt didn't know what to say. The pain in his belly was forgotten. "Owen?" he asked, confused.

  His partner just stood there, brow hanging low over sharp eyes. Burt had eaten supper at Owen's house enough over the past ten years to know that look. Owen got that same look when he was drooling over a plate of pork chops.

  "Your water is very pure," the woman announced. Owen and the other two men snorted softly-pulling in soft, inquisitive breaths. Like animals sniffing prey.

  "That's true," Burt Solare said slowly. "Okay, Owen, what is all this?"

  "Business, Burt," Owen said. "Thanks to you, we're in every convenience store and supermarket in the country."

  As he spoke, his nostrils flared, sniffing the air. He circled around Burt.

  "Down," the woman snarled suddenly. She sounded like an obedience trainer scolding a bad dog. "Helen already called to tell me you were quitting, Burt," Owen said from behind, his voice a quiet growl. "It came as quite a shock. I've got one for you, too."

  "No," the woman commanded, taking a step for Owen.

  Too late.

  Burt felt someone grab him from behind.

  Owen. Owen had gone crazy. Selling the business without telling Burt, dragging strangers in off the street and now assaulting Burt in his own offices. That was it. To hell with it all. Burt was going to quit already, but now he'd do it with a song in his heart and not look back.

  Burt had played high-school and college football. He still outweighed Owen. He'd flip his demented expartner to the floor and then leave Lubec Springs for good.

  Burt intended to tell Owen all this. But then a funny thing happened. He suddenly couldn't speak. He felt pressure on his throat. Felt a sudden jerk and twist of sharp pain. Pain far worse than his ulcer. Pain more excruciating than anything he had ever felt before.