Unnatural Selection td-131

by Warren Murphy

  A thoughtful look on his face, Smith picked up the aspirin bottle of formula from the corner of his desk. "I thought you usually used children's aspirin," Mark noted, nodding to the bottle.

  "The sample Remo obtained in New York," Smith explained. He shook the bottle. Liquid sloshed inside.

  "Do you want me to get rid of it?"

  "No," Smith said. "For now I'll store it downstairs. In fact, it might be wise to save some frozen form of the genetic material she used in perpetuity. Perhaps from this one day an antidote or vaccine could be found."

  "I notice we're both using 'she' a lot," Mark said. Smith nodded as he tapped a gnarled thumb on the bottle lid. "Given what you have learned, I am leaning more toward Judith White herself as mastermind," he said, putting the bottle aside once more.

  "After all, she did not turn any of the people in her lab three years ago. None were implicated at the time and they all underwent testing after the fact. Those that she recruited at that time were not scientists. Therefore we are not now dealing with a leftover creature from that time, since they would not have her knowledge of genetics."

  "It still might not be her," Mark suggested. "One of the others might have laid low for a while and then found a geneticist to turn-someone who could help. You said those briefcases of her formula were never found. They wouldn't have needed her science background to turn new recruits."

  "It does not fit their pattern of behavior," Smith insisted. "They would be like all animals. Driven purely by instinct. To feed, mate. They would live in the moment. They wouldn't worry about covering their tracks all this time. Only Judith White had a vision of a greater future for the abominations she had created. She alone would have the patience to wait this long. It must be her." His frown lines deepened. "But what her plan is I have no idea."

  "Well, lucky for us Remo injured her last time."

  "Yes," Smith agreed. "Still, she will not be unprotected. It is not cliche to say that an injured animal is most dangerous when it is cornered. I urged Remo and Master Chiun to caution before I sent them to Maine."

  "What about the protesters?" Mark asked.

  Even before Mark had called, Smith's computers had pulled up reports of the Reticulated New England Speckled Leech protesters outside the Lubec Springs bottling plant.

  "They should not be a problem. Our biggest concern would be exposure to the press. But there has not been great interest in their protest. The news cycle being what it is, I doubt they will get more coverage than they did today. Still, Remo and Chiun will be arriving just before dawn. Things should be quiet enough at that time for them to do what they need to and get out."

  "Dr. Smith, just so you know, I'm a little worried that the protesters are from Green Earth," Mark said. They had recently encountered the environmental activist group in South America. Back then it was in the form of a former Soviet president high up in the organization. That man's foolishness had resulted in environmental devastation throughout a large part of the Caribbean.

  The CURE director caught the subtle strain in his assistant's voice at the mention of Green Earth.

  "It is a large organization, with interests all around the world," Smith said cautiously. "Since this and our last encounter with them seemed unconnected, I was going to chalk it up to coincidence." He peered over the tops of his rimless glasses. "Unless you think we should look deeper into their group."

  Mark met the older man's level gaze.

  It was a subject that gave them both discomfort. Mark had a special, almost precognitive ability that had in the past given him early insight into potential CURE problems. For the assistant director of CURE, it was like peering into a puzzle box and seeing part of the picture where others only saw a jumble of pieces.

  Mark shook his head. "There's nothing right now," he said. "But there might be something coming. I don't know for sure. But we should keep an open file on them."

  "Very well," Smith said. "I'll have the mainframes collate any Green Earth data they find." With a few sure strokes on his keyboard, he issued the proper commands to the basement computers. While Smith typed, Mark got to his feet. His back was sore from sitting around the GenPlus offices all evening.

  "If there's nothing else, I'd better get back to work," he said. "I'll try to find that lab. You should really go home, Dr. Smith. I'll stay here tonight."

  Smith glanced up, shaking his head. "If I need to, I will take a few hours' sleep on the sofa." He ignored the look of concern that passed across his assistant's face, turning his attention back to his computer screen.

  Mark could see there would be no arguing. Without another word, he headed for the door.

  "Mark."

  Smith called him as he was opening the door. When Howard turned, he saw that the CURE director wore a thoughtful expression. Light from Smith's buried monitor cast ghostly shadows on his gray face.

  "Judith White is highly intelligent," the older man said. He leaned back in his chair, considering for a long moment. "Rather than look for the lab itself, I want you to do a search for mysterious deaths. There would be no mutilations like today or back in Boston. To do so would have tipped her hand long before this, and she is much too smart for that. Given her, er, appetite, they would have to be bodies missing organs or limbs. Perhaps cases that have been attributed to a serial killer and that remain unsolved. Begin with newspaper reports, police and FBI records and expand out from there."

  Orders crisply delivered, he returned to his keyboard.

  It was a familiar pose. One that Mark Howard had grown used to over the past few years. The gaunt, gray man in the austere office typing assuredly at his computer. Mark didn't know why, but he found comfort in the image.

  Smiling to himself, Mark gently closed the door, so as not to disturb America's last, great patriot.

  Chapter 18

  A Navy jet carried Remo and Chiun as far as Bangor. A waiting Coast Guard helicopter brought them to a field just outside of Jonesboro.

  Smith had arranged delivery of a rental car. The helicopter was lifting off into the predawn gray above Route 1 as the rental keys were being dropped into Remo' s hand.

  The pair of federal marshals who had been awakened in the dead of night with special orders to rent the car left the two Sinanju Masters beside the road. Yawning, they returned to their own vehicle as Remo and Chiun climbed into the rented car.

  Both Coast Guard helicopter and U.S. Marshals took off down the coast. Remo headed in the opposite direction.

  The minute they were on the highway, Remo had his foot jammed down on the accelerator. The car was soon tearing up the road at speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour.

  Chiun watched the road with some concern. "Your driving being what it is, I cannot say that you are operating this vehicle in a more reckless fashion than usual," the old Korean said as Remo nearly sideswiped his third car. "Since you have not yet crashed, flipped or otherwise mangled either it or me, one could say you are doing better than usual. However, your speed might be considered excessive by the local constabulary."

  "Cops schmops," Remo said, tension tightening his jaw. "Let them catch me if they can. Besides, most cops on duty at this time of the morning are either napping in their cruisers or their mistresses' apartments."

  Luckily traffic was thin so early in the day. Remo beeped and jerked the wheel, scraping out between two cars and into the left lane. He accelerated past another speeding vehicle. With another honk and twist, he was back in the right lane.

  From the passenger's seat, Chiun watched the display with disapproval. "How much did Smith pay you to assassinate me?" he asked abruptly.

  "Huh?" Remo said. "What are you talking about?"

  "He has put me in the death seat of this carriage with maniac you behind the wheel. Obviously he wishes the Master dead. Why else did we not take the aircraft farther?"

  "He was afraid White would hear the chopper, realize it wasn't supposed to be there and bolt. The last thing we want is for her to get away ag
ain."

  "No," Chiun pointed out. "While that would be bad, the last thing we want is for me to be killed."

  "We've all gotta go sometime, Little Father."

  "Speak for yourself, Round Eyes," the Master of Sinanju said. He sighed. "I suppose my leniency in training is to blame for your poor driving skills. I noticed a marked deterioration in your skills while we were living in Castle Sinanju, which I did nothing to address."

  "Yeah, Boston does have a tendency to bring out the worst in most drivers. Fortunately, I avoided the curse." He laid on the horn and drove onto the median strip to avoid a bread truck on its early-morning rounds.

  Chiun shook his head sadly. "The location of Castle Sinanju should have had no effect on your driving skills. A duck may live every day of its life in a stable, but it will never try to be a horse. And do you know why?"

  "Dunno. Maybe it knows how stupid it'd look herding cattle in a cigarette ad. And did you ever try to saddle a duck? Plus the Kentucky Derby would be just plain silly. Although I'd probably tune in if the jockeys were riding mallards."

  Chiun gave his pupil a baleful look. "Are you quite finished?" he droned.

  Remo sighed. "Why, Chiun, beyond the obvious, does a duck who lives in a stable not become a horse?"

  "Because, ignoramus, the duck does not let his environment influence what he becomes. He is clever enough to remain a duck. Unfortunately, Remo, you are not as blessed as the duck. You allowed the bad drivers of that bean-eating province to influence your driving skills. If you were the duck, after one week you would leave the stable whinnying."

  "Boston driving was an education," Remo insisted. "If you can survive that demolition derby, you can race a Ferrari through St. Peter's without dinging a pew."

  "Go ahead. Joke if you wish. Live recklessly. Play the part of the fool and forget that an entire village lives and dies with you."

  Remo glanced at his teacher. The old man was staring stonily out the windshield at the empty road ahead.

  "At what point did this stop being about my driving?" Remo asked.

  Chiun shook his head angrily. "The risks you take," he complained quietly. "Being Master of Sinanju does not make you invulnerable."

  Remo could hear the deep concern buried beneath his teacher's angry tone. "I know that, Little Father," he said reasonably. "But I'm more than good enough for pretty much anything we're likely to meet."

  "Good enough?" Chiun said. "Good enough?" he repeated, voice rising in fury. "Is that what I trained? Good enough? Is that what the villagers of Sinanju must now rely on for their daily sustenance? Good enough? Thank you, Remo, for setting all my worries to rest. And I now have your epitaph, for with that attitude I will not only be alive to write it, but I will be able to do so soon. It will read, 'Here lies Remo the Pale. He was good enough until the one day he was not.'"

  The old Asian threw up his hands, hissing frustration.

  "This has to do with that legend, doesn't it?" Remo asked as Chiun muttered a string of harsh Korean at the Maine countryside. "The one that says I have to be careful going through the forest where the tigers live?"

  Eyes dead ahead, Chiun nodded. "It was prophesied by no less than the Great Wang himself. The forest holds danger for Shiva's avatar."

  Remo could see this was important to his teacher. Still, he couldn't see the risk. He was fully Master now, whole in Sinanju. And he had encountered these creatures twice before and vanquished them both times. Still, for the sake of his teacher and father, he offered a reassuring smile.

  "Don't worry, Chiun," he vowed. "I won't let my guard down."

  When he turned his full attention back to the road, he missed the look of dark doubt that passed like a cloud across his teacher's face.

  He pressed hard on the gas once more, and the car raced up the road for the Lubec Springs bottling plant.

  JUDITH WHITE SENSED them coming. Smelled them on the air. Felt the familiar, new presence through the dense wood.

  For a long time as they came, she paced back and forth in the small Lubec Springs office.

  The lights were off. Through the wide picture window, her keen eyes could see far into the depths of the dark, predawn woods. Here and there she saw them. Shadows moving ever closer.

  The rest wouldn't have noticed yet. When the protest had ended and the cameras had left, the others who had stood in for the dead Green Earth protestors had skulked back to the warehouse.

  Probably sleeping and eating. They were mostly males, and that was nearly all the males did.

  Her human memory told her she'd had the same complaint about men even when she was living her old life.

  The males were virtually useless. Dumb and lazy, only concerned about their immediate desires.

  Judith was glad she had used a weaker version of the formula. So far, there wasn't one male in Maine she would want to keep around forever. All of those she'd altered would change back or die. She alone was perfection. She alone would usher in the age of animal dominance.

  And there was another reason she was glad these particular males would not be with her very long. Who knew? If there were others who were turned permanently, a dominant male might very well emerge to challenge her.

  Although she had many answers, this wasn't one of them. The truth was, Judith didn't know for certain what would happen to her under those circumstances. Would the instinct of the creatures whose DNA she now carried compel her to take a submissive role? She doubted she could ever follow the lead of a male. And for a very simple reason.

  The humans would call it jealousy. But for Dr. Judith White, it was really pure animal resentment. This was her species. She had created it. And it was she and she alone who was molding it to take its rightful place as the preeminent animal life-form on the planet.

  No, the males of her kind would never rule her world. She wouldn't allow it. And once she was successful with her work here, the best humanity had to offer would fail, as well.

  Alone in Owen Grude's office, Judith's head suddenly tipped sharply. Ears far more acute than mere human hearing focused on a single sound.

  A soft growl. Followed by cautious footsteps the others would not hear. The shadows in the woods were closer.

  Abruptly she turned, gliding in silence from the office. She moved with feline confidence through the bottling plant.

  When Judith White prowled into the warehouse, the others were lounging lazily.

  The few Green Earth protesters who had survived the previous day's slaughter had joined the others Judith had turned since her arrival in Maine. Some lay sleeping on crates, arms and legs dangling over the sides. Others picked through the remains of victims.

  The woman who had been a TV homemaking expert was weaving human veins into edible doilies for a special breakfast treat. She had already made a lovely centerpiece from pine cones and a human heart.

  In one corner, the young movie actress slept in a nest of toilet paper and bones that she'd pilfered from around the complex.

  The boxer was nowhere to be seen. Already wild in his human life, he had reacted more strongly than any of the others to the formula. He was keeping to himself, prowling the road and woods outside the bottling plant.

  Judith picked her way through the gathered pride. One cautious foot stepped before the next. She sniffed the cool air, tracking a fresh scent.

  At her appearance, the males rose dutifully to their feet. Owen Grude came to her side.

  Far behind the others was Bobby Bugget. Ever since he was forced to drink the formula, Bugget had kept to the fringes of the pack. The singer was chewing nervously on a thumb he'd scavenged from the floor.

  "What is it?" Owen asked Judith.

  She kept her nose in the air. "We've got company."

  As she spoke, the small side door next to the big loading bays nudged slowly, cautiously open.

  A female face appeared. She was bent at the waist, her chin low to the floor. She sniffed questioningly as she came into the warehouse.

  A sec
ond and third came in behind. They were quickly followed by two more.

  The scents in the big warehouse seemed to relax the female. Here was familiarity, safety. She didn't know why. But there was a sense of home to these surroundings.

  Her strides grew more confident. As she relaxed, so too did the four males. Their aggressive hunch eased as they trailed the female into the dimly lit building.

  The creatures lounging in the warehouse were roused from their torpor. Climbing out of nests and jumping down from crates, they moved to intercept the newest arrivals.

  Judith White was pleased to see that, of these latest arrivals, the four males were obviously subservient to the female. This had seemed to be the case all during the night. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary to tinker with the formula as much as she had feared.

  The female broke away from her pack. The others dropped away behind her, skulking off into the shadows, yellow eyes studying the growling line that was protecting Judith White.

  The new female stopped in the middle of the floor, rising proudly to her full height.

  Judith's pride came forward slowly. Peering, sniffing, they nuzzled the new arrival curiously.

  They quickly determined that she wasn't a threat. When the inspection was through, they broke away, fanning back out around the warehouse.

  Some of the new arrivals took the acceptance of their leader as a cue. They came out of the shadows. When they tried to eat, they were chased away with growls and snapping jaws. Slinking off to the edge of the group, they gnawed the scraps that had been tossed to the concrete floor.

  Judith White paid no attention to her cubs. She was sniffing the air almost as an afterthought.

  "You're from New York," she announced with certainty.

  "Yes," replied Elizabeth Tiflis. There was a hint of puzzlement in her deep, throaty voice.