The scientist that Judith White had once been accepted the conclusion as inevitable.
But the thing that Judith White had become could not quell the fear that pounded strong in her chest. Still, she turned.
Swift feet made not a sound as she ducked back into the depths of the forest, running back in the direction of Lubec Springs.
Chapter 26
"You know, if you fellas would help get me out of here, I can make it worth your while," Bobby Bugget offered slyly.
They were in the Lubec Springs warehouse. Remo had forced Bugget to drag all the bodies from inside and dump them around the loading dock. He hoped to bait a trap for any stragglers who might be arriving late for Judith White's party. But day had fed into night, and so far there had been no takers.
Remo and Chiun sat cross-legged on the floor. Judith White's gray case was at Remo's knees. "Maybe we should switch over to live bait," Remo suggested to the Master of Sinanju. He raised an eyebrow toward Bobby Bugget.
Bugget had been pacing most of the day near the open loading-dock door. His mustache frowned at Remo's suggestion. "That ain't funny," the singer complained.
"Not trying to be," Remo said. "And you can leave any time you like."
"I ain't going out there on my own," Bugget insisted. "Now-no foolin'-name your price and it's yours. Within reason, of course. How 'bout clothes?
My fan shop in Key West sells the finest in official Bird Brain merchandise. I can fix both of you up nice in caps, sweatshirts, cotton Ts." He turned his attention to Chiun. "What do you say, old-timer? You look like you could use some new duds, what with them pajamas you're wearing."
The Master of Sinanju turned a gloomy eye to Remo. "I must wear these drab robes for an entire year, thanks to my ingrate of a son. Unless he has reconsidered and has decided just this once to think of someone other than himself."
"Nope," Remo said, shaking his head. His eyes were trained out the open bay door. "Still just thinking of me. But thanks for asking."
"Do you see?" Chiun demanded of Bugget. "Do you see how he is? Do you see how he treats me? I would not mind the selfishness if it were only directed at me. I have thick skin. But he has an entire village for which he is responsible. Yet does he care?"
"I care," interjected Remo.
"He does not care," Chiun insisted. "If he did, he would not disregard hard-won lessons in favor of ignorance. Yet you try talking to him."
Standing before the old Korean, Bugget tipped his head, as if seeing Chiun for the first time. "You know, old fella, you seem like kind of an interesting character."
"I am fascinating," Chiun replied.
"Don't forget humble," Remo said.
"Yes," Chiun agreed. "You may live ten times your years and never meet another as humble as I." Bugget twisted his lip, chewing on his mustache.
"I think there might be the makings of a song in you."
Remo felt his stomach sink. When he looked over, he saw that the old Korean's face had brightened like a beam of misplaced sunlight in a moonless midnight sky.
"Oh, crap," said Remo.
"Do you really think so?" asked Chiun, suddenly warming to Bobby Bugget.
"Oh, crap," repeated Remo.
"Hush, Remo," Chiun said. "Forgive him, O minstrel. Rudeness is just another of his many failings. Tell me about the song you are going to write about me and are not going to write about Remo."
"I don't know yet," Bugget said. "But a lot of the songs I write are about folks I meet in my travels. I guess that's probably because of how I started out. Years ago I used to do country covers at a little bar in Nashville."
The Master of Sinanju gasped. He held a frail hand to his chest. "Dare I ask? Is it possible that you know the beauteous Wylander?"
This was a country music star for whom Chiun had developed a crush a few years before. She had the biggest hair and the fattest caboose in the Grand Ole Opry. Which, given the competition, was no mean feat. Somehow the Master of Sinanju was able to see past the surface to glimpse some deep, inner beauty. Remo, on the other hand, suspected if you dug that deep into Wylander, you'd strike nougat.
"Wylander Jugg?" Bugget asked. "Sure, I know her. But don't beauteous mean good-looking?" Confused, he looked to Remo for help.
"Don't drag me into this. I thought he was over the Wylander kick." His ear was cocked toward the door. A dark notch settled in his furrowed brow.
"That is because all you think of is your selfish little self," Chiun said. He was listening, as well. Without warning, the two men rose to their feet. Remo scooped up the case of gene-altering formula. Bobby Bugget whirled around them worriedly as the two Masters of Sinanju swept past.
"What is it?" the singer asked.
"Do not concern yourself, my songsmith," Chiun said.
"A car," Remo said. "Probably just our delivery boy. But maybe you better stay back here out of the way just in case the fur starts flying."
Bugget hadn't heard a car. He strained his ears. All at once the soft sound of an approaching engine tickled the far edge of his hearing.
"If it gets as crazy as last time, I don't want this stuff getting spilled," Remo said to Chiun, patting the big case. He glanced around for a good spot to leave it, finally settling for the top of an eight-foot-high stack of bottled-water boxes. He slipped the case up on top just out of sight. "We'll be right back," he promised Bugget.
And with that they were gone. The door to the bottling plant swung shut behind them.
Alone in the drafty warehouse, Bobby Bugget's bare knees knocked anxiously together.
"Nothin' to worry about, Bobby," he promised himself. "Them fellas scared off everything with sense enough to be scared."
For a moment, he looked out the open door, but he found the night too frightening. He looked at a fluorescent light instead. The fluorescent light was friendly. He wondered if there was anything cheerier than a fluorescent light. He decided that on his next gold-selling album he would write a song about the cheeriness of fluorescent lights.
As he stared at the light, he didn't see the glint of yellow that suddenly winked on in the trees outside. Malevolent cat's eyes watched Bobby Bugget's back.
And as quickly as they appeared, they vanished. Absorbed by the night shadows.
Chapter 27
Remo and Chiun slipped through the idle bottling plant.
Soon the place would be crawling with federal agents. Smith would need not hold them at bay much longer. If this long day was any indication, there were few if any more of Judith White's tigers migrating to the Maine woods.
Remo, for one, felt little satisfaction. Most of those who had been victims of the formula would change back, but not soon enough. There would be other murders in the next few weeks. And the cause of it all-Judith White herself-was probably a thousand miles away by now.
Bitterness deep, Remo pushed open the door that led from the bottling plant to the Lubec Springs offices.
They had a clear view straight to the front of the building. One chunk of the door Chiun had demolished hung slack from the otherwise bare frame. Through the opening they saw a car parked near the steps out front.
From the foyer came a nervous heartbeat.
When Remo and Chiun rounded the corner from the hall, they found a familiar figure standing near the empty receptionist's desk, his back to the two Masters of Sinanju.
"If you're going to interrogate the furniture, at least do it with the lights on," Remo said, flipping the wall switch.
Mark Howard wheeled toward them, Smith's heavy automatic clenched in a two-handed grip. He nearly squeezed the trigger as he blinked against the sudden stab of white light.
"Oh," Mark said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Remo, Chiun. I didn't know where you were. I was a little worried when you weren't waiting in front."
"Your concern for our welfare honors us," Chiun said, offering a slight bow.
"The real fun's happening out back," Remo explained. "We've got a trap set. No takers, though
. It looks like you didn't have to waste your time coming up here after all."
Mark seemed to relax. With his free hand, he rubbed one tired eye. "I don't mind," he said.
"Yeah? Well, I do," Remo said, pointing at Howard's gun. "You mind putting that thing away? I've seen you in action with one of those before, and I don't feel like searching the woods for any toes you might accidentally shoot off."
Mark seemed to have forgotten the gun. "Oh, sorry," he said, slipping the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
Remo took special note of the weapon. "That Smith's?" he asked with a frown.
Mark nodded. "Mine was at home. He let me borrow it."
"Hunh," Remo said. "I didn't know he'd taken this adoption stuff that far."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark asked, puzzled.
The Master of Sinanju interjected. "It means, Prince Mark, that the Emperor smiles favorably on you. A ruler parts more easily with a limb than a favorite sword."
"It's just a gun," Mark said.
"Think what you want, junior," Remo said. "Just remember, Arthur didn't pass Excalibur around as an ass-scratcher for the other knights." He pointed down the hall. "The stuff's in the back."
The three men started up the hall, but as they passed a door, Mark paused. "I should check in with Dr. Smith."
Mark started to push open Burt Solare's battered office door. He stopped the instant he saw the roomful of human bones and bloodstained hay.
"Oh, my," he gasped.
Chiun reached quickly around, pulling the door closed. "There is a telephone in the next room, Regent."
"Was that a- Was that a cow?"
"Some of one," Remo nodded. "You make your call and try to hold down lunch. We'll go get the stuff."
Remo and Chiun headed down the hall. Behind them, the assistant director of CURE pressed a hand to his stomach.
"I think I just turned vegan," Mark Howard groaned to the silent corridor.
HER HEART SCARCELY BEAT as she pressed her chest against the slate roof.
Judith White could will her heartbeat slower. The mastery she had over the muscle kept it from registering to the ears of the two Masters of Sinanju. Even so, she knew luck was with her. Had their attention not been focused elsewhere, they still might have detected her.
An ear cocked to one side, Judith listened.
The two that posed the greatest threat to her began to move away. In a moment, they were gone.
A single, strong heartbeat remained behind.
Judith didn't know what agency they were with, but judging from the conversation she had just overheard, the human that remained below was connected somehow.
Judith had thought her plan was lost. But now-when all she was after was the formula that could link her to Genetic Futures-a new opportunity had presented itself.
Growling with soft delight, she began creeping, paw over paw, to the edge of the roof.
MARK HELD his breath. Fighting the urge to retch, he doubled back to the first office.
When he pushed the door open, light from the hallway spilled into a more inviting environment. The tidy office of Owen Grude was nothing like the ghastly scene he'd just left.
The stench was still in the air. His breathing shallow, Mark went over to the desk and switched on the light.
The wide picture window that overlooked the desk reflected the bright office interior. Beyond the gleaming pane, the cold Maine evening menaced the trees.
Sitting in Owen Grude's chair, Mark dialed the special Folcroft code on the old-fashioned rotary phone. It was answered on the first ring.
"Smith," the CURE director said tartly.
"Dr. Smith, Mark. I just got here a few minutes ago."
"What is the situation?"
Mark was looking out the window. The woods were disappearing, swallowed up by the night. He thought of every jungle movie he'd ever seen as a, kid.
"It's awfully quiet out there," he said.
"That's good, I suppose," Smith said. "We'll have a clear field to send in other agencies to inspect the premises. Perhaps they'll turn something up in regard to White's lab."
"No luck yet?"
"No," Smith replied. "But it is there somewhere. It's only a matter of time until we find it. Until then, other authorities will have to deal with the creatures that scattered on Remo this morning. Since you left, there have been a few incidents, but nothing major. It seems the fear Remo and Chiun put in them is keeping them away from more populous areas for the time being. We can only hope it remains that way until they either change back or die out."
In the small office, Mark Howard's face darkened at the thought of all of Judith White's innocent victims. "I still want to know what she was doing," he said angrily.
"As do I," Smith said. "I still maintain that it is unlikely this was all done merely to bring Remo over to her side."
"It doesn't make sense," Mark insisted.
"Yes, it does, Mark," Smith replied firmly. "It is important in our work to realize that what makes little or no sense to us has almost always been meticulously planned by those we are up against. I guarantee you, her reasons for executing this plot in this manner make perfect sense to Judith White. We simply have not yet found out the details. Perhaps the answer is still there somewhere. I will have federal authorities go through that facility with a fine-tooth comb as soon as we are finished."
The logic and certainty of the CURE director helped to relieve some of Mark's anxiety.
"Well, I'm finished now," he said. "Remo's getting the stuff. I'm ready to come home. Do you want Remo and Chiun to head back with me?"
"No," Smith said. "It would probably be best to wait until morning. However, I will begin making arrangements for the authorities to move in."
As he sat behind Owen Grude's desk, Mark was beginning to feel cramped. The knee well was smaller than his own. He twisted in his chair. His knee bumped something hidden in the desk's well.
"I'll let them know," he said as he leaned back to see what was tucked beneath the desk.
"Return with the formula as soon as possible. We'll send it out for analysis as soon as you're back." When the phone clicked in his ear, Mark hung up and pushed away from the desk. He tipped his head to get a better view underneath.
Tucked far toward the front was a gray plastic valise, roughly the size of a small suitcase. Getting down on all fours, Mark dragged the case out from its hiding spot. Standing, he placed it in the center of the desk.
Etched in the right corner, two printed Bs were entwined with what looked like a five-rung spiral staircase. A single drawing of a DNA strand.
It was the logo of BostonBio, the company at which Judith White had developed her gene-altering formula. Mark recognized it from his research. Remo and Chiun's source must not have known of the second case.
Feeling the thrill of discovery, Mark popped the silver latches with his thumbs. Inside was lined with waves of soft egg-carton foam rubber. Recessed in smooth compartments in the packing material were six glass vials of brownish liquid.
Mark pulled one loose. Holding it up to the office light, he tipped the vial to one side. Like thick molasses, the gene-recoding substance rolled over the rounded interior of the tube.
"Huhh," Mark said softly. "You look so ordinary."
He watched light glint off the liquid. So engrossed was he, Mark failed to notice that one of the shadows beyond the office window had begun to move.
Mark only realized something was wrong when he heard scratching at his back.
It was gentle. Like a tree branch blown by wind scraping across the office windowpane.
Still holding the vial of formula, he froze. The wind. That was all it was. Still, the sudden appearance of the scratching sound caused his heart to beat faster.
He reached slowly under his suit jacket. Even as he put the vial of formula carefully on the desk with one hand, he drew Dr. Smith's .45 automatic. Gun in hand, he switched off the lamp.
He didn't breathe. Tw
o careful steps brought him to the window. With the lights off inside, he was able to see out more clearly. As he squinted into the dark woods, he saw nothing but the black triangle tops of waving pines.
There was nothing nearby that might have made the noise. The trees were too far away to be the cause. His palm was sweating cold on the pistol's walnut grip. Mark decided it might be wise to find Remo and Chiun.
He was taking a cautious step backward when there came a sudden blur of movement beyond the window. A cold shadow lurched up from the night. A face appeared, twisted in a grinning caricature of humanity.
Judith White's piercing yellow eyes locked on his. Mark's heart tightened. He whipped the gun up to fire.
And then the world exploded all around him as the big picture window came crashing down like a curtain of doom onto the floor of the small office.
"IT WAS right here," Remo said.
From the top of the stacked cases of water, he glanced around the warehouse. The bay door was still open on the night. The case of formula was nowhere to be seen.
"Forget your nonsense," the Master of Sinanju demanded. "Where is my songsmith?"
"Bugget's the least of our worries right now."
"Spoken like a jealous someone who was not about to have a hymn written extolling his greatness and sung by the comely Wylander. Did you frighten him off? Tell me, Remo, why do you find it so difficult to get along with people?"
"I had the world's greatest teacher," Remo said, hopping from the bottle stack down to the floor. "Jealous, selfish and hateful. I will remember that for your headstone, as well."
The Master of Sinanju's muttered complaints were stopped only by the muted sound that carried to their hypersensitive ears from the other end of the complex. "What the hell was that?" Remo asked.
"It sounded like a window breaking," Chiun replied.
The next noise that came to them needed no explanation.
A gunshot.
Exchanging troubled glances, the two men took off at a full sprint across the warehouse floor.
JUDITH WHITE POUNCED into the room behind shards of scattering glass. Mark's bullet missed her by a whisker. His first chance proved to be his last.
Judith grabbed his forearm, slamming his gun hand against the wall. He struggled to hold on to the weapon.
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