He contemplated turning back. He might be able to catch up with Remo and Chiun. Get help.
But whoever was in the room wouldn't stay inside forever. If Mark had come down to hide until he felt it was safe to bolt, he might be gone by the time Smith returned.
Smith was given little choice.
On the wall nearby hung a rack of old lawn tools that had for years been used by Folcroft's elderly groundskeeper. When that man retired back in the 1980s, Smith had hired a professional landscaping service. He was happy now to have saved the gardening equipment.
Hands veined from age took a pair of shears down from a hook. They were rusted shut. No matter. Fingers tight on the twin grips, Smith crept for the open door. He held the blades out before him, ready for anything that might lunge at him through the door. As he approached, the shadow that came from the open door made little movements.
And then, abruptly, it stopped.
Smith worried that whatever was inside had sensed someone creeping up from outside.
He was almost to the door. He raised his makeshift weapon. Ready for attack, ready to plunge the blades home.
A soft scuffle. Something stepping out from the storage room. The shadow congealed into a familiar shape.
It wasn't the figure he had expected. Startled, Smith felt the tension slip away. "Mrs. Mikulka," he gasped, lowering the blades.
"Dr. Smith?" Eileen Mikulka asked, glancing at the shears. There was no alarm in her voice or on her face. Smith's secretary seemed to take in stride the fact that she had just nearly been assaulted, by her employer in a lonely basement in the dead of night. "Is something wrong?"
"I was-" Smith said. He cleared his throat. "That is, I heard a noise. I forgot you were still here."
"I'm nearly finished," she promised.
"Finish whatever you have to in the morning," Smith said. "It is not safe for you to stay here by yourself. "
"Oh, dear. Is something wrong?"
Smith considered telling her about Mark Howard but decided against it. Mrs. Mikulka was fond of Smith's assistant. Having her standing around all night fretting would merely complicate an already difficult situation.
"A dangerous patient has escaped," Smith replied. "I'll see you safely to your car. Please lock the records room. I'll be with you in a moment."
Turning, Smith fumbled the shears up under his arm as he reached in his pocket once more for the keys. He was heading for the corner cabinet when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.
He twisted in time to see his secretary lunging. Shocked, Smith dropped the shears as Eileen Mikulka roared. A loud, inhuman sound that chilled his marrow. Mrs. Mikulka's crooked talons flew for his throat.
IN THE INSTANT before the blow landed, Harold Smith's heart thrilled as he spied the flash of yellow in his secretary's brown eyes.
She was too fast. Too slow to react, the flashing, logical part of his brain fully expected the killing blow to register. He felt the breeze on his neck.
In the instant before her claws struck, Smith was startled when another hand darted into view. With a loud slap, it batted his secretary's hand harmlessly away.
"Hold, thing of evil," a booming voice commanded.
Smith's brain was still only vaguely registering how close he had just come to mortality when his lagging vision finally spied the flash of black to his left.
The Master of Sinanju shot in beside the CURE director. In a heartbeat, he was standing between Smith and his snarling secretary. Knotted hands rose before the old Korean like tensing cobras, ready to lash out.
Remo slid in on Smith's right.
"You okay, Smitty?" Rerno asked levelly, a wary eye on Mrs. Mikulka.
"Fine," Smith insisted. He was still gathering his wits. The shock had begun to fade.
Eileen Mikulka had stepped back a pace. She hunched her head protectively down into her shoulders as she studied the wizened figure that had blocked her killing blow. She seemed to suddenly decide that he was no real threat.
Baring fangs, Mrs. Mikulka growled.
"Prepare to meet your doom!" Chiun declared, deadly hands raised.
"Don't hurt her!" Smith shouted.
Remo had to hold the CURE director back to keep him from throwing himself between Chiun and Mrs. Mikulka.
"I realize this was a favorite concubine, Emperor," Chiun said through clenched teeth. "But this one is lost. Allow me to dispatch her, and you may restock your harem with a dozen maidens more comely than she."
"No, Master Chiun," Smith insisted. "There will already be too many questions with Mark. I might be able to keep that confined to Folcroft, but if Mrs. Mikulka is killed, the police would definitely become involved. It is too risky."
The Master of Sinanju shot Smith an irritated look. The moment his head was turned, Mrs. Mikulka charged.
For a frightened moment, Smith thought his dowdy secretary's attack would succeed. But in the instant her claws should have ripped through Chiun's spindly neck, the old Asian was no longer where he had been.
Only Remo saw the perfect pirouette the Master of Sinanju executed around the charging woman. In a flash, he was beside her. As she lumbered past, a single whitened knuckle struck a point on her right temple.
Eileen Mikulka went down in a growling, wheezing heap.
Skidding on the dirty concrete floor, she came to a sliding stop at the feet of Harold W. Smith.
Smith looked up at the Master of Sinanju, his face wan. "Is she-" he pleaded.
"It lives," Chiun replied, gliding up beside Smith. His hands vanished inside his sleeves.
A low groan rose from beneath the rumpled pile that was Eileen Mikulka. Smith let out his own low sigh of relief.
"Thank God," Smith said. "We will strap her down more tightly than Mark and sedate her heavily. With luck she will pull through."
"I'll give you luck," Remo said. "You're lucky we found the loading-dock door open. Two seconds more and you would have been a midnight snack. What the hell happened here, Smitty?"
"It would appear Mark came down here after his escape," Smith said, checking the knot on his Dartmouth tie.
"We don't know where he went after. He didn't leave a trail outside to follow." Remo nodded to Eileen Mikulka. "So how did he change her? These things aren't werewolves. You said all the contaminated water was being collected."
For a moment, Smith seemed puzzled. "It is," he insisted, frowning. The light dawned. "Except-" His face blanched. The CURE director stepped hastily over his secretary's body, hurrying inside the storage room.
The refrigerator door was open. On the floor the aspirin bottle Remo had brought from Manhattan lay on its side. The cap was off. Smith's bad knee creaked like crunching cornstarch as he quickly knelt. When he shook the bottle, a single drop fell out.
"Oh, my," Smith said.
"That explains that," Remo said. "Why the hell didn't you dump that stuff?"
"I was keeping it here for testing in the future if it became necessary or until a purer form of the formula could be found. Mark knew this was where it was stored."
"Why would the Prince risk his life poisoning the Emperor's concubine when he knew that Sinanju was but a stone's throw away?" Chiun asked.
"Probably wanted her to buy some time for his escape. Mission accomplished, by the way. He's long gone by now."
"I fear that was not his purpose here," Smith said. His eyes were trained on a silver object in the corner. There were three similar, barrel-shaped devices lined up in a neat row. Only one seemed operational. Even across the room near the door, Remo and Chiun could feel the intense cold emanating from the device. A top lid had been popped open. Weird steam-like melting dry ice-rose from the open top.
While the three of them had been in the room, Remo had watched the temperature gauge on the side change. It had started at -132 and was now at -98. "What's that contraption?" Remo asked.
When Smith looked up, his angular face had grown visibly haggard. Remo didn't like the olde
r man's tone.
"Perhaps we should discuss this in my office," the CURE director said. He didn't look Remo in the eye.
Chapter 34
"You son of a bitch," Remo growled.
They had returned to Smith's office. The CURE director had taken up his post behind his desk, hands folded neatly before him. Remo and Chiun stood in front of the desk near Mark Howard's vacant chair.
Smith had just finished telling them, in the most blunt, clinical terms possible, exactly what had been stored in the stainless-steel drum downstairs.
"You no-good, lying, cold-hearted son of a bitch," Remo repeated. Knots of rage stood out on his neck. He clenched his hands so tight his digging nails nearly drew blood.
"I did not lie," Smith pointed out. "And you were aware that we took a semen sample from you the day you arrived here at Folcroft."
"Hold the phone," Remo said, a warning finger raised. "It's not like I was awake for that particular party. You didn't even let me in on the joke until twenty years later. And that was only after I found out you'd gone off and created a test-tube son for me without even telling me about him."
Smith's lips thinned. "That child was not created as a son for you," he said tightly, clearly uncomfortable with this aspect of the discussion. "He might have been your biological offspring, but he was brought into existence as a contingency plan for CURE. In case you were killed in the line of duty, Winston was to be our fallback."
"'Brought into existence,'" Remo scoffed. "Do you even hear yourself? You jerked me around so you could jerk some other poor slob around." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "How many more are there?"
"I do not understand."
"You used artificial insemination to make one. How many more little contingency mes are running around out there?"
"Winston was the only one," Smith said.
"How do I know that?" Remo demanded. "You've had that stuff stored downstairs in deep freeze for thirty years. You could have whipped up a hundred more in all that time."
"It is my understanding that you are able to tell when someone is not telling the truth. Remo, Master Chiun, I give you my word that there was only one baby born with the aid of Remo's, er, contribution."
"He does not lie," Chiun said. The old Korean stood at Remo's elbow, leathery countenance unreadable.
"Small comfort, you bastard," Remo grumbled. A delicate touch to the wrist. Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. Chiun was shaking his head. His yellowing white puffs of hair stirred almost imperceptibly.
"Now is not the time, my son," he said in Korean. "We have a far greater problem on our hands."
In English he said to Smith, "Remo's seed was frozen for many years. Would it retain its potency after all this time?"
Smith exhaled. "I'm not certain. There is another sample that Mark left in the container. I can send it out for testing in the morning. For now I can only guess, but I do believe in the fertility field ten years is considered a long time for liquid-nitrogen storage. And we've tripled that time. However, I have maintained the environment meticulously over the years. I suppose it is possible."
"Swell," Remo said. "I guess we finally know now what she was really after this time. And now thanks to you, Judith White has a turkey baster with my name on it. You're unbelievable, you know that, Smith?"
There was no emotion on the CURE director's face. "I do that which is necessary," he replied levelly. "And might I suggest we put off the recriminations until we have retrieved the specimen?" He stretched his hands for his keyboard. "I will arrange a military flight back to Maine. Mark does not have access to CURE's facilities any longer, so if that is where he is headed, he will have to get there by conventional means. You should arrive there first."
Remo crossed his arms. "I can't believe this is what she was after all along," he muttered bitterly.
"Yes," Smith said as he worked. "It would seem that the chaos of the past few days was engineered just to satisfy some mating urge in Judith White. Of course she could not have known about the sample. She must have given Mark some sort of instructions after she fed him the formula."
"The first time this happened years ago that other monster wanted to do the same damn thing," Remo said. "What do they want with me?"
"You are Sinanju," Chiun said with a simple shrug. "Other females sense it-why would these be any different?"
"Yeah?" Remo grunted. "Well, at least the first one had the decency to kidnap me and actually get in my pants. This one's satisfied to let science do her dirty work for her."
"Judith White has-or at least had-a methodical, well-ordered mind," Smith said, eyes on his monitor. "Given her scientific background, from her perspective this would be the most efficient way to handle her procreative needs."
Remo didn't even look at his employer. "Don't, Smitty," he warned. "Don't even think about being matter-of-fact about all this."
The CURE director could hear the strain in Remo's voice.
He glanced up.
There was something more beneath the anger. He could hear it in Remo's voice, see it on his face. Hurt and worry.
Smith understood the reason. Remo had been robbed of a life of wife and children many years ago. And the thief had been Smith. Now, thanks to Smith, Judith White might acquire the means to create something that would stand as a mockery to everything Remo wanted but could never have.
Clearing his throat, Smith refocused his attention on his computer.
He had made arrangements for a Navy jet to fly them from Connecticut to Maine. He quickly gave Remo the details. Once he was finished, both Sinanju Masters turned wordlessly.
Chiun padded from the office. Remo trailed behind. He was on his way out the door when Smith called to him.
"Remo, I understand that this is difficult for you. I apologize for that. But Mark is innocent. Please do not blame him for any of this."
Remo turned. His voice was flat.
"I don't. The kid's not responsible for what he's doing. This is all your fault, Smitty. Whatever happens from here on out is your doing."
With that he was gone. Leaving Harold W. Smith alone with his computers. And his guilt.
Chapter 35
The car scrunched to a stop on the lonely access road. The thing that had been Mark Howard switched off the engine.
When he got out, he smelled the tantalizing blood aroma rising from the outside door handle.
He had stolen the car in Rye.
This new Mark Howard was no more fool than his human counterpart had been. He had wisely chosen from memory a man from the CURE computers. Mark's first real meal had been a minor player in organized crime. He might not be missed for days. And even then his associates would probably dispose of the remains themselves rather than involve the authorities.
Harold Smith wouldn't be able to track him. Mark moved with catlike silence up the wooded access road.
He was pleased at his own thoroughness. When he was human and cared about such trivial human things, he had made a point of familiarizing himself with all possible routes in to Lubec Springs. Since it wasn't relevant, he hadn't bothered to mention it to the others. And so it was that Mark Howard had his own private route to the bottling plant.
A few dozen yards up the road, he glimpsed the low buildings through the trees. For the next half hour, he patiently watched for any sign of activity. Nothing.
Mark continued on.
The bodies that Remo had forced Bobby Bugget to haul from the warehouse were still arranged outside the loading dock. They were going on two days dead now. The smells were no longer inviting.
Mark circled the warehouse and bottling facility. Behind the offices, he stopped in the shattered glass beneath Owen Grude's window. Sprawled along the length of the empty frame, a lone figure waited, bored.
Judith White arched her back, shaking off slumber. "It's about time you came back." She yawned. "I was starting to think I wasted my time on you." She rolled to a sitting position, legs dangling to the ground.
<
br /> Wordlessly Mark dug in his pocket. He produced a small plastic tube, handing it to Judith White.
She accepted the insulated container. It was cold to the touch. Whatever was inside remained frozen. Judith looked up, suspicious. "What's this?" Mark Howard smiled. When he told her, he could see the look of delight blossom on her beautiful face. "You're joking, right? I figured you'd tell me where he lived. That I'd maybe sneak in and get a follicle from his hairbrush next time he goes shopping. At best I thought maybe since you worked with him you could get me some blood from his last physical." A cold edge crept into her voice. "Is this a joke? Because if it is, I swear I'll rip your liver out and make you watch me eat it."
"It's no joke," Mark insisted.
Judith White's grin broadened. Clutching the vial tight in one paw, she hopped lightly to the ground. "Just one thing," Mark asked. "Why is Remo so special?"
"Genes, sonny boy, genes," Judith said. "Why do pretty human females sniff out big, strong, pretty lunkheads to make darling little pretty pink human babies? Because pretty breeds pretty, and strong breeds strong. I've got the brains but, sad to say, I didn't come by the brawn naturally. But in all my years I never met another human like your friend Remo. Whatever he's got, it's in the genes." She held up the vial like a trophy. "And now I've got it; too."
Judith smiled, victorious. In her mind were tantalizing images of a new world. Men and women sold as livestock. Human children raised in pens like veal. A single pack of creatures like herself-successors to humanity-spreading out across the globe. And herself, Dr. Judith White, architect of the new age, ruling over it all.
It was her dream, her vision. But the instant they came, the images were swept away.
A voice from behind spoiled her moment of triumph.
"Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?" Judith and Mark wheeled.
Remo and Chiun were sliding silently around the side of the building from the direction of the parking lot.
"Prepare to meet your end, perversion of nature," the Master of Sinanju intoned.
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