"I don't think so," Mark said. "If it is, it's not in any way I'm familiar with."
Smith nodded. "Very well," he said. He began to turn away when he abruptly paused. "Mark, you've been working nonstop since you started here. Perhaps it might be a good idea for you to take a few days off."
Howard seemed surprised at the offer. Before he could respond, they were both interrupted by the jangling of one of Smith's desktop telephones. The CURE director noted that it was the blue contact phone.
"That will be all for now, Mark," Smith said. Howard was grateful to be dismissed. As he hurried from the room, Smith rounded the desk. Howard was shutting the door as Smith settled into his cracked leather chair.
"Smith," the CURE director announced into the phone.
"Hey, Smitty," Remo said. "I'll give you three guesses who just escaped certain death by the skin of his teeth, and the first two don't count."
Smith leaned forward in his chair. "Did something go wrong?" he asked.
"Depends on your perspective," Remo said. "Since I'm not a French fry right now, that Humbert Humbert guy who runs the show around here probably thinks so."
Smith raised an eyebrow. "Remo, are you saying Hubert St. Clair tried to kill you?" he asked.
In the Geneva headquarters of the Congress of Concerned Scientists, Remo leaned back against Amanda Lifton's desk. Chiun and Amanda had left him alone while he placed the call. He looked down at his tattered clothes.
"Technically, kill," Remo said. "Specifically, acid dip. Six of one, half dozen of the other. I think he was just going after that dingbat lady scientist, and me and Chiun got caught in the cross fire. And speaking of her, the Ivy League must have started passing out diplomas with every bikini wax."
"Dr. Lifton is supposed to be quite gifted," Smith said.
"She's a flaky debutante with boobs till Tuesday," Remo replied. "I doubt she could invent her way out of a bra with both hands." He tipped his head, reconsidering. "Actually, that's probably how she got the job here."
Remo quickly briefed Smith on the events in the CCS greenhouse, including the destruction of all the C. dioxas.
"You said St. Clair was on the phone before the attack against you began?" Smith asked once Remo was finished.
"Yeah, but I wasn't listening to what he was saying," Remo said. "Could have been calling his bookie. It sure as hell wasn't his dry cleaner."
As he spoke, he picked up a framed photograph from Amanda's desk. Dr. Lifton was posing with Hubert St. Clair and a half-dozen others. Although he could have picked her chests out of a lineup blindfolded, in this picture it wasn't hard to tell which one was Amanda. The rest of them were all dressed like St. Clair. They all wore bell-bottoms and corduroy jackets. Remo frowned at the picture.
"Must be the office Halloween party," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing, Smitty," Remo said, putting the photo down. "I don't know what the what is here right now, but I searched the place and came up empty. That Dilbert guy flew the coop. I need you to track him down."
He heard the sound of Smith typing rapidly at his computer. "There is an executive committee that oversees the CCS," the CURE director explained as he worked. "While the current director is Dr. St. Clair, he is answerable to the rest of the leadership. They could be involved." The typing stopped. "The CCS owns a home for St. Clair's use when he is in Geneva," Smith said. He gave Remo the address.
"Thanks, Smitty." He started to hang up.
"Remo," the CURE director said. "Are you certain all the trees were destroyed?"
Remo snapped his fingers. "Thanks for reminding me," he said. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a tiny object.
It was as big as a pea. This was what had caught his eye in the greenhouse when the lightning struck. Remo held up the blue seed for inspection.
"Is something else wrong?" Smith asked after the dead air had gone on between them too long.
"Maybe," Remo said. "Although it could just be the end of the world. I'll get back to you." Slipping the lone C. dioxa seed back into his pocket, he hung up the phone.
Chapter 8
"Where are all the seeds?" Remo announced when he rejoined Amanda and Chiun in one of the CCS labs.
He had brought a framed photograph with him from Amanda's office.
The Master of Sinanju was sitting cross-legged near a big picture window that offered a breathtaking view of the snowcapped Alps. He had removed a handful of his special gold-and-silver envelopes and a stack of writing paper from his kimono folds. The old man was ignoring the scenic view, concentrating on composing another of his mysterious letters.
Amanda was laying out a dress shirt and a pair of pants she'd scavenged from the CCS offices. "What?" she asked, looking up.
When Amanda saw the picture Remo was carrying, she frowned. It was the photo of the C. dioxa that had been hanging on her office wall. The same one Remo had asked about when she first brought them to her office.
"What are you doing with that?" Amanda demanded.
"The seeds," Remo pointed out. He held up the photo in one hand; in the other was the seed he'd found in the greenhouse. "These seeds. You said this was a picture of the latest trees. Well, in the picture they've got seeds. The ones that were chopped down in that nutcase greenhouse of yours didn't have any. So where did they go?"
Near the window the Master of Sinanju paused in his writing. When he lifted his head, his hazel eyes caught a good, hard look at the Alps.
"I don't like Switzerland," the old Korean announced.
Scowling, he returned to his writing.
"The seeds must have been there," Amanda said to Remo. "Hubert had the trees destroyed. It wouldn't make sense for him to do that without destroying the seeds, too."
"I don't know if you missed all the fun back there, Chesty LaRue, but Hubert was that weird-looking little troll who just tried to turn you into a silicone puddle."
Amanda's pretty face puckered in annoyance. She tried pushing her shoulders forward to cave in her chest.
"I don't appreciate sarcasm or insults from the help," she said unhappily. "And I've been thinking about all this. Something's wrong here, I know it. But I just can't believe that Hubert St. Clair is behind it."
"Believe what you want," Remo said. "But you need to get those things checked. Your reception's way off."
Remo picked up the dress shirt, shrugging it on. He rotated his shoulders. "This doesn't feel right," he said.
"Well, it was the best I could do," Amanda said, trying to pretend she wasn't watching him dress. "That was Dr. Riviera's. He died a month ago in a snorkling accident in the Bahamas."
"Your boss probably stuffed shark-nip down his skivvies, and tapped a cork in his pipe," Remo said. He wasn't used to long sleeves. And the shirt was too tight at the wrists. He'd have to pick up a new T-shirt.
"The Swiss are forever professing their neutrality," the Master of Sinanju proclaimed near the window. "Tell me, Remo, what use is there for an assassin in a land where everyone is afraid to choose sides?"
"No use at all, Little Father."
Chiun nodded. "And their mountains are ugly," he said.