The body of the woman who had been her roommate during her brief stay at St. Eligius lay beside a large open trash bin. Only her bare feet jutted into the alley. They were pale and unmoving.
Judith was perched on a fire escape above the body. One hand hung languidly down over the rusted metal side of the escape. The other scratched contentedly behind her ear as she considered the body.
It had been too fatty. She preferred leaner meat. Next time.
For now, she knew what she must do. A thinking animal, Judith found it difficult to focus when the cravings began. She knew that she shouldn't allow irrational desire to supersede rational thought. But with each subsequent injection, it had grown increasingly difficult to quell the urge to feed.
Judith yawned again, arching her back. She pushed her hands out before her, fingers splaying as she stretched.
She had almost been caught the night before. That nosy Department of Agriculture agent had shown up just as she was finishing her meal at the lab. She had barely enough time to get back to her office and clean up her face and hands before he came in.
Remo had fallen for her ruse. In his limited mind, he thought the blood on her clothes had been an accident. Humans were so eager to accept what they perceived as the obvious conclusion.
But that might not always be true. She finished stretching.
They would probably come for her. It was only a matter of time before they connected her to all the deaths. She hated to admit it, but she had been careless.
She never should have taken her roommate. Judith got up on all fours on the fire-escape landing. With a graceful leap, she hopped down to the alley floor. Landing, she barely made a sound.
Quickly, she padded over to the body.
The woman looked like the rest. Thick blood remnants coagulated in the hollow of her ripped-open abdomen.
Judith worked swiftly. Taking each of the woman's hands in turn, she chewed off all ten fingertips. The flesh was tough and cold.
"Blech," Judith complained. "I hate leftovers." She swallowed the pudgy balls of skin.
With her fingernails, she shredded the woman's fleshy face until it was unrecognizable.
It would probably do no good. The missing organs would be a dead giveaway. Still, it might buy her some time.
Dawn had nearly begun to break over Boston. Judith's underlings would be showing up to work within the next three hours. Before they did, she had to get back into BostonBio and destroy all evidence of what she had done. Perhaps there was a way to yet salvage the situation.
Judith spun away from the body. With catlike grace, she glided out of the desolate alley and onto the dark, silent street.
Chapter 20
"Why are we here?" the Master of Sinanju complained.
They were driving along the desolate road where Mona and Huey Janner owned their farm. It was still several hours before dawn.
The wizened Asian's attitude had soured back at BostonBio. Whatever Chiun had discussed with Smith, it had turned the old Korean sullen and silent. Until this moment, he had remained thus for the entire ride to Medford.
"Smith thinks the rest of the missing BBQs might be here," Remo said, careful that by inflection he didn't appear to agree with the CURE director. His diplomatic tone didn't work.
"If your precious Smith directed you to leap from Yongjong Bridge with stones in the pockets of your kimono, would you?" Chiun challenged.
"How deep's the water?" Remo asked.
The old man's scowl could have cracked bedrock. "Okay, okay," Remo relented. "Sheesh, Chiun, I don't know what he did to kick-start bile production, but I wasn't in on it, so could you cut me some slack?"
"And why should I?" Chiun demanded. "You are his lackey, are you not? He dispatches you hither and thither on his mad errands and you obey. You are the Divine Wind of America's pinchpenny emperor, Remo Williams. Do not pretend that you have a will of your own."
"Divine Wind?" Remo frowned. "Isn't that what kamikaze means?"
"If the Mitsubishi fits," Chiun sniffed.
"Should I even bother to argue?"
"No."
"Fine," Remo said. "If it'll keep peace, you're right. I don't have a will of my own."
The appalled expression that blossomed on the old Korean's face told Remo that he had answered wrong.
"I cannot believe what I am hearing," Chiun gasped. "Has a Master of Sinanju just admitted that he is little more than a puppet on a string?"
"I thought that's what you wanted me to say," Remo griped.
"What I wanted was for you to speak your mind, thus demonstrating your independence from Smith the Domineering. But I find that I must speak your mind for you. Repeat after me-I have a mind of my own."
"Fine, dammit," Remo snapped. "I've got a mind of my own. There. Is that okay? Or did I get that wrong, too?"
"No," Chiun said.
"Good," Remo replied, fingers tightening on the wheel.
"Prove it," Chiun challenged.
Remo pulled his eyes from the road. "Huh? How?"
Chiun's hands slithered up opposing kimono sleeves. In the green wash of the dashboard's lights, the old man's self-satisfied mien was one of the most fear-inducing sights Remo had seen in all of his professional life.
"I will let you know."
Remo absolutely did not like the sound of that. "Wait a minute..." he began, stomach sinking.
"Too late," Chiun interrupted, raising a silencing finger. His gaze was fixed on the dark woods beside the moving car. "We are being watched."
Remo had sensed the eyes upon them, as well. He found the Janner mailbox and turned onto the long dirt driveway that wound through the clump of dark trees.
They hadn't driven more than a few yards when the first figures appeared before them.
The two men were clad in body-hugging black leotards, faces obscured by black ski masks. In the pervasive gloom of the deep New England night, they stood like somber sentries before the gates of Hell. Automatic weapons were aimed at Remo's car. They were a terrifying sight.
"How do you think they pee in those getups?" Remo asked.