"I have been sent to kill you."
"Over my dead body," Remo snapped, returning to his crouch as Naomi slipped behind him. She grabbed the back of his T-shirt in nervous fistfuls, and Chiun noticed for the first time that it was neither stark white nor jet black, but a pleasing saffron. He wondered if this Remo might not be an improvement over the old.
"Your body is already dead," Chiun said. "For you are the dead night tiger of Sinanju legend, the avatar of Shiva. I could, if you wish, show you the grave where your government buried you."
"I knew it!" Naomi snapped. "It's a government plot. It's-" Her face went white. Her mouth made shapes but no sounds.
"Spit it out," Remo prompted. "What are you trying to say?"
"A clone!" Naomi shrilled. "The real Remo is dead, and you're a genetic clone of him created by the CIA. Not an evolutionary mutant. You're probably filled with yucky artificial ingredients. Oh, my God, I slept with a clone. What will my mother think!"
Remo looked toward Chiun. "Any idea what a clone is?"
"No, but it does not matter. Listen to me, Remo. Do you wish to know the truth about yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Will you accompany me to Folcroft, where the answers lie?"
"What do you think, Naomi?"
Naomi backed away. "Don't even speak to me, you ... you impostor!"
"What about her?" Remo asked.
"If she agrees to accompany us, she will not be killed."
"Well, I've come this far," Naomi said abruptly. "I'll see this through to the end."
"That is laudable," Chiun said with a tight wise smile. "Come, let us be on our way while there is still light."
The Master of Sinanju stepped aside for the two whites to lead. They hesitated, then, seeing the elfin twinkle that he allowed to come into his clear hazel eyes, they stepped past him. Remo pushed the nervous woman along with his hands on her shoulders.
At the precise moment that they passed him, the Master of Sinanju tripped Remo. Remo went down like a sack of potatoes. The woman shrank back but she was not swift enough to elude the talonlike fingers that reached up for her long-necked throat.
A moment's pressure on the base of the neck was sufficient. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she vented a sigh. Then she collapsed to the floor like a deflating balloon.
Chiun stepped back and put his hands into his joined sleeves as Remo, his face horrified, knelt at the woman's side.
"You little fraud, she's not breathing!" Remo said, looking up in anger.
"She breathes poorly, but she breathes," Chiun told him unconcernedly.
Remo placed a hand over her heart, and feeling a beat, let out his pent breath. The tightness in his face loosened.
"Now what?" he demanded tightly. "Are you going to sandbag me next?"
"Now that she will not interfere, you and I will go to Folcroft."
Remo stood up, his hands bone-white fists of tension. "No more tricks?"
"Not from me," Chiun said loftily.
"Then you go first," Remo said, motioning for the Master of Sinanju to lead the way, which Chiun was only too happy to do. For night was coming on, and miles away, at Folcroft Sanitarium, there was much to be done, and many matters to settle.
Particularly with the new director of CURE, Norvell Ransome.
Chapter 23
Norvell Ransome's watery eyes registered momentary shock as Remo and Chiun entered his office. Then a studied calmness dropped over them like a dingy veil.
"Remo Williams, dear boy!" he exclaimed. "What an astonishing turn of events. You two have obviously found one another."
"I found Remo," Chiun said, closing the door. Remo stepped off to one side, his dark eyes unreadable.
"And the Vanderkloot woman?" Ransome inquired. It was almost a purr.
"I dealt with her as Smith would have wished," Chiun said. "She will trouble us no longer."
"Smith was-I mean is-an exceedingly efficient administrator. I know he would be pleased." Ransome cleared his throat with a rumble of phlegm. He touched the concealed stud under the lip of the desk and the CURE terminal disappeared silently, a blank panel sliding over its well.
"I imagine, Remo, that you would like an explanation for your recent incarceration," Ransome said unctuously.
Remo started to speak, but the Master of Sinanju shushed him with a knifelike gesture.
"We would like an explanation," Chiun said pointedly.
"To be sure." Norvell Ransome laid his pudgy fingers flatly on the desk. This was a critical moment. Chiun had found Remo and brought him back, as he had expected. The question remained, how much did Remo remember? And how would he react?
"You are aware that the security of this operation requires extraordinary measures," Ransome began. "Especially measures in the event of compromise or catastrophic failure. Failure such as the compromising of this facility, or the death or exposure of one of its operatives."
"We know this," Chiun intoned.
Carefully Ransome lifted a copy of the National Enquirer from the desk drawer and held up the front page, showing the artistic likeness of Remo's face.
"You both know of Smith's unfortunate situation," he continued. "It was brought about by this regrettable display of journalistic excess. Hence the need to remove the Vanderkloot woman. This presented the President with a conundrum. To shut down CURE operations? Or to await Smith's recovery and decide upon a course of action later? The President, I am pleased to report, resorted to the latter option. That is where I came in. My first instruction was to set into motion Operation RESTORE, which is one of Smith's rather ingenious, ah, retirement programs. I must say that this presented me with an unaccustomed challenge, but it was made much easier by your fortuitous absence, Master Chiun."
"Are we going to listen to this windbag all night?" Remo demanded. "He's not giving us squat."
"Hush," Chiun admonished. "Forgive my pupil. He has been testy since his recent brush with death."
Ransome let that pass with a simple "Ah." He continued, "It was as simple as waiting until Remo was in the comfort of his very own domicile. A home which, I am sorry to inform you at this late date, Dr. Smith had the foresight to tamper with in certain subtle ways. In short, Mr. Williams, you were gassed in your sleep."
"Impossible!" Chiun snapped. "No vapor could catch Remo unawares."
"A colorless, odorless gas that insinuated itself into his bedroom while he slept," Ransome quickly inserted. "Remo was removed here to Folcroft by ambulance, where, still sedated, his memory was, I regret to say, tampered with. It is very complicated, but it involves a certain drug that wipes the memory clean, going back to any point the administrator-and I use the term advisedly-chooses. Rather like erasing a portion of audio tape. Artificial memories are substituted via posthypnotic suggestion. For Smith evidently felt that some memories might not suppress successfully. So they were transformed. I reviewed the computerized memory simulations before the Folcroft doctors-who thought they were conducting a modest experiment and was quite stunned.