"Examine that wing more closely," Chiun suggested.
Smith did.
"What do you see?" asked Chiun.
"A common drone honey bee wing, according to my data base."
Chiun shook his head slowly. "The creature that possessed that wing owned intelligence and malevolence. It was not a bee, common or otherwise."
Smith brought up an image of a killer bee.
It was completely different and the wing structure was different, as well. The killer bee was no different than a typical honeybee-long of body but not as long or distinctively colored as a yellow jacket. The drone, on the other hand, was plump and fuzzy.
"This is not a killer bee's wing," Smith said flatly.
"True. It belongs to a killer not-bee."
Smith looked to Remo for help. Remo rolled his eyes and pretended to find the overhead fluorescent lights of interest.
"I fail to understand," Smith said helplessly.
"You are excused," Chiun said, and floated over to the picture window to contemplate Long Island Sound.
"I guess we came a long way for nothing," Remo told Smith.
"There is word out of the L.A. Coroner's Office."
"Yeah?"
"The new coroner has pronounced the deaths of Dr. Nozoki, Dr. Krombold and the others as the result of killer-bee stings."
"That can't be!" Remo exploded. "We saw how those people bought it. A garden-variety bumblebee got them."
"Drone honey bees," Smith said carefully, "cannot sting. And more importantly, the venom of the Africanized killer bee is a neurotoxin, which is to say it affects the nervous system, not merely the breathing passages, as does ordinary bee venom."
"That makes no sense."
"It does if someone has crossbred a new kind of bee.
"That's possible ...."
"Since the advent of killer bees in this hemisphere, Remo, there have been many attempts to interdict the killer bee in its northern migration. All have failed. The defense of last resort has been to cross these feral bees with more-gentle domestic bees in order to obtain a less virulent and aggressive strain."
"How's it coming?"
"It has been an utter failure. But that is not to say that someone could not attempt to create a more virulent strain of bee, if they chose to reverse the breeding program."
"What's the point of that?"
"It is obvious," said Chiun, turning from the window.
Remo and Harold Smith looked at him, unspoken questions in their eyes.
"To kill," said Chiun.
Remo and Smith looked at one another, their faces undergoing various changes of expression-Remo's dubious, Smith's lemony.
Clearing his throat, Smith swept the bee's wing into the FedEx container and attacked his keyboard. He brought up a list of the dead to date, including the two pilots.
"Doyal T. Rand was the first," he said.
"We don't know that," said Remo. "He wasn't stung. His brains were eaten out."
"Let us assume he was the first because the man who autopsied him subsequently died of anaphylactic shock."
"Okay," allowed Remo.
"That was Dr. Lemuel Quirk. The New York coroner-"
"M.E.," Remo corrected.
"-also was killed by the sting of a bee, although no bee was found."
"Why?"
"Simple. To cover up the first killing."
"In Los Angeles, three people died at a new restaurant of bee venom, although none appeared stung and no bee parts were found in their stomachs, according to Dr. Wurmlinger."
"How did you know that?" asked Remo.
"I talked to the assistant deputy coroner in Los Angeles."
"Oh."
"A Dr. Nozoki who autopsied them died of a bee sting. As did a Fox cameraman. As did Dr. Gideon Krombold. Again, let us assume a cover-up."
"By bees."
"Using bees," said Smith.
"Idiots," said Chiun.
"What was that?" Smith asked the Master of Sinanju.
"Nothing," said Chiun, resuming his enjoyment of Long Island Sound.