"It's a chain of BS, but it's solid," Remo admitted.
"That leaves but one question."
"Actually, it leaves a zillion. But what's the one on your mind?" Remo asked.
"If the intelligence behind this-and there can be no mistaking that one does exist-is intent on killing everyone involved with those two deaths, why are Tammy Terrill and Dr. Wurmlinger still alive?"
"Search me."
"Because they are useful," said Chiun.
"Useful to whom?" asked Smith. "Who could so perfectly control this new strain of feral bees that they function as assassins?"
Chiun made a face at the misuse of the honorable term assassin.
"And how are they controlled?" added Smith.
"Sounds like Bee-Master to me," muttered Remo.
"Who?"
"Bee-Master. It was a comic-book character I used to read about back at the orphanage."
Smith made the lemony face of a man who had bitten into a persimmon unsuspectingly.
"We are dealing with reality here," he said.
"Not if bees can think and attack people they don't like," Remo returned.
Smith made an uncomfortable noise in his throat.
"If this chain of deaths began with Rand and the owners of that restaurant, what do they have in common?" Remo queried.
Smith posed the question to his computer, and it came up with side-by-side profiles of Doyal T. Rand and the Notos.
"Rand is a genetic genius. It was he who perfected the current method of roach-population control by shutting off their pheromones."
"What about the others?" asked Remo.
"They had just opened a restaurant that served bugs."
"I sure hope the thunderbug isn't back," said Remo to Chiun. Chiun made a disgusted face.
"Ordinarily," Smith mused, "I would not connect two such dissimilar deaths were it not for the fact that in both cases the medical examiner who autopsied the victims succumbed to bee stings. That is the only link. The cover-up of the attacks. It is wrong."
"It's criminal," Remo admitted.
"No, it is wrong in this sense-if a serial killer is at work, his signature should be static. The cause of death-the modus operandi-may vary."
"You think we're dealing with a serial killer?"
"I am nearly certain of it. And the only connection between the two victims involves insects."
"The killer is a bug on bugs, you mean?"
"An insane person who must be identified and apprehended."
"Well, what can we do?"
"At this stage, little. I believe it is time to bring in the FBI. They have psychological profilers who can glean remarkably accurate information on the subject from details surrounding the killings and crime scene."
"What about us?" wondered Remo.
"Go home. Stand by. I will call upon you when I need you."
"What about Wurmlinger?"
"He is in police custody, according to my sources. He is going nowhere for now."
Smith had already turned his attention to his computer system, so Remo motioned for Chiun to follow him out.
Chiun passed from the room, presenting his disdainful back to the emperor who had neither heeded his wisdom nor understood it.
Before closing the door, he allowed himself to peek back at Smith the Mad.
The Mad One was still intent upon his oracles, so Chiun closed the door with a nerve jangling jar.
No one ignored the Master of Sinanju without penalty. Not even the emperor of the wealthiest empire of the modern world.
Chapter 20
At FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virgina, Edward E. Eishied received a strange inter-Bureau e-mail message signed ASAC Smith.
He had heard of Assistant Special Agent in Charge Smith. He had never met him. But Smith was an FBI legend. It was said he was a retired agent given special investigative status by the director. It was also said the faceless Smith was really a cover for whoever sat in the director's chair, going back to the halcyon days of Hoover. J. Edgar, not Herbert.
No one knew for sure. But everyone knew that whether it was a cross e-mail message or the man's graham-cracker voice on the line, what Smith said went.
In this case, it was an e-mail. The text read, "Require psychological profiles on unknown subject. See attachment for details. Needed ASAP."
Eishied snapped to attention. This was his meat. He had worked every serial-killer case from Ted Bundy to the Unabomber and he had nailed the essentials of every psychological profile he ever undertook.
The weird part was Eishied knew of no case not already under active investigation.
He sat back, expecting to find details of some horrific new killer of the ritualistic type.
Instead, he read the incoming data and slowly slumped in his seat.