"Ah, the hell with whatever you are, too," said Remo.
Returning to the basement, he told the Master of Sinanju, "Bad news, Little Father."
"What?"
"The IRS has told the staff to begin releasing patients."
"The wicked Dutchman, too!"
"He's still there. But they're about to let Beasley go."
"This must not happen."
"Yeah, the only way to head this off is to put Smith back behind his desk. But I don't think we can trust him.
"We have no choice." The Master of Sinanju looked from Remo to the gold and back again. His face tightened like a spiderweb. "I will attend to Smith. You fetch a vehicle suitable for conveying the gold of Sinanju away from this place."
"Gotcha," said Remo. He slipped out the side door.
Chapter 17
When Jack Koldstad awoke, he thought he was dead. It was a reasonable conclusion to jump to under the circumstances. He lay out under the open sun, a trio of shadowy vultures circling over him on lazy wings, and he could taste blood in his mouth. His front teeth wobbled when he touched them with his tongue.
He tried to remember how he had gotten here. The last thing he could recall was the monarch butterfly. It was huge. Bigger than the birds circling overhead. It was the fiercest, most venomous-looking butterfly Jack Koldstad could ever remember seeing. Even as the memory returned, its hideous shriek reverberated in his skull.
"Oh, God," Koldstad groaned.
A voice said, "He's awake."
"Who is it? Who's there?" Koldstad demanded.
"It's me, Mr. Koldstad. Agent Phelps."
"Phelps! You're here, too. What happened?"
A head came into view somewhere between the circling birds and Koldstad's recumbent head. It was Phelps. His broad face was very concerned. "Don't you recall, sir? We were in the basement. We had just broken down that big door."
"Yes, I remember seeing gold."
"You saw it, too?"
"Of course. What's wrong? How did we get here? And where is here? All I see is sky."
"The hospital roof. We all woke up looking at the sky."
"The last thing I remember was the basement."
"What else do you remember?" Phelps asked solicitously.
Koldstad winced. "The black-and-orange... thing."
"Sir?"
"It was a giant. I'd never seen one that big."
"Seen what, sir?"
"Don't you remember?"
"We've just swapped impressions, sir. And for most of us, the lights went out when that janitor, Remo, turned on us."
"I remember him, too."
"Did he get you, too, sir?'
"No, it was the other... thing."
"Thing?"
"It clawed my face."
"We've sent for a doctor, sir. Your face is pretty badly lacerated. Did you see what did it?"
"Yes."
"So you can describe it for us?"
"It was a butterfly."
Silence greeted Jack Koldstad's admission. Other heads came into view. Koldstad's eyes tried to focus on their faces, but the overhead sun threw them all into shadow. But they blocked out those damn tireless vultures, so that was a good thing.
"A butterfly. Did you say butterfly?"
"A giant of a butterfly. With monarch markings and a face."
"You mean a butterfly face?"
"No, it was the face of that damn phantom Chinaman."
Silence greeted that admission, too.
"Do you think you can stand, sir?"
Koldstad lifted a wavering arm. "Help me up."
Hands reached down to grasp Jack Koldstad's hands and elbows and shoulders. He felt no pain as he was hauled to his feet. No pain at all. Oh, there was some stiffness about his face, but no bones complained. And he could see fine.