Smith swung again.
The club cracked the side of the man's head. This time there was a reaction. A soft crack of bone. The man growled, wobbling. Still he came. Another swing. The golfer seemed finally to feel the combined effect of the three blows. His legs fell out from beneath him, and he toppled groggily to the floor.
When he finally dropped to his knees, the others in the lounge seemed to finally find their courage. The crush of heavy men fell on the semiconscious man, pinning arms and legs in place. Beneath the pile, the demented golfer whimpered like a wounded animal.
The club director Smith had earlier spoken to had raced into the bar for the end of the battle. A bartender had already called 911. Waiters from the restaurant held linen napkins to the injured woman's throat.
"What happened?" the white-haired club director panted. He stood next to Smith, surveying the terrible scene.
"I don't know," Smith replied. But there was a troubled edge to his acid voice. As he spoke, the pager on his belt buzzed to life. He checked it, noting the Folcroft number.
"Thank God, Dr. Smith," the club director was saying. "I mean- My heavens, thank God. If you hadn't stepped in, I don't know what would have-"
When he glanced over his shoulder he found he was alone.
The ancient bag of golf clubs was gone. So, too, it seemed, was the mysterious Dr. Harold Smith. Breathless, the club director hurried to attend the injured woman and await the ambulance. On his way, he nearly tripped on an empty Lubec Springs water bottle.
Scowling, the club director angrily kicked the offending bottle beneath a nearby overturned bar stool.
Chapter 12
Remo was sitting anxiously at one of the squad-room desks in the South Precinct Midtown station when the phone before him rang.
"Report," Smith said, his voice more tart than usual. It was as if his larynx had been soaked in lemon juice and had dried two sizes too small.
"We think it's Judith White, Smitty," Remo said. Around him paramedics were still tending to police injuries. One officer was being carried out on a stretcher. The pandemonium of half an hour before had been replaced by mostly grim silence, interrupted by soft whispers.
"A strong possibility," Smith agreed tightly. "There was an incident at my golf club a few minutes ago."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Not seriously," Smith said. "The assailant was subdued. However, he displayed behavior consistent with the victims of genetic tampering that we've encountered before."
"We've got a bunch more here," Remo said. "Chiun's downstairs questioning them. I doubt he'll have any luck. They're like last time. Just worried about filling their stomachs. We're up to our armpits in half-chewed corpses."
"I don't get this," Mark Howard's voice interjected. "Dr. Smith, your own files list this woman as dead."
Remo could tell by the hollow tone of the signal that Smith had his assistant on speakerphone. He pictured the young man sitting at earnest attention on his usual creaky wooden chair before Smith's desk.
"There was a body found after Remo's encounter with her," the CURE director explained. "It was badly damaged, but the assumption at the time was that it was that of Judith White. And it still could be. Judith White was not the first to use her formula. Perhaps she had a protege."
"Maybe," Remo said. "We haven't met the big puss herself. But this has her paw prints all over it. Manhattan looks like freaking Lion Country Safari."
"How is this possible?" Mark Howard asked. "I read some of the information in the CURE database on this before you got back here, Dr. Smith, but I don't get how they're able to effect changes like this in people."
"If we are correct in this, Mark, they are not people," Smith said gravely. "I cannot impress this on you enough. They might look human, but it is a deadly mistake to think otherwise." He took a deep breath before continuing. "As for the broad details, two decades ago a geneticist in Boston developed a gene-altering formula that allowed for rapid splicing of DNA from one species to another. She was able to lift specific characteristics from any animal and recode the existing DNA of another to incorporate the new genetic material. She was the first test subject, albeit accidentally. The resulting creature walked and talked and gave every outward appearance of a human female, but was something else entirely."
"Mostly tiger," Remo supplied. "That was what was in the goop she drank. And can we get the lead out, Smitty? You and the kid can do story time once I'm off the phone."
Smith was not dissuaded. "After several deaths in the Boston area, we managed to eliminate that woman. I had assumed that the case was closed. However, more than three years ago, a similar rash of killings took place in Boston."
"Judith White," Howard supplied.
"So we came to learn. She had discovered the old formula and improved on it. Although she infused her DNA with primarily tiger genes, she had also included traits from several other species. Strength, speed, coordination were all enhanced. Her ultimate goal was to replace man as the planet's dominant lifeform."
"And if she hadn't been such a whack-job, she might have succeeded back then," Remo pointed out.
"That is true," Smith replied darkly. "The method by which she intended to spread the formula into the general population was diabolical. She hid the gene-altering material in the DNA of a laboratory-created transgenic creature, ostensibly designed to eliminate world hunger. Those who consumed the tainted meat would have, over time, become like her."
"I remember reading about that at the time," Howard said. "But all those animals were destroyed."
"Yeah," Remo said vaguely. "All destroyed."
"That's true," Smith agreed. "Since the meat of the creatures was never consumed by anyone, the formula is being introduced in some other way."
Over the line, Remo heard the electronic beep of Smith's computer.
"One moment, Remo."
The rapid drumming of the CURE director's fingers on his keyboard ended in a rare, soft curse.
"I take it it's not good news?" Remo asked.
"The crisis is spreading," Smith said. "There are now reports of similar incidents occurring in other parts of New York, as well as two in Connecticut and one in New Jersey."
"Swell," Remo said. "Smitty, I called you hoping for some good news."
Smith gave a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps I can give you some small comfort," he said. "We cannot be certain it is her, but if Judith White did survive her encounter with you, she will not be what she once was. You did remove a limb, after all. That handicap alone will make her easier to find. I will begin a search. And with any luck the fall caused even greater damage. She may be an invalid. While able to direct things behind the scenes, hopefully she will not pose a personal threat to you or Master Chiun."
"It's not her I'm worried about, Smitty. By the looks of it, she's building an army for something."
"Yes," Smith agreed. "No matter her condition, our greatest concern is with the creatures she is creating. We need to find out the delivery method for the formula."
"Maybe Remo could follow a trail, Dr. Smith," Mark suggested. "Maybe one of these ... things can lead him back to the source."
"That's a swell idea, kid," Remo said. "I'm gonna go out right now and stand in the middle of Times Square with a leash and a box of Meow Mix on my head."
"That would not work anyway, Mark," Smith interjected. "It is not as if these creatures have a homing instinct."
"So we're back to square one," Remo complained. He spied another stretcher being carted into the squad room from the rear stairwell. This one was draped in a white sheet.
The Master of Sinanju appeared in the wake of the two morgue attendants who were carrying the body of the dead officer. His wrinkled face was thoughtful.
"Look, now that you know what's going on, maybe you can find out something from there," Remo said. "I'll keep looking around. Maybe I'll get lucky."
"We will try to find something from this end," Smith promised. "Call if you learn anything new." The line went dead. Remo was hanging up the phone as Chiun padded up.