"The guy I spoke to was certain there were alterations to the old formula, Dr. Smith."
"Then it is a certainty she has a lab." Smith replaced his glasses. "She had to know Lubec Springs would eventually be identified as the source. If simply increasing the numbers of her species was her goal, it would have made sense to blanket as wide an area as possible. She would have wanted to infect the greatest number of people before she was found out. Yet she seemed to concentrate in only one part of the country."
A thoughtful look on his face, Smith picked up the aspirin bottle of formula from the corner of his desk. "I thought you usually used children's aspirin," Mark noted, nodding to the bottle.
"The sample Remo obtained in New York," Smith explained. He shook the bottle. Liquid sloshed inside.
"Do you want me to get rid of it?"
"No," Smith said. "For now I'll store it downstairs. In fact, it might be wise to save some frozen form of the genetic material she used in perpetuity. Perhaps from this one day an antidote or vaccine could be found."
"I notice we're both using 'she' a lot," Mark said. Smith nodded as he tapped a gnarled thumb on the bottle lid. "Given what you have learned, I am leaning more toward Judith White herself as mastermind," he said, putting the bottle aside once more.
"After all, she did not turn any of the people in her lab three years ago. None were implicated at the time and they all underwent testing after the fact. Those that she recruited at that time were not scientists. Therefore we are not now dealing with a leftover creature from that time, since they would not have her knowledge of genetics."
"It still might not be her," Mark suggested. "One of the others might have laid low for a while and then found a geneticist to turn-someone who could help. You said those briefcases of her formula were never found. They wouldn't have needed her science background to turn new recruits."
"It does not fit their pattern of behavior," Smith insisted. "They would be like all animals. Driven purely by instinct. To feed, mate. They would live in the moment. They wouldn't worry about covering their tracks all this time. Only Judith White had a vision of a greater future for the abominations she had created. She alone would have the patience to wait this long. It must be her." His frown lines deepened. "But what her plan is I have no idea."
"Well, lucky for us Remo injured her last time."
"Yes," Smith agreed. "Still, she will not be unprotected. It is not cliche to say that an injured animal is most dangerous when it is cornered. I urged Remo and Master Chiun to caution before I sent them to Maine."
"What about the protesters?" Mark asked.
Even before Mark had called, Smith's computers had pulled up reports of the Reticulated New England Speckled Leech protesters outside the Lubec Springs bottling plant.
"They should not be a problem. Our biggest concern would be exposure to the press. But there has not been great interest in their protest. The news cycle being what it is, I doubt they will get more coverage than they did today. Still, Remo and Chiun will be arriving just before dawn. Things should be quiet enough at that time for them to do what they need to and get out."
"Dr. Smith, just so you know, I'm a little worried that the protesters are from Green Earth," Mark said. They had recently encountered the environmental activist group in South America. Back then it was in the form of a former Soviet president high up in the organization. That man's foolishness had resulted in environmental devastation throughout a large part of the Caribbean.
The CURE director caught the subtle strain in his assistant's voice at the mention of Green Earth.
"It is a large organization, with interests all around the world," Smith said cautiously. "Since this and our last encounter with them seemed unconnected, I was going to chalk it up to coincidence." He peered over the tops of his rimless glasses. "Unless you think we should look deeper into their group."
Mark met the older man's level gaze.
It was a subject that gave them both discomfort. Mark had a special, almost precognitive ability that had in the past given him early insight into potential CURE problems. For the assistant director of CURE, it was like peering into a puzzle box and seeing part of the picture where others only saw a jumble of pieces.
Mark shook his head. "There's nothing right now," he said. "But there might be something coming. I don't know for sure. But we should keep an open file on them."
"Very well," Smith said. "I'll have the mainframes collate any Green Earth data they find." With a few sure strokes on his keyboard, he issued the proper commands to the basement computers. While Smith typed, Mark got to his feet. His back was sore from sitting around the GenPlus offices all evening.
"If there's nothing else, I'd better get back to work," he said. "I'll try to find that lab. You should really go home, Dr. Smith. I'll stay here tonight."
Smith glanced up, shaking his head. "If I need to, I will take a few hours' sleep on the sofa." He ignored the look of concern that passed across his assistant's face, turning his attention back to his computer screen.
Mark could see there would be no arguing. Without another word, he headed for the door.
"Mark."
Smith called him as he was opening the door. When Howard turned, he saw that the CURE director wore a thoughtful expression. Light from Smith's buried monitor cast ghostly shadows on his gray face.
"Judith White is highly intelligent," the older man said. He leaned back in his chair, considering for a long moment. "Rather than look for the lab itself, I want you to do a search for mysterious deaths. There would be no mutilations like today or back in Boston. To do so would have tipped her hand long before this, and she is much too smart for that. Given her, er, appetite, they would have to be bodies missing organs or limbs. Perhaps cases that have been attributed to a serial killer and that remain unsolved. Begin with newspaper reports, police and FBI records and expand out from there."
Orders crisply delivered, he returned to his keyboard.
It was a familiar pose. One that Mark Howard had grown used to over the past few years. The gaunt, gray man in the austere office typing assuredly at his computer. Mark didn't know why, but he found comfort in the image.
Smiling to himself, Mark gently closed the door, so as not to disturb America's last, great patriot.
Chapter 18
A Navy jet carried Remo and Chiun as far as Bangor. A waiting Coast Guard helicopter brought them to a field just outside of Jonesboro.
Smith had arranged delivery of a rental car. The helicopter was lifting off into the predawn gray above Route 1 as the rental keys were being dropped into Remo' s hand.
The pair of federal marshals who had been awakened in the dead of night with special orders to rent the car left the two Sinanju Masters beside the road. Yawning, they returned to their own vehicle as Remo and Chiun climbed into the rented car.
Both Coast Guard helicopter and U.S. Marshals took off down the coast. Remo headed in the opposite direction.
The minute they were on the highway, Remo had his foot jammed down on the accelerator. The car was soon tearing up the road at speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour.
Chiun watched the road with some concern. "Your driving being what it is, I cannot say that you are operating this vehicle in a more reckless fashion than usual," the old Korean said as Remo nearly sideswiped his third car. "Since you have not yet crashed, flipped or otherwise mangled either it or me, one could say you are doing better than usual. However, your speed might be considered excessive by the local constabulary."
"Cops schmops," Remo said, tension tightening his jaw. "Let them catch me if they can. Besides, most cops on duty at this time of the morning are either napping in their cruisers or their mistresses' apartments."
Luckily traffic was thin so early in the day. Remo beeped and jerked the wheel, scraping out between two cars and into the left lane. He accelerated past another speeding vehicle. With another honk and twist, he was back in the right lane.
From the passenger's seat, Chiun watched the display with disapproval. "How much did Smith pay you to assassinate me?" he asked abruptly.
"Huh?" Remo said. "What are you talking about?"
"He has put me in the death seat of this carriage with maniac you behind the wheel. Obviously he wishes the Master dead. Why else did we not take the aircraft farther?"
"He was afraid White would hear the chopper, realize it wasn't supposed to be there and bolt. The last thing we want is for her to get away again."
"No," Chiun pointed out. "While that would be bad, the last thing we want is for me to be killed."
"We've all gotta go sometime, Little Father."
"Speak for yourself, Round Eyes," the Master of Sinanju said. He sighed. "I suppose my leniency in training is to blame for your poor driving skills. I noticed a marked deterioration in your skills while we were living in Castle Sinanju, which I did nothing to address."
"Yeah, Boston does have a tendency to bring out the worst in most drivers. Fortunately, I avoided the curse." He laid on the horn and drove onto the median strip to avoid a bread truck on its early-morning rounds.
Chiun shook his head sadly. "The location of Castle Sinanju should have had no effect on your driving skills. A duck may live every day of its life in a stable, but it will never try to be a horse. And do you know why?"