Smith sat up more straightly. "Explain."
Remo exhaled angrily. "She was here, then she wasn't. Explanation over."
"Was she alone or were there others?"
"There were others, all right," Remo said. "And I know what you're thinking, but there's none left to ask where she might have gone to. The ones that aren't dead scattered like lab rats into the woods. They're probably halfway to Canada by now. But don't worry. As soon as they find out the whole damn country is on vacation thirteen months out of the year on America's hard-earned dime, they'll be back."
"So we still do not know what her ultimate plan was."
"Maybe we do," Remo said. "It's possible she did all this just to get me up here."
Smith frowned confusion. "Explain." "Remember last time how she tried to get me to convert? I must be pretty hard for a gal to forget because I think she staged all this to draw me out. They seemed to be waiting for me. Only this time instead of just her, there was an army. She must have thought there would be strength in numbers."
Smith's mouth felt dry. He wet his lips with his tongue. "If that's true, it is a troubling development, Remo," he said slowly.
"Tell me about it. Beyond that, I don't think we have to stretch it too far for her ultimate goal. She's a consistent DNA-hole. Her turn-ons include world domination, subjugating mankind and Purina People Chow."
Smith shook his head. His face was troubled. "No," he said. "It does not add up. She remained safely hidden all this time. She could have continued to do so indefinitely. I don't think she would bait such an elaborate trap, risking exposure simply to turn you into one of her own. Beyond that the scheme falls apart. The formula is only temporary and does not affect a large enough area of the country." He tapped a hand on his desk. There was something more here. He could feel it in his rock-ribbed New England soul. "It is unfortunate you didn't save one for questioning."
"It was Remo's turn, Emperor Smith," the Master of Sinanju's voice called from the background.
"It's always my turn," Remo complained.
With a weary sigh Smith glanced at his assistant. Mark Howard had left the CURE director's side. The young man was sitting across the desk in his usual chair. He hadn't wanted to interrupt. He was watching Smith anxiously.
"One moment, Remo, while I include Mark in this."
Smith switched over to speakerphone before replacing the receiver. When he sat back, the indentations of his chair accepted his angular frame.
"We do have one guy here, Smitty," Remo said. "He's not one of them, but I still don't think he'll be much help."
An unfamiliar, nasal voice came over the line. "How y' all doin' ?"
"Cork it, pinhead," Remo growled.
"Who is he?" Smith asked.
"Florida's answer to the one-man frat party," Remo said. "He drank the formula but didn't turn into one of them."
"How is that possible?" Smith asked.
"I think it's because he was stewed out of his mind when White gave him that cocktail of hers. Two-hundred-proof blood must kill the stuff or something."
"Yes, that is possible," Smith agreed. "In the first case twenty years ago, the formula was susceptible to all manner of harmful agents. Since Judith White is apparently using a similar version of that formula, high quantities of alcohol in one's system could nullify the effects."
"Great," Remo said. "The only way to beat her is for all of America to get sloshed out of our minds."
"I'll lead the charge," Bobby Bugget volunteered. "Just gimme a musket, a sack of limes and aim me at the nearest liquor store."
"Chiun, do something about Good-Time Charlie, will you?" Remo asked, irritated.
"I am doing this because I want to, not because you ordered me to," the Master of Sinanju replied. Smith heard a vicious slap followed by a loud yelp.
"Thanks, Little Father," Remo said.
"Think you could go a little softer next time, Little Father?" the voice of Bobby Bugget pleaded.
There followed a series of slaps and yelps that faded in the distance.
"That should keep them both busy for now," Remo said. "There's one silver lining in this cloud, Smitty. Bugget showed us where White stashed her case of tiger juice."
Very, very calmly, Smith placed a flat hand on his desk.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"I didn't test it, if that's what you mean. But it looks like the real deal to me."
"Remo, that could prove to be invaluable. It is possible to trace her lab using the genetic fingerprints within the formula itself. There are labs working to do so right now, but an undiluted form of the formula could prove critical. You should return to Folcroft with the samples at once."
"That might be a problem, Smitty."
"Why?"
"I know you said these things don't home, but is it possible she put some kind of new homing signal in it? One of those things that escaped from jail in New York was up here. I don't think she could have found her way up here by accident, and I doubt White gave directions on the front page of the New York Times. "
Smith tapped a finger on his desk, considering. "We know now that the formula has been altered. The introduction of a single biological imperative from a species indigenous to that region could theoretically affect the instincts of those under the influence of White's formula."
"I'm gonna assume that means yes," Remo said. "So there's our problem."
"I see," the CURE director said. "If there is a migratory instinct, there might be others, perhaps many more, en route to your location. You will have to wait there, at least until we can dispatch authorities in sufficient numbers to deal with whatever may yet arrive in Lubec."
"That's what I figured. So should I UPS this gunk?"
"No. With Judith White still at large, I don't want it to leave our hands." Smith considered only a minute, nodding with certainty. "I'll come for it."
"Dr. Smith."
So engrossed was he in his conversation, Smith had nearly forgotten there was someone else in the room. He glanced up. Mark Howard was standing once more, a determined look on his face.
"What is it, Mark?"
"I'll go," the assistant CURE director said. Smith hesitated. And in that moment of uncertainty, both men knew what passed through his mind. The last time Smith had sent Mark Howard on a simple field assignment, the younger man wound up in a coma.
Smith pursed his lips. "Yes," he said slowly. "That's good of you to volunteer, Mark, but I'm not sure it's necessary."
"Dr. Smith, this is what I'm here to do," Mark argued. "And anyway, it's just courier work. I'll stay in the car until I get there, collect the formula and get out. I won't stop for anyone or anything. Besides, if Judith White is smart, she wouldn't stick around after Remo and Chiun wiped out her protection. It'll be a piece of cake."