"Hunh," Remo said. "I didn't know he'd taken this adoption stuff that far."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark asked, puzzled.
The Master of Sinanju interjected. "It means, Prince Mark, that the Emperor smiles favorably on you. A ruler parts more easily with a limb than a favorite sword."
"It's just a gun," Mark said.
"Think what you want, junior," Remo said. "Just remember, Arthur didn't pass Excalibur around as an ass-scratcher for the other knights." He pointed down the hall. "The stuff's in the back."
The three men started up the hall, but as they passed a door, Mark paused. "I should check in with Dr. Smith."
Mark started to push open Burt Solare's battered office door. He stopped the instant he saw the roomful of human bones and bloodstained hay.
"Oh, my," he gasped.
Chiun reached quickly around, pulling the door closed. "There is a telephone in the next room, Regent."
"Was that a- Was that a cow?"
"Some of one," Remo nodded. "You make your call and try to hold down lunch. We'll go get the stuff."
Remo and Chiun headed down the hall. Behind them, the assistant director of CURE pressed a hand to his stomach.
"I think I just turned vegan," Mark Howard groaned to the silent corridor.
HER HEART SCARCELY BEAT as she pressed her chest against the slate roof.
Judith White could will her heartbeat slower. The mastery she had over the muscle kept it from registering to the ears of the two Masters of Sinanju. Even so, she knew luck was with her. Had their attention not been focused elsewhere, they still might have detected her.
An ear cocked to one side, Judith listened.
The two that posed the greatest threat to her began to move away. In a moment, they were gone.
A single, strong heartbeat remained behind.
Judith didn't know what agency they were with, but judging from the conversation she had just overheard, the human that remained below was connected somehow.
Judith had thought her plan was lost. But now-when all she was after was the formula that could link her to Genetic Futures-a new opportunity had presented itself.
Growling with soft delight, she began creeping, paw over paw, to the edge of the roof.
MARK HELD his breath. Fighting the urge to retch, he doubled back to the first office.
When he pushed the door open, light from the hallway spilled into a more inviting environment. The tidy office of Owen Grude was nothing like the ghastly scene he'd just left.
The stench was still in the air. His breathing shallow, Mark went over to the desk and switched on the light.
The wide picture window that overlooked the desk reflected the bright office interior. Beyond the gleaming pane, the cold Maine evening menaced the trees.
Sitting in Owen Grude's chair, Mark dialed the special Folcroft code on the old-fashioned rotary phone. It was answered on the first ring.
"Smith," the CURE director said tartly.
"Dr. Smith, Mark. I just got here a few minutes ago."
"What is the situation?"
Mark was looking out the window. The woods were disappearing, swallowed up by the night. He thought of every jungle movie he'd ever seen as a, kid.
"It's awfully quiet out there," he said.
"That's good, I suppose," Smith said. "We'll have a clear field to send in other agencies to inspect the premises. Perhaps they'll turn something up in regard to White's lab."
"No luck yet?"
"No," Smith replied. "But it is there somewhere. It's only a matter of time until we find it. Until then, other authorities will have to deal with the creatures that scattered on Remo this morning. Since you left, there have been a few incidents, but nothing major. It seems the fear Remo and Chiun put in them is keeping them away from more populous areas for the time being. We can only hope it remains that way until they either change back or die out."
In the small office, Mark Howard's face darkened at the thought of all of Judith White's innocent victims. "I still want to know what she was doing," he said angrily.
"As do I," Smith said. "I still maintain that it is unlikely this was all done merely to bring Remo over to her side."
"It doesn't make sense," Mark insisted.
"Yes, it does, Mark," Smith replied firmly. "It is important in our work to realize that what makes little or no sense to us has almost always been meticulously planned by those we are up against. I guarantee you, her reasons for executing this plot in this manner make perfect sense to Judith White. We simply have not yet found out the details. Perhaps the answer is still there somewhere. I will have federal authorities go through that facility with a fine-tooth comb as soon as we are finished."
The logic and certainty of the CURE director helped to relieve some of Mark's anxiety.
"Well, I'm finished now," he said. "Remo's getting the stuff. I'm ready to come home. Do you want Remo and Chiun to head back with me?"
"No," Smith said. "It would probably be best to wait until morning. However, I will begin making arrangements for the authorities to move in."
As he sat behind Owen Grude's desk, Mark was beginning to feel cramped. The knee well was smaller than his own. He twisted in his chair. His knee bumped something hidden in the desk's well.
"I'll let them know," he said as he leaned back to see what was tucked beneath the desk.
"Return with the formula as soon as possible. We'll send it out for analysis as soon as you're back." When the phone clicked in his ear, Mark hung up and pushed away from the desk. He tipped his head to get a better view underneath.
Tucked far toward the front was a gray plastic valise, roughly the size of a small suitcase. Getting down on all fours, Mark dragged the case out from its hiding spot. Standing, he placed it in the center of the desk.
Etched in the right corner, two printed Bs were entwined with what looked like a five-rung spiral staircase. A single drawing of a DNA strand.
It was the logo of BostonBio, the company at which Judith White had developed her gene-altering formula. Mark recognized it from his research. Remo and Chiun's source must not have known of the second case.
Feeling the thrill of discovery, Mark popped the silver latches with his thumbs. Inside was lined with waves of soft egg-carton foam rubber. Recessed in smooth compartments in the packing material were six glass vials of brownish liquid.
Mark pulled one loose. Holding it up to the office light, he tipped the vial to one side. Like thick molasses, the gene-recoding substance rolled over the rounded interior of the tube.