Dr. Drew ran alongside the two men as they crossed back to the sanitarium.
"Smitty, I-" Remo began.
"Later," the CURE director snapped. Without a backward glance at his enforcement arm, he ran after the others.
As the Navy helicopter was lifting off, Dr. Lance Drew was flinging open the side door of the facility. Running up behind, Smith grabbed the door from him, ushering the doctor and the others hastily inside. He ducked in behind them.
There was nothing more Remo and Chiun could do.
Faces as cold as the wind from the Sound, the two men glided across the lawn and slipped inside the big building.
Chapter 30
The examination took more than half an hour. Harold W. Smith watched every second of it, face drawn in lines of paternal concern.
Even before Dr. Lance Drew finished the exam, he knew his original assumption had been correct. This was an unusual case. But while unusual, it wasn't unique. Dr. Drew was certain this was connected to the still unexplained incidences in New York and elsewhere.
When he was through, the doctor instructed an attending Folcroft nurse to draw additional blood for testing. As the woman did as she was instructed, Drew was pulling off his latex gloves. He stepped across the small examination room to his anxious employer.
"This man should be in a hospital," Dr. Drew insisted in a hushed tone.
Smith shook his head firmly. "Folcroft is adequately equipped for his needs, Doctor."
"I don't even know what his needs are." Drew shot a troubled glance at Mark Howard. "There's been a rash of cases like this in the past few days."
A thought occurred to him. "I assume you've read about them?"
Dr. Drew didn't mean to insult, but Director Smith gave the impression of a man not fully in touch with the events of the everyday world. Drew wanted to be certain that Dr. Smith knew what they were dealing with here.
"I am aware of what is going on," Smith said icily.
"Oh. Well, then you must know that this is more than we can handle here."
"I know nothing of the sort," Smith replied tartly. "Folcroft certainly has enough room for one more patient. And as I understand it, none of those other cases have been cured. Those afflicted like Assistant Director Howard have been sedated and warehoused in other hospitals pending a cure."
"That's true," Drew agreed slowly, "but if there is a breakthrough-"
"Then and only then will we send Mr. Howard for treatment if need be," Smith interrupted. "Until that time, Folcroft takes care of its own."
Dr. Drew could see there would be no arguing. "Very well, Dr. Smith," he sighed. "But given what we know of those other cases, I insist we keep him under heavy sedation."
Dr. Drew nodded to the sleeping form of Mark Howard. He raised a bushy white eyebrow when he saw that the crazed twitches that had afflicted the young man since his arrival had stopped. A nurse continued to fuss over the unconscious young man.
"I not only agree, I insist," Smith said. "Do it. And report back to me hourly on his condition."
With that the Folcroft director left the room.
As the big examination room door sighed softly shut, Dr. Drew watched through the window as the gaunt, gray man hurried up the sterile hallway of Folcroft's security wing.
The creases of Dr. Drew's pronounced frown lines deepened. His employer had an unerring ability to make the greatest physician feel like a lowly janitor. Drew dismissed the thought the moment it passed through his mind.
"That's not true," Lance Drew muttered. "He treats the janitors around here like he cares whether or not they quit."
Grunting unhappily, he turned to the nurse.
"I need a walk. I'll be back with the patient's sedatives in a minute."
"Yes, Doctor."
Drew pushed open the door and stepped out in the hall.
Across the room, unseen by either Dr. Lance Drew or the Folcroft nurse, a pair of yellow predator's eyes peered at them both through razor slits.
Chapter 31
Eileen Mikulka's thumbnail was bitten nearly down to the quick. Nerves, she thought as she chewed the ragged end. All nerves. All because of the terrible news.
Smith's secretary had been a nervous wreck ever since she'd found out that poor Assistant Director Howard had been brought back to Folcroft by some sort of emergency life-flight helicopter.
Mrs. Mikulka normally went home at five. But two long-term Folcroft patients had recently passed on and, as was her custom, Smith's secretary had dutifully retired their files to the storage room in the basement.
While downstairs earlier that week she had unhappily noted the condition of the rest of the patient records. It had been years since she'd given them a good going-over. She had gotten permission from Dr. Smith to stay on after normal business hours a few days that week to clean up the basement files.
She had been coming up from downstairs when she heard the frightful ruckus out on the lawn. There was a helicopter and flashing lights and a stretcher being hurried inside.
A night-duty nurse had told Mrs. Mikulka that the patient was that nice young Mr. Howard.
Fraught with concern, Mrs. Mikulka had returned to her own office. But she had been in such a distracted state she couldn't seem to keep her mind on work.
Now, forty-five minutes later, the plump, middle-aged woman puttered from desk to corner filing cabinet, not sure what she was even doing.
This was the state she was in-beside herself with worry, seemingly lost in her own office-when Dr. Smith came hurrying in from the hallway, his face drawn.
Smith seemed surprised to see his secretary still at work so late after five.
"Oh, Dr. Smith, how is Mr. Howard?" Mrs. Mikulka asked.
"Mark is fine," Smith said brusquely. "At the moment he is resting comfortably."
He tried to sidestep her, but the distraught woman wouldn't let him to his office.
"The poor dear. He hasn't had much luck since he started working here, has he? Someone said he has that awful thing on the news. The thing that made those people do those terrible things earlier today. It isn't that, is it?"
Smith's lips thinned in irritation.
It was apparent Dr. Lance Drew or the attending nurse had mentioned Mark's condition to others on staff. Smith made a mental note to reprimand the Folcroft staff members for their lack of discretion.