"Oh," she said, noting his sharp tone. "Yes, sir. I just have to make copies of these and put them downstairs with the rest." She held up a file of papers in her hand.
Smith nodded crisply. He stepped around her, heading for his closed office door.
"It's just awful about Mr. Howard," Mrs. Mikulka said. She was chewing on her thumbnail once more.
"Yes," Smith agreed. "But as I say, I'm sure he'll be fine."
"I hope so," she said absently. "He's such a nice young man. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, Dr. Smith. You know I've always enjoyed working at Folcroft. But things have been so much ...lighter since he came to work here, don't you think? Oh, well. We hope for the best, don't we?"
File in hand and a worried look on her face, she headed for the hall.
"Oh," Mrs. Mikulka called as Smith was reaching for his doorknob. "Your two friends are waiting inside."
She shook her head, muttering to herself. Still clucking concern, she left the outer room.
The care lines of Smith's face faded as he pushed open his office door. It was as if all at once exhaustion and worry had finally taken their toll. His shoulders sank.
Remo and the Master of Sinanju sat on the carpet before Smith's desk. When the CURE director entered his office, both men looked up with troubled eyes.
"How is he?" Remo asked.
Smith's face was blank as he shut the door. He seemed robbed of the ability to display emotion. "Not well," he replied.
Walking numbly past Remo and Chiun, he made a beeline for his desk. He sat down woodenly.
He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He nudged his black office phone as if to straighten it. After, he put his hands to the arms of his chair. He didn't turn on his computer. He just stared.
Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. There was a hint of sympathy on the old Korean's face. The look of a father who had himself once lost a son.
They all knew what Mark Howard had come to mean to Harold W. Smith. But this was the first time Remo felt it. His own heart went out to Smith, a man unaccustomed to emotion, whose numbness at this point now revealed an unexpected depth of attachment for his young assistant.
"I'm sure he'll be fine, Smitty," Remo said softly.
"Remo is correct, Emperor," Chiun echoed. Slender fingers rested in bony clusters atop carefully scissored knees. "Others have survived this trial in the past. Prince Mark has strength of body, mind and character. He is sure to pass this test."
Smith removed his glasses, placing them on his desk. "While it is true some earlier victims changed back, others could not take the strain, even with the earliest version of the formula," he said wearily. "We know that she has made some alterations. Without an undiluted sample of what she is using now, we can't begin to judge its ultimate effects. At least not until these latest victims begin to change back."
He closed his tired eyes.
"The ones from Manhattan have been transferred to high-security facilities where they will be monitored around the clock," Smith continued. "We will learn from them whether or not humans exposed to this version of the formula are able to slough off the effects."
On the floor, Remo heard the strain in the older man's voice. "I still can't believe she slipped through our fingers like that," he complained. "Now she's at large with that formula again. There's no telling what she'll do next."
Smith opened his eyes. They were rimmed in red. "For America, the greatest risk of White's tampering is not out there. It is downstairs."
The true meaning behind his words was obvious. Remo felt the air of the room still.
"Smitty, you can't be serious," he said quietly. There was not a twitch of emotion on the CURE director's face. He replaced his glasses.
"Given Mark's knowledge of our operations, I obviously cannot allow him to be remanded to the custody of another facility," he said. "Even here at Folcroft he is a potential threat. I have placed him in the secure ward, away from the general population. Still, in his current condition he is the worst kind of threat for us."
There was a time when Remo would have welcomed Smith's words. But that now seemed a long time gone.
"The kid's been locked up downstairs before and you didn't consider pulling the plug on him, Smitty," Remo said.
Smith didn't look at Remo. He spun his chair to the window. His own reflection stared back at him from the dark pane. He was surprised at how old he seemed.
"That's not entirely true, Remo," he replied quietly.
Smith's voice seemed faraway. Given the current circumstances, he seemed almost to be looking back wistfully on the events that had twice before put Mark Howard in CURE's special basement isolation ward.
Despite his fondness for his assistant, CURE security overruled all other considerations. That was true for all of them-Remo, Chiun, even Smith himself. The CURE director was no hypocrite. In the pocket of his vest was a coffin-shaped pill that Smith intended to take on his last day as administrator of America's most secret agency. The pill had been procured for Smith by another CURE agent many years ago. That man had been Smith's only real friend and yet, when CURE security was threatened, Smith had ordered his death. Just as he would order the death of Mark Howard if circumstances deemed it necessary.
Remo and Chiun felt the heavy burden that weighed on the bony shoulders of Harold W. Smith. Again Remo felt a pang of sympathy for this taciturn man whom he did not always like, but whom he always respected.
"Let me know when you need me," Remo said softly.
Smith said nothing. Swiveling back around in his chair, he offered a crisp nod.
"Worry not about the health of your heir, Emperor Smith," Chiun said. "A fire burns in his soul. This have I seen. He will not slip easily into the Void. Concern yourself more with finding the fiend who has done this to him."
"I have been working on that, Master Chiun," Smith said. He seemed relieved to discuss something other than his assistant. "Mark narrowed our search for her lab considerably. I have been attempting to weed through the larger list, reducing it to the likeliest locations. Still, even if we find it, there is no guarantee that she will return there now."
Remo had already spent enough time sitting around Folcroft. He suddenly rose to his feet.
"All right, that's it," he said firmly. "She got away. So what? Everybody's got to be somewhere. I'll just go back to Maine and beat the bushes until I flush her out."
The CURE director shook his head. "We cannot know that she is still there," he said. "She has what she wants. She collected the formula she left behind. It would make sense for her to get out of the area now that she knows we are on to her."
"She doesn't have what she wants, Smitty," Remo said. "I'm fine, remember? She didn't turn me into some sort of Vicious Bearded Gagon in her freak menagerie."
"I still do not think that was her intention," the CURE director said. "But what else it might have been, I have no clue. Her scheme was not merely to infect those who drank her tampered product. If so, she would have used the newer, permanent version of the formula. The kind she used suggests she only wanted a temporary army at her disposal. Still, one has to assume that she ultimately wants to transform all mankind into creatures like herself."
"Patience is not a quality exclusive to humans," Chiun suggested.
"Agreed," Smith said. "So we know her ultimate goal, and we know that she considers whatever it is she is up to to be a step toward achieving that goal. She does not mind the attention this will draw to her as long as she succeeds. I almost wish she simply wanted to make Remo one of her own. It would simplify things for us. Until we do know what she's truly after, we are all at a great disadvantage."
He was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. It was the interoffice line.
"Excuse me," Smith said, reaching for the receiver.
Remo was still standing. As Smith answered the phone, he turned to the Master of Sinanju.
"I don't like just standing here doing nothing," he complained, clenching and unclenching his hands.
"The creature has fled. Smith's oracles have yet to locate the place where she created her wicked brews. What do you propose we do?"