"Judith White has-or at least had-a methodical, well-ordered mind," Smith said, eyes on his monitor. "Given her scientific background, from her perspective this would be the most efficient way to handle her procreative needs."
Remo didn't even look at his employer. "Don't, Smitty," he warned. "Don't even think about being matter-of-fact about all this."
The CURE director could hear the strain in Remo's voice.
He glanced up.
There was something more beneath the anger. He could hear it in Remo's voice, see it on his face. Hurt and worry.
Smith understood the reason. Remo had been robbed of a life of wife and children many years ago. And the thief had been Smith. Now, thanks to Smith, Judith White might acquire the means to create something that would stand as a mockery to everything Remo wanted but could never have.
Clearing his throat, Smith refocused his attention on his computer.
He had made arrangements for a Navy jet to fly them from Connecticut to Maine. He quickly gave Remo the details. Once he was finished, both Sinanju Masters turned wordlessly.
Chiun padded from the office. Remo trailed behind. He was on his way out the door when Smith called to him.
"Remo, I understand that this is difficult for you. I apologize for that. But Mark is innocent. Please do not blame him for any of this."
Remo turned. His voice was flat.
"I don't. The kid's not responsible for what he's doing. This is all your fault, Smitty. Whatever happens from here on out is your doing."
With that he was gone. Leaving Harold W. Smith alone with his computers. And his guilt.
Chapter 35
The car scrunched to a stop on the lonely access road. The thing that had been Mark Howard switched off the engine.
When he got out, he smelled the tantalizing blood aroma rising from the outside door handle.
He had stolen the car in Rye.
This new Mark Howard was no more fool than his human counterpart had been. He had wisely chosen from memory a man from the CURE computers. Mark's first real meal had been a minor player in organized crime. He might not be missed for days. And even then his associates would probably dispose of the remains themselves rather than involve the authorities.
Harold Smith wouldn't be able to track him. Mark moved with catlike silence up the wooded access road.
He was pleased at his own thoroughness. When he was human and cared about such trivial human things, he had made a point of familiarizing himself with all possible routes in to Lubec Springs. Since it wasn't relevant, he hadn't bothered to mention it to the others. And so it was that Mark Howard had his own private route to the bottling plant.
A few dozen yards up the road, he glimpsed the low buildings through the trees. For the next half hour, he patiently watched for any sign of activity. Nothing.
Mark continued on.
The bodies that Remo had forced Bobby Bugget to haul from the warehouse were still arranged outside the loading dock. They were going on two days dead now. The smells were no longer inviting.
Mark circled the warehouse and bottling facility. Behind the offices, he stopped in the shattered glass beneath Owen Grude's window. Sprawled along the length of the empty frame, a lone figure waited, bored.
Judith White arched her back, shaking off slumber. "It's about time you came back." She yawned. "I was starting to think I wasted my time on you." She rolled to a sitting position, legs dangling to the ground.
Wordlessly Mark dug in his pocket. He produced a small plastic tube, handing it to Judith White.
She accepted the insulated container. It was cold to the touch. Whatever was inside remained frozen. Judith looked up, suspicious. "What's this?" Mark Howard smiled. When he told her, he could see the look of delight blossom on her beautiful face. "You're joking, right? I figured you'd tell me where he lived. That I'd maybe sneak in and get a follicle from his hairbrush next time he goes shopping. At best I thought maybe since you worked with him you could get me some blood from his last physical." A cold edge crept into her voice. "Is this a joke? Because if it is, I swear I'll rip your liver out and make you watch me eat it."
"It's no joke," Mark insisted.
Judith White's grin broadened. Clutching the vial tight in one paw, she hopped lightly to the ground. "Just one thing," Mark asked. "Why is Remo so special?"
"Genes, sonny boy, genes," Judith said. "Why do pretty human females sniff out big, strong, pretty lunkheads to make darling little pretty pink human babies? Because pretty breeds pretty, and strong breeds strong. I've got the brains but, sad to say, I didn't come by the brawn naturally. But in all my years I never met another human like your friend Remo. Whatever he's got, it's in the genes." She held up the vial like a trophy. "And now I've got it; too."
Judith smiled, victorious. In her mind were tantalizing images of a new world. Men and women sold as livestock. Human children raised in pens like veal. A single pack of creatures like herself-successors to humanity-spreading out across the globe. And herself, Dr. Judith White, architect of the new age, ruling over it all.
It was her dream, her vision. But the instant they came, the images were swept away.
A voice from behind spoiled her moment of triumph.
"Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?" Judith and Mark wheeled.
Remo and Chiun were sliding silently around the side of the building from the direction of the parking lot.
"Prepare to meet your end, perversion of nature," the Master of Sinanju intoned.
Judith had been shocked by their appearance, but quickly brought herself under control. "Sorry, no can do, Gramps," she said. "I've still got a lot of work ahead of me." With a malevolent grin, she waggled the specimen container.
"How did you two get here?" Mark demanded. "I didn't hear you drive up."
"We've been here right along," Remo said. "We've just been waiting for you to finally show up, junior."
"That's impossible," Mark insisted. "I couldn't hear you or smell you anywhere."
"How like all the lesser beasts," the Master of Sinanju said, his head shaking with pity. "You smell for the scent of man on the footpath to tell whether or not you should fear, yet you do not sense the arrow that from a distance takes your life. We," he said, nodding to himself and Remo, "are the arrow."
Judith nodded, impressed. Clearly she hadn't sensed them either. "What can I say. That's exactly why I wanted your input, brown eyes."
Despite her seeming calm, she was being cautious. With small sidesteps she was circling back.
Remo expected her to dart for the woods, but instead she inched closer to the building. The broken picture window was above her shoulder.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Mittens, but that stuff you're holding isn't exactly the freshest fish in the tank."
Judith's face clouded.
"How new is this?" she hissed to Howard.
"I'm not sure the exact date," Mark replied. "But it was taken some time in late 1971."
"This is more than thirty years old?" she demanded, a hint of worry melting the certainty in her voice.