"An illusion," Remo said after fishing his hands around in the opaque human form. "He's not really here."
"The Dutchman has escaped!" shrieked Chiun. "It is a calamity."
Remo pulled his hands out, saying, "He couldn't have gone far. Not if he's making those images appear. He's somewhere near. We just gotta find him."
They checked every room. The ones that weren't empty held only ordinary patients. Except the cell containing Uncle Sam Beasley. He sat at his drawing desk, pretending to ignore them, but with his head cocked at a tilt that said he was listening to every word.
Remo, Chiun and Smith stood outside that cell, talking.
"Maybe Beasley saw something," Remo suggested.
"That is not Beasley," said Chiun very suddenly.
Remo and Smith looked at him.
"What do you mean?" asked Smith.
"Listen to his heartbeat."
Smith grew puzzled. Remo shut his eyes, listening.
"Normal heartbeat," said Remo. "So what?"
"That is impossible," snapped Smith. "Uncle Sam Beasley was outfitted with an animatronic heart after he was brought out of suspended animation."
"Then that's not Uncle Sam," said Remo.
"If not, then who is it?" asked Smith.
The glass in the cell door suddenly wavered as if it were a TV screen or a porthole shimmering in water.
When it cleared, Uncle Sam Beasley was gone. In his place stood Jeremiah Purcell-the Dutchman. He regarded the three startled faces with his neon blue eyes and began giggling.
"Let me at him," said Remo, lunging for the door.
"No," cried Chiun, blocking the way with his tiny body. "Do not let him taunt you into killing him and thus yourself."
"I remember what he did to me," Remo snarled, face twisting with emotion. "To Mah-Li. It was my wedding day and he took her place, the rat bastard. I stood beside my bride-to-be, not knowing that she was already dead and he had taken her place, using his mind tricks."
"That is the past, Remo," Chiun said, trying to catch his pupil's gaze and hold it.
"Shove it," said Remo. "Look at him. He wants me to come in."
"Yes! In the dimness of his mind he understands that if you strike him dead, you too will fall and he will have his revenge in death. Yours and his."
The Dutchman stood looking at Remo through the window, wild-eyed and expectant. He tittered.
Smith spoke up. "Remo, as your father, I order you-"
"Stuff it," Remo said sharply.
"If you will not obey your true father, stubborn one," Chiun said, "obey your adopted one."
Remo just looked at Chiun and Smith, as if doubting their sanity and his own. The tension began going out of his face.
"We can't leave him here," Remo protested. "He could break out at any moment."
Smith shook his gray head seriously. "If he had that ability, Remo, he would have done it."
"But he did. We hauled him back, thinking he was Beasley."
"Did he resist?"
"Well, no," Remo admitted.
"His mind may be coming out of his autistic phase, but apparently not enough for his Sinanju skills to return."
"Only a matter of time," warned Remo, not taking his eyes off the Dutchman's wan, taunting face.
"All in due time."
"What say we check?" Remo said tightly.
"Master Chiun will examine Purcell."
Reluctantly Remo stepped aside.
The Master of Sinanju strode into the cell. The Dutchman retreated. Chiun stalked him about the room until Jeremiah Purcell found himself trapped in a corner covered by drawings.
A quirk of fear came into the Dutchman's pale face. He trembled from head to toe, setting his long cornsilk hair shimmying.
Without warning, Chiun spun Purcell in place, exposing the brass hasps that pinioned his sleevewrapped arms to his back. A slashing fingernail broke them in a vertical line. The canvas sleeves dropped loosely at his sides.
"Strike me," Chiun dared.
The Dutchman only giggled.
Chiun began weaving lines and circles before Purcell's pallid face. Each feint brought a flinch, but no return blow.
Chiun paused, frowing. When his fingers licked up to squeeze a nerve on the Dutchman's shoulder, there was no resistance, no blocking blow. The Dutchman wilted, unconscious.
"No mind that retains the sun source," Chiun intoned, "would allow the body it controls to be touched in anger."
His arms disappearing into his kimono sleeves, the Master of Sinanju emerged from the cell. "He is harmless, except for his crazed mind," Chiun added solemnly. "Let us go."
They walked away, Remo reluctantly, after Harold Smith barred the door.
Remo snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. If that's Purcell, where's Beasley?"
"Escaped," said Smith, his voice flat.
"Damn! That must have been Beasley in the car that tried to run us over."
"We will undertake the search for Beasley later," said Smith grimly. "I must deal with the IRS first."
"Want me to fetch them?"
"Just Brull. The others can cool their heels on the roof."
"Maybe it'll rain," said Remo. "And the IRS will get soaked for a change."
They were in Harold Smith's office. Smith threw himself into his high-backed chair behind the desk with the black glass top.
"I have explained that this is a FEMA site," Smith was saying. Big Dick Brull stood nervously between Remo and Chiun. He was staring at Chiun, who still wore the black kimono with the orange markings that made him resemble a monarch butterfly.
"You're the butterfly," Brull blurted out.
"And you are the taxidermist."
"I'm no taxidermist."
"You got that right," said Remo. "A taxidermist leaves the skin."
Brull swallowed hard.
Smith was working the telephone.
"This is Smith. My password is Site Forty. I require independent confirmation of wire transfer number 334 to the Grand Cayman Trust emergency account."
"One moment," a crisp voice said loud enough for everyone to hear. Smith had engaged the speakerphone function.
A moment later the crisp voice said, "Confirming wire transfer number 334 to Grand Cayman Trust. Date is September 2, this calendar year. Amount is twelve million and no change."
"Confirm transfer fully authorized by FEMA," said Smith.
"Fully."
"That will be all. Thank you," said Smith.
He looked up, regarding Big Dick Brull coldly.
"Those are just voices," Brull said defensively.
"You now have the FEMA wire-transfer locator number to take to your superiors. If you dare."
Brull swallowed hard.
"Of course, since it was the unreported twelve million that showed up in the Folcroft bank account that precipitated the seizure of Folcroft Sanitarium, it might be more expedient to pay the director of the Lippincott Savings Bank a call. I am certain he will confirm that the money was transferred in error and does not belong in the account. They will wipe it from their computers once this has been established to the satisfaction of everyone. And if you are smart, you too will wipe it off the IRS records."
"I can't promise that."
"You have already seen too much."
Brull tossed his bead in either direction, saying, "I see these two doing impossible things. I see lavender pterodactyls and pink cartoon rabbits that don't-can't-exist in real life."
"You sound like you need a long vacation, pal," suggested Remo. "You're imagining things."
"Don't give me that! You saw them, too!"
Remo shook his head in a slow negative.
"I see only a liar," Chiun said coolly.
Big Dick Brull seemed to shrink into his shoes. His shoulders sagged. "I make no promises," he said grudgingly.
"And I make no guarantees," replied Smith. "Remo."
Remo Williams reached up and gave Dick Brull's neck a squeeze that brought a flush to his face and made him feel as if his eyeballs were about to pop from their sockets.