Smith's desk was an onyx slab set before the big picture window at the back of the office. Beneath its surface was a canted monitor, visible only to whoever sat at the desk. A keyboard at desk's edge only became visible when it sensed Smith's touch. Keys lit obedient amber flashes in response to his relentless drumming fingers.
He had been working for hours nonstop. All at once, Smith paused at his workstation.
The lines of amber text on his special monitor were beginning to blur again.
Blinking hard, he removed his rimless glasses. He massaged his eyes with the tips of his arthritic fingers. Looking to a point across the room, he tried to regain his focus.
The thing he stared at was a drab black-and-white photograph of Folcroft, taken some time in the 1950s. It had been hung in the office by the sanitarium's previous administrator.
Smith had never thought to take down the picture, never considered bringing in something of a more personal nature from home. The CURE director felt that any infusion of one's personality into a work area had the effect of making that area too comfortable. And comfort bred lax work habits.
Besides, Smith's office did reflect his personality. It was cold, humorless and Spartan. The room was a direct, if inadvertent, gaze into the soul of the gray old man in the gray three-piece suit who sat in isolation at the loneliest posting in all of America's intelligence services.
Smith's eyes began to clear. The young saplings in the photograph, which had grown into mighty shade trees during Smith's tenure at Folcroft, were starting to come into focus.
He replaced his glasses and was turning back to his keyboard when the door to his office unexpectedly burst open. Smith looked up with a concerned start.
"Hope you're decent," Remo announced as he strode into the room. Chiun swept in after him.
"He is that and more," the Master of Sinanju proclaimed, personally insulted by Remo's choice of words. "He is decent, kind and generous. Hail, Smith, guardian of the sacred Constitution." The Korean gave an informal bow before sweeping across the room.
At his desk, Smith was still recovering from his initial shock. He offered a hurried bow of his head. "Please shut the door," he said to Remo. "And I wish you would knock."
"And miss that look on your face?" Remo said, swinging the door shut. "By the way, if you want to look a little more guilty, why not try wearing a black mask and an I Violated The Constitution And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt shirt?"
As he crossed over to Smith's desk, he dug in the pocket of his chinos, pulling out an aspirin bottle. "A little present from Catwoman," he said, tossing the bottle to Smith.
The CURE director caught it with both hands. Liquid sloshed inside. "This is the police station sample you phoned about, I assume?" he queried dryly.
"Yep. We dumped the rest down the drain." Smith placed the bottle to one side of his desk. "We will test this if it becomes necessary. When you called, I sent Mark to my country club to collect samples there. They have been rushed off for analysis."
"The kid's not here?"
"I instructed him to remain at the lab conducting the tests. I wanted him on-site the instant there is news."
"The news is what Remo has already told you, Emperor," Chiun said. "The creatures that have twice vexed your kingdom have returned. Fortunately, with Sinanju as sword and shield, you need not fear any common jungle beasts."
Tucking his black robes around him, the Master of Sinanju sank to a lotus position in the center of the threadbare carpet.
"Yeah, go-go team," Remo said. "In the meantime, you've put a stop to the Lubec Springs shipments. So once you have all the stuff that's been shipped recalled, I guess we won't have to worry about any more of those things."
A troubled frown crossed the CURE director's face.
"You did have this stuff recalled, right, Smitty?"
"I have not," Smith replied tightly.
Remo's face darkened. "Why the hell not? In case you haven't heard, we've got Daktari breaking out on Main Street, U.S.A. and there's a run on safari jackets at Banana Republic. You've got to cut them off. While you do that, Chiun and I will go to that bottling place in Maine and pull White's plug."
"You can't," Smith insisted. "Not yet." He leaned back in his chair. "Remo, the nature of this crisis dictates caution. If Lubec Springs is alone in this, then we can focus on them alone. But if the contamination has reached other bottlers, then whoever is behind this could be anywhere. By focusing on Lubec Springs before we know all the facts, we could be alerting Judith White or whoever is responsible. We can't afford to tip our hand too early."
"You're just gonna let people keep drinking that junk?"
"Through CURE's facilities I have given an order ostensibly from the FDA. A new federal mandate now requires a forty-eight-hour waiting period before retailers can sell bottled water. This to allow for settlement of particulates. Given the relatively low number of cases so far, I would imagine that most outlets have not yet reached the contaminated shipments. They must yet have back stock to go through. With any luck, this should buy us the time we need to track down and eliminate whoever is behind this."
"We know who it is, Smitty," Remo said. "By dicking around down here, you're giving White time to get away."
"Quite the opposite," Smith insisted. "To err on the side of caution now should narrow her avenue of escape, assuming we learn that Lubec Springs is the only source of the genetic tampering. If we discover that this is the case, we will know precisely where to send you. You and Chiun may deal with Dr. White once and for all. If, indeed, it is her."
Remo leaned on the edge of Smith's wide desk. "I thought I dealt with her last time," he mumbled bitterly.
"An error that cannot be blamed on Sinanju," Chiun quickly pointed out from the floor. "For the cape in which it has cloaked itself is that of Man. We did not know then that the beast Remo battled had perverted nature by granting itself nine lives. We took but one before. This time, we will do away with the remaining eight."
"Just one of her was plenty tough, Little Father," Remo said. "I don't like the idea of a lion's den filled with eight Judith Whites. Even Daniel didn't have to put up with that."
Chiun shook his head angrily. His wisps of yellowing white hair danced above his ears. "Stop mentioning that troublesome wizard," he hissed.
Remo raised an eyebrow at the edge in the Master of Sinanju's voice. He shot a glance at Smith, but the CURE director had turned his attention back to his computer. Flint gray eyes studied the scrolling data stream.
"Okay-" settling on the floor next to his teacher. Remo asked "-what gives with Sinanju and Daniel?"
The old man made certain Smith was not listening. Satisfied they weren't being eavesdropped on, he turned his attention to Remo.
"You remember the tale of Master Songjong?" Chiun asked.
Remo nodded. "Pupil of Vimu. Let his Master go to Egypt to slay a princeling when he should have gone himself. Vimu died away from Sinanju, leaving poor Songjong with the mother of all headaches once he reached the Void."
Chiun crinkled his nose. "That is essentially correct," he admitted slowly. Curious fingers clutched the tip of his beard. "But why would you think that Songjong was vexed when death carried him to the place of his ancestors?"
Remo shrugged. "Nothing pissier than a Master of Sinanju with a headful of self-righteous indignation."
"And on what, pray, do you base such an assumption?"
Remo cast a slow, careful glance up and down Chiun's robes of celebration. "Absolutely wild, unsupportable conjecture?" he asked hopefully.
The Master of Sinanju's eyes were slits of suspicion. "Kindly hypothesize on your own time," he said. He smoothed the knees of his black robes.