Growling with soft delight, she began creeping, paw over paw, to the edge of the roof.
MARK HELD his breath. Fighting the urge to retch, he doubled back to the first office.
When he pushed the door open, light from the hallway spilled into a more inviting environment. The tidy office of Owen Grude was nothing like the ghastly scene he'd just left.
The stench was still in the air. His breathing shallow, Mark went over to the desk and switched on the light.
The wide picture window that overlooked the desk reflected the bright office interior. Beyond the gleaming pane, the cold Maine evening menaced the trees.
Sitting in Owen Grude's chair, Mark dialed the special Folcroft code on the old-fashioned rotary phone. It was answered on the first ring.
"Smith," the CURE director said tartly.
"Dr. Smith, Mark. I just got here a few minutes ago."
"What is the situation?"
Mark was looking out the window. The woods were disappearing, swallowed up by the night. He thought of every jungle movie he'd ever seen as a, kid.
"It's awfully quiet out there," he said.
"That's good, I suppose," Smith said. "We'll have a clear field to send in other agencies to inspect the premises. Perhaps they'll turn something up in regard to White's lab."
"No luck yet?"
"No," Smith replied. "But it is there somewhere. It's only a matter of time until we find it. Until then, other authorities will have to deal with the creatures that scattered on Remo this morning. Since you left, there have been a few incidents, but nothing major. It seems the fear Remo and Chiun put in them is keeping them away from more populous areas for the time being. We can only hope it remains that way until they either change back or die out."
In the small office, Mark Howard's face darkened at the thought of all of Judith White's innocent victims. "I still want to know what she was doing," he said angrily.
"As do I," Smith said. "I still maintain that it is unlikely this was all done merely to bring Remo over to her side."
"It doesn't make sense," Mark insisted.
"Yes, it does, Mark," Smith replied firmly. "It is important in our work to realize that what makes little or no sense to us has almost always been meticulously planned by those we are up against. I guarantee you, her reasons for executing this plot in this manner make perfect sense to Judith White. We simply have not yet found out the details. Perhaps the answer is still there somewhere. I will have federal authorities go through that facility with a fine-tooth comb as soon as we are finished."
The logic and certainty of the CURE director helped to relieve some of Mark's anxiety.
"Well, I'm finished now," he said. "Remo's getting the stuff. I'm ready to come home. Do you want Remo and Chiun to head back with me?"
"No," Smith said. "It would probably be best to wait until morning. However, I will begin making arrangements for the authorities to move in."
As he sat behind Owen Grude's desk, Mark was beginning to feel cramped. The knee well was smaller than his own. He twisted in his chair. His knee bumped something hidden in the desk's well.
"I'll let them know," he said as he leaned back to see what was tucked beneath the desk.
"Return with the formula as soon as possible. We'll send it out for analysis as soon as you're back." When the phone clicked in his ear, Mark hung up and pushed away from the desk. He tipped his head to get a better view underneath.
Tucked far toward the front was a gray plastic valise, roughly the size of a small suitcase. Getting down on all fours, Mark dragged the case out from its hiding spot. Standing, he placed it in the center of the desk.
Etched in the right corner, two printed Bs were entwined with what looked like a five-rung spiral staircase. A single drawing of a DNA strand.
It was the logo of BostonBio, the company at which Judith White had developed her gene-altering formula. Mark recognized it from his research. Remo and Chiun's source must not have known of the second case.
Feeling the thrill of discovery, Mark popped the silver latches with his thumbs. Inside was lined with waves of soft egg-carton foam rubber. Recessed in smooth compartments in the packing material were six glass vials of brownish liquid.
Mark pulled one loose. Holding it up to the office light, he tipped the vial to one side. Like thick molasses, the gene-recoding substance rolled over the rounded interior of the tube.
"Huhh," Mark said softly. "You look so ordinary."
He watched light glint off the liquid. So engrossed was he, Mark failed to notice that one of the shadows beyond the office window had begun to move.
Mark only realized something was wrong when he heard scratching at his back.
It was gentle. Like a tree branch blown by wind scraping across the office windowpane.
Still holding the vial of formula, he froze. The wind. That was all it was. Still, the sudden appearance of the scratching sound caused his heart to beat faster.
He reached slowly under his suit jacket. Even as he put the vial of formula carefully on the desk with one hand, he drew Dr. Smith's .45 automatic. Gun in hand, he switched off the lamp.
He didn't breathe. Two careful steps brought him to the window. With the lights off inside, he was able to see out more clearly. As he squinted into the dark woods, he saw nothing but the black triangle tops of waving pines.
There was nothing nearby that might have made the noise. The trees were too far away to be the cause. His palm was sweating cold on the pistol's walnut grip. Mark decided it might be wise to find Remo and Chiun.
He was taking a cautious step backward when there came a sudden blur of movement beyond the window. A cold shadow lurched up from the night. A face appeared, twisted in a grinning caricature of humanity.
Judith White's piercing yellow eyes locked on his. Mark's heart tightened. He whipped the gun up to fire.
And then the world exploded all around him as the big picture window came crashing down like a curtain of doom onto the floor of the small office.
"IT WAS right here," Remo said.
From the top of the stacked cases of water, he glanced around the warehouse. The bay door was still open on the night. The case of formula was nowhere to be seen.
"Forget your nonsense," the Master of Sinanju demanded. "Where is my songsmith?"
"Bugget's the least of our worries right now."
"Spoken like a jealous someone who was not about to have a hymn written extolling his greatness and sung by the comely Wylander. Did you frighten him off? Tell me, Remo, why do you find it so difficult to get along with people?"
"I had the world's greatest teacher," Remo said, hopping from the bottle stack down to the floor. "Jealous, selfish and hateful. I will remember that for your headstone, as well."
The Master of Sinanju's muttered complaints were stopped only by the muted sound that carried to their hypersensitive ears from the other end of the complex. "What the hell was that?" Remo asked.
"It sounded like a window breaking," Chiun replied.
The next noise that came to them needed no explanation.
A gunshot.
Exchanging troubled glances, the two men took off at a full sprint across the warehouse floor.
JUDITH WHITE POUNCED into the room behind shards of scattering glass. Mark's bullet missed her by a whisker. His first chance proved to be his last.
Judith grabbed his forearm, slamming his gun hand against the wall. He struggled to hold on to the weapon.
If he could turn the barrel just a little. Get one clear shot.
Judith squeezed his wrist. Mark's hand popped open and the gun fell with a heavy thud to the glass-strewn floor.
A hand too fast to follow snatched Mark by the throat.
Mark grabbed at her arm with both hands, trying to tear it away. It was too tight. It wouldn't budge. His oxygen was going. He was becoming light-headed. He saw Judith White reach out with her free hand. She grabbed up the vial Mark had left on the desk.