"I assume you've confirmed these, as well?" Smith asked.
Howard nodded. "For some reason-I have no idea why-the space-alien conspiracists think Kang and Kodos are flying all the way from Ork to chop up our cows. The articles about cattle mutilations are like crop-circle stories. They tend to get spiked by the legitimate press, too, since most editors put them in the same category of tabloid trash."
"And you believe Judith White is responsible for these, as well?" Smith said, nodding to the list of articles.
Mark attacked the keyboard once more. The folders of articles disappeared, replaced by a map of the United States.
On the map was a series of small circles shaded in dark red. Each of the small circles was surrounded by a larger pink circle. A date appeared within each of the concentric circles.
"These small circles are the cases where men were found dead in hotel bathtubs," Mark said excitedly, pointing to the smaller dots. "Farther out is where the cattle mutilations took place. Notice the dates."
Smith had already seen the pattern. In every set, the dates within the smaller and larger circles each took place within a month or two of each other. The dead men and cattle were killed at roughly the same time.
The circles moved slowly around the country. There were sets in virtually every state. They'd crop up for a few days, sometimes longer, before moving on to a new location. With a sinking feeling, the CURE director realized that he could have traced the path with his finger. It threaded through the nation in a single, unbroken line. Clearly it was the trail of a single individual on the move.
"My God," Smith said. "She's been here all along."
The excitement of discovery was fading for Mark Howard. The long night was finally beginning to catch up with him. Leaning back against the window frame, he rubbed his tired eyes.
"My guess is that she goes for cattle like fast food. It's not the fancy stuff she craves, but since she can't risk attacking people on the street she settles for good, full meals. They hold her for a month or two. But every now and then the craving gets to be too much for her. When that happens, she stages one of her bathtub specialties. After that she knows she has to move on. One death like that in a single city is dismissed as an urban legend, but two risks public outcries and curfews and added police patrols."
As he surveyed the map, Harold Smith could only shake his head in amazement. It was so obvious, so well researched. He had been impressed by his assistant in the past, but the young man had outdone himself this time.
"Excellent work, Mark," Smith said.
The thrill of discovery had passed, along with Mark's weary grin. There was a grim expression on his wide face as he looked at the map.
"There are two early killings I think are hers," he said, pointing. "Here and here. A couple weeks after she was presumed dead in Boston, a hiker at Yellowstone and two campers were killed in Arizona. Then she got smart. The first bathtub story was some poor pizza delivery guy in North Dakota. After that you can follow her route. But, even though it's been happening pretty much all around the country for the past three years, notice where there haven't been any of these cases."
Smith had noticed. The Northeast was clear of circles.
"She has avoided New England," the CURE director said.
"According to the local paper in Lubec, there have been a bunch of cattle eaten by wild animals up there in the past few days," Mark explained. "I didn't bother to mark those. Assuming she's got some of those monsters running around loose up there, that was bound to happen. But for three solid years, she avoided the Northeast like the plague."
"Hmm," Smith mused. "I would say she was concerned about discovery, at least at the start. Since Massachusetts lived through this twice before, it would make sense for her to avoid that region of the country lest someone make even a tenuous connection as you have. Yet she has made it the focus now." He pursed his lips in thought. "If it was not animal fear that kept her away all this time, I would surmise that she kept clear of the region until she was ready to begin this latest scheme of hers." A fresh thought sprang to mind.
Smith quickly scanned the map. He found several spots where the concentric red-and-pink circles didn't overlap. These in-between areas where Judith White had not left a trail were colored blue. Most were so small as to be insignificant. There were only two large areas shaded in blue. Besides New England, the largest blue spot was an area of California from south of San Francisco all the way to San Diego. The entire lower half of the state was untouched.
"There," Smith announced. "Why has she never gone to Southern California?"
Mark had noticed the blue area as he was making the map.
"I could only come up with two possibilities," the young man said. "It could just be that they lucked out and she left it off her route, or-"
Smith finished his assistant's thought. "Or that is where her lab is located," the older man said excitedly.
"I've compiled a list of facilities in California she might be using," Mark said. "It's still pretty long, but it's a start."
"Very good," Smith said. "We will begin straight away."
As he spoke, one of the two phones on his desk jangled to life. It was the blue contact phone.
As he leaned forward to grab the receiver, Smith's cracked leather chair retained an outline of his body. "Smith," the CURE director said crisply.
"White got away, Smitty," Remo's voice announced.
Smith sat up more straightly. "Explain."
Remo exhaled angrily. "She was here, then she wasn't. Explanation over."
"Was she alone or were there others?"
"There were others, all right," Remo said. "And I know what you're thinking, but there's none left to ask where she might have gone to. The ones that aren't dead scattered like lab rats into the woods. They're probably halfway to Canada by now. But don't worry. As soon as they find out the whole damn country is on vacation thirteen months out of the year on America's hard-earned dime, they'll be back."
"So we still do not know what her ultimate plan was."
"Maybe we do," Remo said. "It's possible she did all this just to get me up here."
Smith frowned confusion. "Explain." "Remember last time how she tried to get me to convert? I must be pretty hard for a gal to forget because I think she staged all this to draw me out. They seemed to be waiting for me. Only this time instead of just her, there was an army. She must have thought there would be strength in numbers."
Smith's mouth felt dry. He wet his lips with his tongue. "If that's true, it is a troubling development, Remo," he said slowly.
"Tell me about it. Beyond that, I don't think we have to stretch it too far for her ultimate goal. She's a consistent DNA-hole. Her turn-ons include world domination, subjugating mankind and Purina People Chow."
Smith shook his head. His face was troubled. "No," he said. "It does not add up. She remained safely hidden all this time. She could have continued to do so indefinitely. I don't think she would bait such an elaborate trap, risking exposure simply to turn you into one of her own. Beyond that the scheme falls apart. The formula is only temporary and does not affect a large enough area of the country." He tapped a hand on his desk. There was something more here. He could feel it in his rock-ribbed New England soul. "It is unfortunate you didn't save one for questioning."
"It was Remo's turn, Emperor Smith," the Master of Sinanju's voice called from the background.
"It's always my turn," Remo complained.
With a weary sigh Smith glanced at his assistant. Mark Howard had left the CURE director's side. The young man was sitting across the desk in his usual chair. He hadn't wanted to interrupt. He was watching Smith anxiously.
"One moment, Remo, while I include Mark in this."
Smith switched over to speakerphone before replacing the receiver. When he sat back, the indentations of his chair accepted his angular frame.
"We do have one guy here, Smitty," Remo said. "He's not one of them, but I still don't think h
e'll be much help."
An unfamiliar, nasal voice came over the line. "How y' all doin' ?"
"Cork it, pinhead," Remo growled.
"Who is he?" Smith asked.
"Florida's answer to the one-man frat party," Remo said. "He drank the formula but didn't turn into one of them."
"How is that possible?" Smith asked.
"I think it's because he was stewed out of his mind when White gave him that cocktail of hers. Two-hundred-proof blood must kill the stuff or something."
"Yes, that is possible," Smith agreed. "In the first case twenty years ago, the formula was susceptible to all manner of harmful agents. Since Judith White is apparently using a similar version of that formula, high quantities of alcohol in one's system could nullify the effects."
"Great," Remo said. "The only way to beat her is for all of America to get sloshed out of our minds."
"I'll lead the charge," Bobby Bugget volunteered. "Just gimme a musket, a sack of limes and aim me at the nearest liquor store."
"Chiun, do something about Good-Time Charlie, will you?" Remo asked, irritated.
"I am doing this because I want to, not because you ordered me to," the Master of Sinanju replied. Smith heard a vicious slap followed by a loud yelp.
"Thanks, Little Father," Remo said.
"Think you could go a little softer next time, Little Father?" the voice of Bobby Bugget pleaded.
There followed a series of slaps and yelps that faded in the distance.
"That should keep them both busy for now," Remo said. "There's one silver lining in this cloud, Smitty. Bugget showed us where White stashed her case of tiger juice."
Very, very calmly, Smith placed a flat hand on his desk.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"I didn't test it, if that's what you mean. But it looks like the real deal to me."
"Remo, that could prove to be invaluable. It is possible to trace her lab using the genetic fingerprints within the formula itself. There are labs working to do so right now, but an undiluted form of the formula could prove critical. You should return to Folcroft with the samples at once."
"That might be a problem, Smitty."
"Why?"
"I know you said these things don't home, but is it possible she put some kind of new homing signal in it? One of those things that escaped from jail in New York was up here. I don't think she could have found her way up here by accident, and I doubt White gave directions on the front page of the New York Times. "
Smith tapped a finger on his desk, considering. "We know now that the formula has been altered. The introduction of a single biological imperative from a species indigenous to that region could theoretically affect the instincts of those under the influence of White's formula."
"I'm gonna assume that means yes," Remo said. "So there's our problem."
"I see," the CURE director said. "If there is a migratory instinct, there might be others, perhaps many more, en route to your location. You will have to wait there, at least until we can dispatch authorities in sufficient numbers to deal with whatever may yet arrive in Lubec."
"That's what I figured. So should I UPS this gunk?"
"No. With Judith White still at large, I don't want it to leave our hands." Smith considered only a minute, nodding with certainty. "I'll come for it."
"Dr. Smith."
So engrossed was he in his conversation, Smith had nearly forgotten there was someone else in the room. He glanced up. Mark Howard was standing once more, a determined look on his face.
"What is it, Mark?"
"I'll go," the assistant CURE director said. Smith hesitated. And in that moment of uncertainty, both men knew what passed through his mind. The last time Smith had sent Mark Howard on a simple field assignment, the younger man wound up in a coma.
Smith pursed his lips. "Yes," he said slowly. "That's good of you to volunteer, Mark, but I'm not sure it's necessary."
"Dr. Smith, this is what I'm here to do," Mark argued. "And anyway, it's just courier work. I'll stay in the car until I get there, collect the formula and get out. I won't stop for anyone or anything. Besides, if Judith White is smart, she wouldn't stick around after Remo and Chiun wiped out her protection. It'll be a piece of cake."
Smith allowed a silent moment to pass. "I, er-" he began.
"Listen to the kid, Smitty," Remo interrupted.
At long last, Smith nodded his agreement. "Very well. Remo, Mark will collect the samples. Please wait there for him." He hung up the speakerphone. Smith turned his full attention on his assistant.
"I issued a recall of all Lubec Springs water to coincide with Remo's arrival," he explained efficiently. "At the moment, every shipment is being impounded and destroyed. As far as White's creatures are concerned, our only problem will be existing cases. There will be no new ones. However, if Remo is correct, those that have already been changed might be converging on that area even now. I doubt the numbers are high, since we seem to have caught it in time, but the possibility exists that there are more."
Mark nodded anxiously. "I understand. What if I run into people who've already changed?"
Smith leaned far over, disappearing for a moment behind his desk. He pulled something from his bottom drawer. When he straightened, he held a cigar box in his hands. He placed the box between them.
"They are not people, Mark," Smith said firmly as he opened the box. "Do not forget that for a minute." As he spoke he removed a handgun and holster from the box. Gun in hand, he glanced up. "You don't have one on the premises, correct?" he asked, nodding to the .45 automatic.
Mark's eyes were locked on the weapon. He had a gun that he had used only once while with the CIA. It was stuffed in a sock on the bedroom shelf of his Rye apartment.
He shook his head. "Mine's at home."
"In future it might be wise to keep it at Folcroft," Smith said. He slid the weapon across the desk. "Please put it on in here. My secretary will be arriving soon and I don't want her to see it."
Mark did as he was told. He stripped off his jacket and shrugged on the shoulder holster. Smith's old Army pistol was heavy under his arm as he pulled his coat back on.
"Be careful, Mark," Smith said once he was through.
His assistant nodded. "I'll be back quick as I can," Mark promised.
He was heading for the door when Smith called to him.
"Mark?"
When Howard turned back to Smith, the CURE director's gaze was sharp.
"Misplaced compassion could get you killed," Smith said. "If you do encounter one of them, do not hesitate. Shoot to kill."
"Yes, sir." Nodding sharply, Mark left the room. After the door was closed, the CURE director turned his attention back to his keyboard.
With luck he would find Judith White's lab before Mark returned from Maine. And end this madness once and for all.
Chapter 25
Judith White ran.
Pure, unbridled panic propelled her. The men who had tracked her to Maine inspired a visceral terror in the cold dead center of what had been her soul.
Pine branches slapped her desperately pumping legs. With chopping hands she swatted away those near her face as they sprang up before her.
Feet raced swiftly, surely. Leaping over logs and rocks. A boulder appeared before her. With a bound she was on it. Another leap, and she was on the distant, mossy side. Still she ran.
It was the young one, Remo, who inspired the greater fear. She had used her intellect during their first encounter, had harnessed that part of her that was most human to outthink him. He was strong, but intellectually inferior.
But in the end he had shocked her. Despite his mental limitations, despite his inherent human frailties, he had beaten her.
Remo was some sort of special government agent. He had been sent to stop her before. She was certain before all this began that-once they knew who and what they were dealing with-they would send him again. After all, the survival of their species was too important a thing to entru
st to the usual inept human hunters. They would send their best to track and kill her.
She had been right. Every step of the way. Judith's mind-still analytical when called to be-made that conclusion even as she ran blindly through the Maine forest. She had fled the bottling plant only twenty minutes before and she was already miles away from it.
Distance bred safety.
Rationality was breaking through the veneer of panic. The fear was coming under control.
Her lungs and heart pumped in perfect concert, racing streams of altered blood to every modified cell in her body.
A thought sprang wild in the animal mind of Judith White. Her valises!
One moment she was running full-out; the next she had slid to a shuddering stop. Clumps of wet leaves and pine needles gathered around her bare soles.
In her haste to leave the bottling plant, she had left the formula behind.
She could always get more. Emil Kowalski and Genetic Futures could produce another batch in a few hours. But San Diego was on the other side of the country. She had chosen Kowalski partly because he worked far from the Northeast.
And if she had more formula made, then what? She'd had a specific plan here. One that didn't involve mass conversions of humans. Her plan was more insidious.
And most troubling of all, what if they used genetic signatures to link the altered formula at the bottling plant back to Genetic Futures? She'd lose them, Kowalski, everything she'd been working toward.
Alone in the forest, Judith hesitated.
Deep brown eyes tinged with flames of yellow scoured the tiny glade in which she stood, as if the answer to her problem were somehow hidden in birch or pine.
The two men from the government had killed and scattered her entire pride. They were efficient that way. While Judith knew she was better than the lesser creatures she had created, she knew that she couldn't stand up to the government men without assistance. She had hoped that numbers would work in her favor. Even though that plan had failed, she still couldn't let them find the cases.
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