The technology in the seventies wasn't what it was by the time Judith took over at BostonBio. Though the work of an obvious genius, the original breakthroughs at BGSBS had been misdirected. Judith had taken what she could learn from the dusty files she found hidden away in a secure basement and augmented it. Refined the procedure.
One of the results of her tireless efforts was the BBQ. The awkward, pathetic-looking creature that was ostensibly the savior of the starving world. The other, more important result was Dr. Judith White herself.
She was like a woman possessed. First, she meticulously reconstructed the circumstances of the original experiment. The one that had-in the minds of many at the old BGSBS-gone completely wrong.
For many months, Judith had no luck. The substance had been taken orally the first time years ago. She had tried that the first day.
Nothing happened.
According to the eyewitness accounts of the original incident, the effect had been virtually instantaneous.
It should have worked, but didn't.
Judith had tried various alterations in the formula. Still with no success.
It was maddening. The work with the BBQs proved that what she was trying to do was possible on one level. But the laboratory animals-at the time still very young-presented a less complex problem. The manipulation of their DNA had taken place prior to their conception. Judith was attempting to alter the entire system of an adult living organism.
Judith was almost ready to give up when she found something she hadn't seen before while rereading one of the Boston Blade accounts of the time. The newspaper was from BostonBio's own archives. It had been preserved in thin plastic, yet had yellowed with age.
The reporter who had been on the scene described the thick brown substance that clung to the exterior of the test tubes. He told how it had slid like burned gelatinous fat down the woman's hand and into her mouth.
Into her mouth. That was it!
Although the formula for the chemical compound used to retard temperature changes in scientific containers had been altered and improved over the years, Judith White was able to have some specially manufactured from the old formula. It was the same stuff that had clung to the test tube in the old newspaper account.
She had determined by her earlier experiments that human saliva was likely a catalyst to the change. Alone in her lab, Judith had carefully mixed specific DNA-altered genes, saliva and some of the gelatinous packing compound. Rather than swallow the vile mixture, she injected it into her arm.
The results were obvious and immediate.
Icy cold. Intense disorientation. And the change.
After her recovery from that first injection, she had prescribed a strict regimen of shots.
The formula as it now existed would destabilize after a few weeks. The original scientist would have eventually changed back. Judith didn't want that. She altered the formula to ensure that the change would be permanent.
And Dr. Judith White had changed. As a result, the world around her had changed, too. It was a change for the better.
Her perspective, while always warped, had altered dramatically. The evidence was everywhere.
It was in her attitude. In the way she moved. In the contempt she felt for humans. But at the moment, it seemed mostly to be in her appetite.
JUDITH WHITE AWOKE above a cluttered alley amid the overflowing rubbish barrels behind a Chinese restaurant.
She yawned expansively, tasting the paste of food still on her tongue.
The body of the woman who had been her roommate during her brief stay at St. Eligius lay beside a large open trash bin. Only her bare feet jutted into the alley. They were pale and unmoving.
Judith was perched on a fire escape above the body. One hand hung languidly down over the rusted metal side of the escape. The other scratched contentedly behind her ear as she considered the body.
It had been too fatty. She preferred leaner meat. Next time.
For now, she knew what she must do. A thinking animal, Judith found it difficult to focus when the cravings began. She knew that she shouldn't allow irrational desire to supersede rational thought. But with each subsequent injection, it had grown increasingly difficult to quell the urge to feed.
Judith yawned again, arching her back. She pushed her hands out before her, fingers splaying as she stretched.
She had almost been caught the night before. That nosy Department of Agriculture agent had shown up just as she was finishing her meal at the lab. She had barely enough time to get back to her office and clean up her face and hands before he came in.
Remo had fallen for her ruse. In his limited mind, he thought the blood on her clothes had been an accident. Humans were so eager to accept what they perceived as the obvious conclusion.
But that might not always be true. She finished stretching.
They would probably come for her. It was only a matter of time before they connected her to all the deaths. She hated to admit it, but she had been careless.
She never should have taken her roommate. Judith got up on all fours on the fire-escape landing. With a graceful leap, she hopped down to the alley floor. Landing, she barely made a sound.
Quickly, she padded over to the body.
The woman looked like the rest. Thick blood remnants coagulated in the hollow of her ripped-open abdomen.
Judith worked swiftly. Taking each of the woman's hands in turn, she chewed off all ten fingertips. The flesh was tough and cold.
"Blech," Judith complained. "I hate leftovers." She swallowed the pudgy balls of skin.
With her fingernails, she shredded the woman's fleshy face until it was unrecognizable.
It would probably do no good. The missing organs would be a dead giveaway. Still, it might buy her some time.
Dawn had nearly begun to break over Boston. Judith's underlings would be showing up to work within the next three hours. Before they did, she had to get back into BostonBio and destroy all evidence of what she had done. Perhaps there was a way to yet salvage the situation.
Judith spun away from the body. With catlike grace, she glided out of the desolate alley and onto the dark, silent street.
Chapter 20
"Why are we here?" the Master of Sinanju complained.
They were driving along the desolate road where Mona and Huey Janner owned their farm. It was still several hours before dawn.
The wizened Asian's attitude had soured back at BostonBio. Whatever Chiun had discussed with Smith, it had turned the old Korean sullen and silent. Until this moment, he had remained thus for the entire ride to Medford.
"Smith thinks the rest of the missing BBQs might be here," Remo said, careful that by inflection he didn't appear to agree with the CURE director. His diplomatic tone didn't work.
"If your precious Smith directed you to leap from Yongjong Bridge with stones in the pockets of your kimono, would you?" Chiun challenged.
"How deep's the water?" Remo asked.
The old man's scowl could have cracked bedrock. "Okay, okay," Remo relented. "Sheesh, Chiun, I don't know what he did to kick-start bile production, but I wasn't in on it, so could you cut me some slack?"
"And why should I?" Chiun demanded. "You are his lackey, are you not? He dispatches you hither and thither on his mad errands and you obey. You are the Divine Wind of America's pinchpenny emperor, Remo Williams. Do not pretend that you have a will of your own."
"Divine Wind?" Remo frowned. "Isn't that what kamikaze means?"
"If the Mitsubishi fits," Chiun sniffed.
"Should I even bother to argue?"
"No."
"Fine," Remo said. "If it'll keep peace, you're right. I don't have a will of my own."
The appalled expression that blossomed on the old Korean's face told Remo that he had answered wrong.
"I cannot believe what I am hearing," Chiun gasped. "Has a Master of Sinanju just admitted that he is little more than a puppet on a string?"
"I thought that's what yo
u wanted me to say," Remo griped.
"What I wanted was for you to speak your mind, thus demonstrating your independence from Smith the Domineering. But I find that I must speak your mind for you. Repeat after me-I have a mind of my own."
"Fine, dammit," Remo snapped. "I've got a mind of my own. There. Is that okay? Or did I get that wrong, too?"
"No," Chiun said.
"Good," Remo replied, fingers tightening on the wheel.
"Prove it," Chiun challenged.
Remo pulled his eyes from the road. "Huh? How?"
Chiun's hands slithered up opposing kimono sleeves. In the green wash of the dashboard's lights, the old man's self-satisfied mien was one of the most fear-inducing sights Remo had seen in all of his professional life.
"I will let you know."
Remo absolutely did not like the sound of that. "Wait a minute..." he began, stomach sinking.
"Too late," Chiun interrupted, raising a silencing finger. His gaze was fixed on the dark woods beside the moving car. "We are being watched."
Remo had sensed the eyes upon them, as well. He found the Janner mailbox and turned onto the long dirt driveway that wound through the clump of dark trees.
They hadn't driven more than a few yards when the first figures appeared before them.
The two men were clad in body-hugging black leotards, faces obscured by black ski masks. In the pervasive gloom of the deep New England night, they stood like somber sentries before the gates of Hell. Automatic weapons were aimed at Remo's car. They were a terrifying sight.
"How do you think they pee in those getups?" Remo asked.
"Who cares? Drive over them," Chiun replied.
"You want to hose blood off the grille?"
"I am an assassin, not a washer of cars," Chiun sniffed.
"Didn't think so," Remo said. He slowed to a stop.
As soon as the car stopped moving, a guard raced to either door. One grabbed Remo's door handle, wrenching it open.
"Get out," a muffled voice commanded.
Remo obliged. Even as he was stepping from the car, a similar command was being issued to the Master of Sinanju.
There was a grunt as the other commando pulled on the opposite door handle. It wouldn't budge. Inside the car, Chiun's pinkie pressed lightly on the inner handle. The commando cursed and yanked on the unmoving door.
"What do you want?" the man near Remo menaced.
"I want not to be manipulated all the time. I want to not be lonely when he's not around and then irritated when he is. But mostly, I want to know where you keep your car keys in that shrink-wrapped Union suit."
By now, the other man had dropped his gun. Both hands and one foot were heavily involved in his game of tug-of-war with Chiun's door.
"Don't get smart with me," Remo's commando threatened. His gun jabbed at Remo's ribs.
"How about if I get fatal?" Remo suggested. There came a blur of movement impossible for the HETA commando to follow.
He was stunned to find that his target had vanished. So, too, he realized with growing concern, had his gun. Frightened fingers gripped empty air.
A sudden coolness to his head and face. His mask gone, too. Whirling, the commando tried to shout a warning, but something blocked his throat. Something itchy.
And in a moment of horrifying realization, the HETA man didn't know which was worse: the fact that he was being force-fed his own hat, or the fact that the stranger was using the barrel of his own gun to tamp it down his throat.
"Junior eat up all him din-din," Remo enthused, stuffing the metal barrel deep into the man's esophagus.
"Blrff," the HETA commando gasped.
"Yum-yum. Eat 'em up," Remo agreed.
The man's eyes bugged. He couldn't breathe. The hat was wedged in a tight ball inside his throat. Remo pulled the barrel free, tossing the gun into the bushes.
The man immediately shoved his fingers into his mouth, probing for fabric. It was too far in. Clawing at his throat, the red-faced commando toppled over onto the road.
"Bon appetit, " Remo declared, turning his attention back to the Master of Sinanju.
The other BETA man was still yanking on the door, his face red as that of his suffocating colleague.
"Perhaps it is rusted shut," Chiun was suggesting through his open car window.
"Chiun, quit clowning around," Remo complained.
The old Korean exhaled, bored. "Very well. But only because I grow weary of this buffoon."
As the commando gave the door one last mighty wrench, the Master of Sinanju lifted his pinkie, at the same time slapping a flat palm against the interior door panel. The crunch of bone on door was wince-inspiring.
The last Remo saw of the second HETA man, he was five feet off the ground and flying backward into a thick stand of midnight-shaded maples. Remo never heard him land.
Chiun joined his pupil outside the car.
"More up ahead," Remo informed him. The dark shapes of barn and farmhouse loomed up the road. Chiun nodded.
"Together or separate?" he asked.
"Together," Remo replied. "You haven't given us much of a chance to bond lately."
"I long for the day you finally get the hint," Chiun whispered, swirling from his pupil.
Side by side, the only two true living Masters of Sinanju began moving swiftly up the pitch-black road.
HUEY JANNER WAS DEEP in tofu-fueled REM sleep when he felt a firm hand clamp over his mouth. "They're here," a voice whispered from the murky shadows.
Mona.
Huey pulled himself out of bed. In the dark, he fumbled off his pair of sweat pants. His unitard was underneath.
"How far?" he asked, sleep clogging his throat.
"Driveway," she replied tersely.
He could hardly see her. She was dressed in her black, form-fitting leotard.
"Did you get them ready yet?"
"No," Mona insisted. "I came for you first. Why, I'll never know. Move it!"
She hurried from the bedroom, slinking stealthily along the silent upstairs hallway. He heard one of the top steps creak as she crept to the ground floor.
Stumbling in the darkness, Huey chased after his wife.
THE SECOND WAVE of HETA commandos hid in a cluster of sickly elms that slouched up from the middle of the Janners' sprawling front lawn.
Not one of the three men saw even a flicker of movement from the long driveway. Night skulked, dark and menacing.
"Are you sure somebody's here?" one commando whispered nervously as he studied the shadows.
"Sam yelled there was a car coming," the second replied.
"I heard a car," offered the third tense voice.
"Me, too," agreed the first man.
"Me, three," announced Remo Williams.
Panic. Gun barrels clattered loudly together as the men tripped and swirled around, looking for the owner of the strange voice in their midst. They found two men.
"Are you now the town crier, announcing our arrival to every lurking simpleton?" Chiun asked, brow creased in annoyance. He stood at Remo's elbow.
"I barely opened my mouth," Remo replied, equally annoyed.
"Silence is golden," Chiun retorted. "Especially coming from you."
Three sets of frightened eyes bounced from one intruder to the next. Finally, the jaw of one HETA man dropped open.
"Fire!" he screamed.
Two HETA commandos were accidentally slaughtered in the ensuing panicked shooting match. The roar of automatic-weapons fire was rattling off into the night as the third man checked the bodies at his ankles. Neither Remo nor Chiun was among the dead.
A finger tapped his shoulder. The remaining HETA man looked up dumbly. He found that he was staring into the deadest black eyes he had ever seen. "Missed me," Remo said thinly.
A thick-wristed hand fluttered before the commando's face. The colors that danced across his field of vision in the next instant were more brilliant than anything the man had ever seen. First red, then blinding white, then bla
ck. Afterward, he saw nothing at all.
Remo let the body slip from his fingers.
"House or barn?" he asked the Master of Sinanju.
"Where does this kind belong?" Chiun asked dryly.
"Barn it is." Remo nodded.
Turning from the trio of bodies, the two men made their stealthy way toward the menacing dark structure.
HUEY JANNER NEARLY JUMPED out of his skin when he heard the gunfire.
"They're close," he whispered anxiously.
"Get a grip," Mona insisted. She kept her breathing level as they crept through the dark interior of the barn.
Huey had a difficult time following her. Though he tripped frequently, Mona didn't slow her stride. She had exceptional night vision.
With Mona at point, they approached the old dairy stalls where the BBQs slept. Mona pulled two dark bundles from a wooden shelf. She tossed one to Huey.
"They're in for one hell of a surprise," Mona Janner whispered with certainty. Huey smiled weak agreement.
Wishing he shared his wife's confidence, Huey ducked inside a stall. Nearly purring in pleasure, Mona disappeared inside another.
"DINGBAT, twelve o'clock high," Remo commented as they slid up to the big barn door. His eyes were on the hayloft.
Chiun's narrowed eyes were fixed on the crouching figure. "I will deal with this one," the old man said.
Wordlessly, he melted into the shadows beside the barn. Remo continued on alone.
The barn door was open a hair. Remo slipped inside.
The big interior was drafty and dank. The thick smell of wet, molding hay clung to the air. Remo's finely honed senses detected faint life signs coming from the long west wing of the barn. He slid across the packed earthen floor to the rear of the main building.
As he came upon the closed door that led to the old dairy stalls, he heard a new sound. A shout. "Giddap!"
A woman's voice.
"Move, move, move!" a man yelled almost simultaneously.
Pushing open the door, Remo turned the oldfashioned crank light switch. Bulbs clicked on along the angled wood ceiling, flooding the old cow stalls with washed-out light.
"Giddap! Giddap, dammit!" the woman's voice shrieked.
Remo followed the shouting down to the third stall.
He found one of the missing BBQs. And, straddling its sagging back, perched on an animal-friendly faux-leather saddle, was a screaming Mona Janner.
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