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said, eyes on his monitor. "Given her scientific background, from her
perspective this would be the most efficient way to handle her procreative
needs."
Remo didn't even look at his employer. "Don't, Smitty," he warned. "Don't even
think about being matter-of-fact about all this."
The CURE director could hear the strain in Remo's voice.
He glanced up.
There was something more beneath the anger. He could hear it in Remo's voice,
see it on his face. Hurt and worry.
Smith understood the reason. Remo had been robbed of a life of wife and
children many years ago. And the thief had been Smith. Now, thanks to Smith,
Judith White might acquire the means to create something that would stand as a
mockery to everything Remo wanted but could never have.
Clearing his throat, Smith refocused his attention on his computer.
He had made arrangements for a Navy jet to fly them from Connecticut to Maine.
He quickly gave Remo the details. Once he was finished, both Sinanju Masters
turned wordlessly.
Chiun padded from the office. Remo trailed behind. He was on his way out the
door when Smith called to him.
"Remo, I understand that this is difficult for you. I apologize for that. But
Mark is innocent. Please do not blame him for any of this."
Remo turned. His voice was flat.
"I don't. The kid's not responsible for what he's doing. This is all your
fault, Smitty. Whatever happens from here on out is your doing."
With that he was gone. Leaving Harold W. Smith alone with his computers. And
his guilt.
Chapter 35
The car scrunched to a stop on the lonely access road. The thing that had been
Mark Howard switched off the engine.
When he got out, he smelled the tantalizing blood aroma rising from the
outside door handle.
He had stolen the car in Rye.
This new Mark Howard was no more fool than his human counterpart had been. He
had wisely chosen from memory a man from the CURE computers. Mark's first real
meal had been a minor player in organized crime. He might not be missed for
days. And even then his associates would probably dispose of the remains
themselves rather than involve the authorities.
Harold Smith wouldn't be able to track him. Mark moved with catlike silence up
the wooded access road.
He was pleased at his own thoroughness. When he was human and cared about such
trivial human things, he had made a point of familiarizing himself with all
possible routes in to Lubec Springs. Since it wasn't relevant, he hadn't
bothered to mention it to the others. And so it was that Mark Howard had his
own private route to the bottling plant.
A few dozen yards up the road, he glimpsed the low buildings through the
trees. For the next half hour, he patiently watched for any sign of activity.
Nothing.
Mark continued on.
The bodies that Remo had forced Bobby Bugget to haul from the warehouse were
still arranged outside the loading dock. They were going on two days dead now.
The smells were no longer inviting.
Mark circled the warehouse and bottling facility. Behind the offices, he
stopped in the shattered glass beneath Owen Grude's window. Sprawled along the
length of the empty frame, a lone figure waited, bored.
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Judith White arched her back, shaking off slumber. "It's about time you came
back." She yawned. "I was starting to think I wasted my time on you." She
rolled to a sitting position, legs dangling to the ground.
Wordlessly Mark dug in his pocket. He produced a small plastic tube, handing
it to Judith White.
She accepted the insulated container. It was cold to the touch. Whatever was
inside remained frozen. Judith looked up, suspicious. "What's this?" Mark
Howard smiled. When he told her, he could see the look of delight blossom on
her beautiful face. "You're joking, right? I figured you'd tell me where he
lived. That I'd maybe sneak in and get a follicle from his hairbrush next time
he goes shopping. At best I thought maybe since you worked with him you could
get me some blood from his last physical." A cold edge crept into her voice.
"Is this a joke? Because if it is, I swear I'll rip your liver out and make
you watch me eat it."
"It's no joke," Mark insisted.
Judith White's grin broadened. Clutching the vial tight in one paw, she hopped
lightly to the ground. "Just one thing," Mark asked. "Why is Remo so
special?"
"Genes, sonny boy, genes," Judith said. "Why do pretty human females sniff out
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