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Chapter 32
The room was a shambles. The examining table on which they had put Mark Howard
was overturned. The straps that had bound him were snapped.
There was a blood streak on one wall. Mottled brown hair clung to the shiny
strip.
From the hall, Smith's troubled eyes were drawn from the blood to the pair of
white shoes sticking out from behind the toppled table.
Two nurses in starched white uniforms tended to the injured woman. With them
were the two orderlies who had helped bring Mark inside from the helicopter.
As Smith hurried into the room, accompanied by Remo and Chiun, a doctor ran
past them. He flew over to the group near the table.
Dr. Lance Drew was leaning back against the wall near the door. He pressed a
bundle of red-soaked gauze against his neck. Blood stained his fingers. Smith
quickly surveyed the scene.
"Master Chiun," he announced tightly, nodding to the injured woman, "could you
please see if there is anything you can do?"
As the Master of Sinanju hurried over to the stricken woman, Remo and Smith
stepped over to Drew.
"What happened?" Smith demanded.
Dr. Drew seemed dazed. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "He just
came out of nowhere. The nurse was about to administer the tranquilizer. But
before she could, I heard that terrible snapping."
Smith glanced at the broken restraints. One frayed end lay across the ankle of
the unconscious nurse. Gray eyes darted to Remo. The younger man's face was
dark.
Another nurse came racing into the room. For an instant she hesitated, trying
to take everything in. "See to Dr. Drew," Smith snapped.
Nodding, the nurse led the zombielike Dr. Lance Drew out into the antiseptic
hallway.
The Master of Sinanju was hurrying back to Remo and Smith, his face stone.
"How is she?" the CURE director asked.
"She will live," the Master of Sinanju said. "It is merely a concussion. Your
quacksalvers believe it to be worse."
The group on the floor was lifting the nurse onto a portable stretcher. They
carried the woman hurriedly from the examining room. Their frantic voices
quickly faded down the long corridor.
"We must find Mark," Smith insisted once they were alone. His face was
pleading.
"He doesn't have much of a head start," Remo said. "And we know for sure which
direction he'll be heading in. Maybe we can catch up with him before he does
anything stupid."
He began to turn, but Smith grabbed his arm. "No," the CURE director said
urgently. His mind was reeling. He tried to force his thoughts into focus.
"Mark is highly intelligent. Do not assume he is heading north. At least not
straight away."
"She's given them all the same call of the wild, Smitty. She had a million of
those things somehow find their way up there. His brain is wired on automatic
pilot."
"Perhaps," Smith said, worriedly. "But Mark knows we are aware of that aspect
of the genetic programming. If it is not an overwhelming urge, perhaps he can
fight it. If so, he could go in an altogether other direction at first, just
to avoid the inevitable net he knows I will cast."
"There is some intelligence to the brutes," the Master of Sinanju agreed
somberly. "If the Regent retains some small aspect of himself, the Emperor
could be correct."
"Fine. We won't assume north."
Smith nodded sharply. The three men hurried out into the hallway. "In the
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meantime, CURE's computer systems are at risk," Smith said. "Mark knows the
codes and could access them remotely. I will have to lock them down."
"One of us should remain with you, Emperor, in case the Prince is still in the
building," Chiun said.
"No," Smith insisted. "I will be safe. There are two tranquilizer guns stored
in the basement. I will get them once I am finished securing the CURE
systems."
Smith headed for the stairwell doors while Remo and Chiun continued for the
exit.
"And, Remo?" Smith called. When Remo turned, the CURE director's face was
fraught with fatherly concern. "Please try your best to bring him back
alive."
Spinning on his heel, he ducked through the fire door. His gaunt frame
disappeared inside the murky stairwell.
If Remo didn't know better, he would have sworn Harold Smith's flint-gray eyes
were moist.
Chapter 33
Smith hurried alone through the darkened corridor of Folcroft's administrative
wing. Cautious eyes studied every shadow as he made his way to his office
suite. His secretary was not at her desk. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]