"I agree," the old Korean replied. "The footprints in the snow show that he is not what he once was. He knows he cannot face either me or Remo in his current debilitated state. He would go somewhere to recover."
For a moment Smith hovered in the middle of the office, hands clenched in helpless frustration. But all at once a light dawned.
"The castle where he was trained!" he exclaimed. "Maybe he'll go back to Saint Martin. He has fled to safety there in the past."
Whirling from the Master of Sinanju, Smith hurried around his desk, settling into his chair.
"It is possible he would return there," Chiun said. "But it is not the only possibility. After all, some of his training took place in other locations."
"Oh?" Smith asked, looking up over the tops of his rimless glasses. "I wasn't aware you knew of any other locations your nephew used to train Purcell." There seemed an instant's hesitation on the leathery face of the Master of Sinanju.
"I merely meant that his training would not be limited to one place," Chiun explained, averting his eyes. "It is likely there were other locations we knew nothing about." He made a show of settling crosslegged to the carpet. The air escaped with a gentle sigh from his collapsing robes.
"Oh, I see," Smith said, nodding. "You're probably right. However, since we know of no others, we have to begin the search somewhere. I will monitor flights to and from the island. The mainframes are already programmed to flag any deaths with a Sinanju fingerprint. I will broaden the search parameters. That is how we stumbled upon him the first time years ago." He began typing at his keyboard.
"I fear it will do you no good, Emperor," the Master of Sinanju cautioned. "Although Purcell is mad, he was never a fool. He was a gifted young man with a bright mind. He has escaped into the world. It is likely we will not see him again until such time he chooses to be found."
There was a note of sad resignation in the old Korean's voice.
"Perhaps," Smith said unhappily. "But we must make an effort." As he worked, he shot a quizzical glance at the tiny Asian. "I'm surprised to see you here, Master Chiun. When Remo called for another assignment an hour ago, I assumed you would go with him."
A cloud passed across the old man's face. "Remo does not need me any longer," he said.
Smith detected the bitterness in the Korean's voice. "Is something wrong between the two of you?"
''Nothing that was not anticipated."
The old Korean could see that Smith expected more. With a sigh, he shook his aged head.
"When a Master arrives at the level Remo has reached, he begins to look differently at those around him," Chiun explained. "He even sees as a burden those who raised him, who brought him up from despair and squalor, those who gave him the best years of their lives. It is this way with many Masters in transition. Not me, of course," he added hastily. "I was a joy to train. But the lesser pasty-skinned ingrates with ugly noses and big feet are notorious for this sort of behavior during the time of final passage to full Masterhood."
"Hmm," Smith said. "Your description makes it almost sound like Remo is going through a new adolescence."
"Remo never stopped going through his first adolescence," the Master of Sinanju replied. "This is different. I would not expect an outsider to understand."
Smith grunted acceptance. He finished up work at his computer.
"There," the CURE director announced. "I have updated the search function to include all suspicious deaths, not just those that seem to involve Sinanju characteristics. I have also alerted authorities in the northeast to be on the lookout for individuals matching Purcell's description. I have issued orders not to attempt to apprehend. It would be pointless to do so, and we do not need any more deaths on our hands. They will focus their attention on airports, as well as train stations and bus terminals."
For a moment his hands rested at the edge of his desk, fingers curled to attack his keyboard. He quickly realized that he had done all that he was able to do. Jeremiah Purcell was a free man now. If he was spotted, Smith's basement mainframes would let him know.
His hands withdrew from the hidden keyboard. "We must deal now with another urgent matter," the CURE director said ominously. "Mark has disappeared."
Chiun's eyes opened wide. "The Prince Regent has fallen victim to the evil Dutchman?" he asked, concern blossoming anew on his weathered face.
"Possibly," Smith said. "Unfortunately, that would be the more agreeable option. There is evidence that Mark is in collusion with Purcell."
The Master of Sinanju's face darkened. "Impossible," the old Korean insisted firmly. "Whoever told you this is lying, Emperor Smith. Point me to this untruthful adviser and I will award you the gift of his false tongue for daring to slander the character of your gracious and loyal prince."
"I know you are fond of Mark, Master Chiun, but I saw it with my own eyes. Mark is the one who issued the order to cut Purcell's sedatives."
Chiun shook his head. "Sinanju has long danced along the blade of palace intrigue," he said. "We can recognize the seeds of treachery in faithless underlings. Prince Mark does not possess a traitorous spirit. He would not betray you of his own free will."
"I hope you're right," Smith said. The weariness of the past few days suddenly began to catch up with him. He sank back in his chair, closing his tired eyes. "It would be easier if I could question him directly. So far the police have been unable to find him."
"He was not seen leaving?" Chiun asked.
"No," Smith said. "He may still be on the grounds. His car was in the parking lot when I arrived.-"
"In that case I will find him for you."
Chiun rose to his feet in a single fluid motion and went over to the wall. Sinking back to a lotus position, he pressed his back tight against the paneling. His papery eyelids fluttered shut.
For several long minutes he sat in utter silence-an ancient statue that not even a single dust particle would dare alight on for fear of breaking his trance.
Across the room Smith was engulfed by the waves of utter stillness. At one point he shifted in his chair to ease the discomfort in his lower back. For an instant he cringed, afraid that the squeak from his chair might intrude on the Master of Sinanju's thoughts. But then he remembered the squeak was no longer there.
After what seemed like an eternity, the old Korean's eyes sprang open wide. In a twirl of silk, he rose to his feet and bounded for the door, flinging it open.
Smith jumped to his feet and hurried after the Master of Sinanju. He caught up with him in the hallway. There were police in the hall of the executive wing. At first Smith was worried that Chiun would say something to them-or worse. But it was as if they didn't exist. The Master of Sinanju breezed past the officers they encountered.
Upstairs, they passed through the hospital wing. Smith noticed that it was unusually quiet for that time of morning. The only talking in the ward came from television sets. In every room the TV set was turned on. A dozen Folcroft patients stared, mesmerized, at the flickering images on a dozen separate television screens.
It was odd given the excitement of the morning. Smith had expected the residents of Folcroft to be disturbed by all that had been going on. He didn't have time to see whatever it was the patients found so fascinating.
Down the hall and through another set of doors, he and the Master of Sinanju found themselves above the administrative wing of the big building. Another hall led around a corner. When they got to the end, Smith found that he was looking up a dusty old staircase.
The stairs led to an old abandoned attic. Chiun had been using the room as a private hideaway during the time he'd been living at Folcroft. It was tucked so far off the beaten path that the police had so far failed to find it.