Smith blinked behind his rimless glasses. The detective was right. According to the logs, Mark Howard had changed the prescribed medications for the patient in Polcroft's special wing. And in so doing had set free one of the greatest threats CURE's personnel had ever faced.

Smith was stunned to silence. He felt as if he should do something. As he reexamined the paper, he shifted in his chair. For the first time he noticed that the chair no longer squeaked. It always squeaked. Smith had been meaning for years to have it oiled but had never gotten around to it.

Somehow, in a moment when a missing squeak should have been the last thing on his mind, the silence of his chair roared like thunder in his ringing ears.

"I am at a loss," Smith finally managed to say.

"Really." It was a statement, not a question. "Well, with luck we'll find him alive and ask him." The detective held out his hand for the paper. Smith surrendered it reluctantly. His mind reeled as he considered how Mark Howard might deal with being questioned by the police and what it could mean to Smith's covert organization.

"Wait a moment," Smith said abruptly. "What was the name of the doctor? The one killed?" Davic supplied him the name from a small notebook in his jacket pocket.

"Oh, my," Smith said quietly.

"What? Is something wrong with the doctor?" Smith looked up with worried eyes.

"A few months back he asked me about the sedatives that were being administered to that particular patient. He had wanted to cut the dosage back then. He was adamant, but I overruled him. I am afraid he might have used my absence to convince Mr. Howard to sign off on a change in the patient's treatment."

Of course it was nonsense. A hasty cover concocted on the spur of the moment.