Smith hesitated. He considered mentioning the death of FBI Agent Worth, but quickly thought better of it. There were enough complications for CURE coming in the near future. No need to pile more on. "No, sir. I am taking steps to augment our personnel as we discussed. I will update you when I know more. For now, the safety window for this phone runs for only five minutes. I dare not leave it longer than that, so I suggest we keep this conversation short."

"Very well, Smith. Good luck."

The phone went dead in his hand. There wasn't even the buzz of a dial tone.

Alone in his office, Smith allowed another rare smile of satisfaction. His second of the day.

The years of patience had finally paid off. The White House hotline was now fully operational. Perhaps this was a turning point for CURE. Maybe after eight long years his agency was finally coming together.

But there was still the matter of the dead FBI agent and this mysterious Maxwell.

Smith's smile melted to a frown as he noted the report on his monitor. Replacing the red phone in his lower drawer, he turned his full attention back to his computer.

Chapter 4

The USS Darter landed in San Diego two days earlier than expected. MacCleary arranged for a regular commercial flight from California to New York. The only problem came at the airport when a clumsy skycap put a small scratch in one of the Master of Sinanju's precious steamer trunks.

Both Chiun and skycap vanished. Just like that. MacCleary had no idea what happened. One minute they were there-the next, poof.

The only place they could have gone was the nearby men's room. When MacCleary ducked inside, he found the Master of Sinanju exiting a stall. Beyond the Korean, the uniformed porter was upended in a toilet, legs bent at inhuman angles.

When Conn checked, he found no bubbles rising from the drowned man's mouth. MacCleary quickly locked the stall door and jammed it so it wouldn't open. Afterward he handled Chiun's luggage. Carefully.