"It is a trick I am convinced we can accomplish," Enrique Esperanza said forcefully.
Harmon Cashman shook his head stubbornly. "No chance. I'm campaign manager, and I say no. That's final. "
"I have something for you."
"What?"
From a writing-desk drawer, Enrique Espiritu Esperanza brought out a colorful printed box, sealed in clear plastic. He brought it over and laid it before Harmon Cashman.
Harmon Cashman's eyes fell upon the clear plastic top. Staring back at him were the blank, black orbs of a row of fist-sized Oreo cookies.
"For you," said Enrique Esperanza warmly.
"What the hell . . ."
"They are new. They are called Big Stuf. Triple the size, and many times the creme filling you love so much."
Harmon Cashman ripped at the plastic top. He discovered that the giant Oreo sandwich cookies contained inside were encased in individual packets. Tears came to his eyes as he fought one open. He fumbled the sweetsmelling cookie into his hands.
Before he could pry the filligreed chocolate wafers apart, Enrique Esperanza grasped his wrist.
"You must first agree to the TV spots," he said firmly. "It is important."
"No chance."
"I will not allow you to indulge yourself with this matter unsettled. It would not be seemly. I am sorry."
The box was removed, and with it the giant cookie in Harmon's hands.
Harmon Cashman looked from the kind face of his candidate to the inviting, oh-so-near and yet-so-far Oreo cookie. Esperanza smiled. The Oreo seemed to smile, too. Both smiles promised the same thing. Hope.
"Please don't make me choose," Harmon said, tears coming to his eyes. A little dab of saliva appeared at the corner of his anguished mouth.
"There is a time for indulgence and a time for choosing," Enrique said sternly. "You must choose. Now."
"I gotta have that cookie," blubbered Harmon Cashman, the tears now streaming, his head nodding in spite of his better judgment. "I just gotta."
"Excellent;" murmured Enrique Espiritu Esperanza, returning the cookie and releasing his wrist.
And Harmon Cashman fell to gnawing the sweet creme filling like a voracious animal, thinking, "The hell with the TV spots. The future can take care of itself."
Chapter 27
The Master of Sinanju knew sadness. He tasted despair. The word had come from no less than his patron, that very day.
"Cheeta Ching is with child," had said Enrique Espiritu Esperanza. "It has been announced. I am sorry to give you this sad news."
The Master of Sinanju withstood the blow without flinching. He excused himself and put on his white mourning kimono.
It was not to be. The Gods had willed it. There would be no second chance to bring forth a perfect son, a possible successor to Remo, one who would continue the proud line of Sinanju and continue the bloodline of Chiun. Now, in his declining years, his magnificent heart would carry two tragedies. The long-lost Cha'mnari, and now the beauteous Cheeta.
The sun had set while Chiun sat looking out at the many-towered city called San Diego, and with it had gone all hope.
The Master of Sinanju did not sleep that night. There was no comfort to be found in sleep. He took up parchment and quill and began composing an Ung poem to describe his innermost feelings. It would be a short one. He had no stomach for more.
It lacked but two hours before dawn when there came a knock at the hotel room door. Chiun ignored it. The knock was repeated.
"Chiun? You in there? It's me."
It was Remo.
"I am not in here," said Chiun, scratching out a careful ideograph that completed stanza three hundred and twelve.
"Don't be like this. I came a long way to talk to you."
"Be gone. I am disconsolate."
"Can you be consolate long enough to open the door?" Remo called.
Chiun sighed. There would be no peace with the white forever at the door. Laying aside his quill, he drew himself up on his feet and padded to the door, throwing it open with a curt gesture.
Remo came in, his face strange of cast.
"What is wrong?" Chiun demanded of his pupil.
"That's what I was going to ask you," Remo said. "You said you were disconsolate."
"And I am. For I have heard the terrible news about Cheeta Ching the beautiful."
At that, the face of the pupil of Chiun paled. "Look, it wasn't my fault," he said quickly.
"I did not say that it was," Chiun said suspiciously.
Remo's shoulders relaxed. "Good," he said, "because I had nothing to do with what happened."
"So you say," Chiun said in an arid voice. His almond eyes squeezed into slits of suspicion.
"It was an accident," Remo added.
Chiun's eyes became flowers of steel. "You have been with Cheeta!"
"Yes," Remo admitted, shame-faced.
"Knowing what she meant to me, you allowed this to happen?"
"I said it was an accident," Remo hurled back.
Chiun lifted tiny fists to the sky. "She carries your child, and you call it an accident!"
"Child? What are you talking about?"
Chiun shook his fists in his pupil's ignorant face. "I speak of the horrid news that Cheeta the Incomparable is fat with child."
Remo hesitated. His eyes went around the room. Chiun's eyes narrowed at his pupil once more.
"Well?"
"Yes," Remo admitted glumly. "I'm responsible for the child thing." He looked away with proper shame.
" 'Thing'! You call it a 'thing'! I call it a tragedy!"
"I said it was an accident," Remo said evasively.
Chiun composed himself. His face set, he folded his hands in the tunnels of his kimono sleeves. "It is done," he said, averting his injured face. "There is no way it can be undone."
"That's for sure," Remo said.
"We must make plans."
"For what?" Remo wanted to know.
"The upbringing of the child, of course."
Remo looked blank. "Upbringing?"
"He will be my pupil. You are hardly prepared to sire a male child, much less train one." Chiun hesitated. A sudden gleam came into his hazel eyes. "It is a male, isn't it?"
"How would I know?" Remo said in a miserable voice.
"It was your seed!" Chiun exploded. "Do not tell me you did not bestow upon Cheeta your best male seed."
"I said it was an accident. Now lay off."
Chiun took the puffs of hair over his ears in hand and cried, "Unbelievable! If you have sired another worthless female child, I do not know what I shall do!"
"Look, we've got nine months to sort this out. In the meantime, I've dug up a lot of dirt on Barry Black and Rona Ripper."
"Yes?"
"Black's pretending to be a Republican," Remo said.
"All republicans are pretenders," Chiun sniffed. "There have been no true republicans since Rome fell."
"And Rona Ripper's out to snuff every cigarette smoker in the state," Remo added.
"What is wrong with that? It is a worthy goal."
"Smith says it's against his edicts."
"Then it is bad, and this woman must be punished," Chiun sniffed.
"Smith says we throw our weight behind Esperanza and get him elected," Remo added.
The Master of Sinanju lifted a lecturing finger, saying, "My awesome weight is already pledged to that cause. It is your weight that has been absent."
"Well, I'm in the camp now. Where do we start?"
"We must eliminate the false candidates who pose a threat to our patron."
Remo shook his head. "Uh-uh. That's not the American way. First thing is we protect Esperanza. The rest can take care of itself."
"Nothing takes care of itself," Chiun snapped. "Especially children. You must remember that, now that you are to be a father."
Remo winced. He was only getting himself in deeper, but he had no choice. If Chiun knew the truth about Cheeta Ching, he'd go ballistic.