"He what!"
"Where I shall rule in splendor, issuing wise decrees, and being appreciated by all."
"And skimming any small change that passes through your hands," Remo suggested darkly.
"Of course there is a magnificent salary attendant to this position," Chiun said loftily. "As befits one of my grace."
"Smitty won't like this, Chiun."
"I will leave it to you to convey my regret to Emperor Smith that our current contract negotiations have borne no fruit."
Remo said, "You're not quitting, are you?"
Silence.
"Chiun?"
"This is a decision I will make at a later date," Chiun said at last.
"How much later?"
"Possibly after the glorious day of election."
"Somehow I knew you were going to say that. But I gotta tell Smitty what you're up to anyway."
"I am certain he will understand. I can better serve him here in the outlying provinces of his empire, if I am in a position of responsibility."
"Don't bet on it," Remo said, hanging up.
Harold W. Smith should have reached for the Maalox when he received the news from Remo Williams. But his stomach did not flare with acid. He should have grabbed the aspirin and wolfed down two or three chewable orange tablets, but strangely, his head felt fine.
"Could you repeat that, Remo?" he said into the receiver. His knuckles tightened imperceptibly. The other hovered over the drawer where he kept his array of medicines.
"Chiun's joining the Esperanza campaign," Remo said wearily. "Says Esperanza has offered him the post of treasurer if he's elected."
"According to the most recent polls, there is a very slim chance of that," Smith pointed out dryly.
"That's a relief. But where does that leave me? I've been laid off from the campaign."
Smith's hand came away from the drawer. He definitely did not feel like a Turns or a chewable aspirin. It was a liberating feeling.
"Simply await developments," he told Remo.
"Did I mention that Esperanza knows about Sinanju?"
"He does?"
"At least, he claims to."
"Sinanju is not a secret," Smith said calmly. "CURE is. It is entirely possible that Esperanza is familiar with the legends of the House of Sinanju. He might accept Chiun as the inheritor of a long-dead tradition. Certainly, no more than that."
"I didn't know, Smitty. Once he understood we were on the job, he acted as if he was immune from harm."
"Hmmm. Curious."
"You okay, Smitty?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just that you usually don't take bad news this well."
"I do not see a great problem here. Chiun will continue to protect Esperanza, and you will remain in the area in case you are needed. And there is no chance of Chiun's assuming a cabinet post. When he realizes this, I will be in a better bargaining position when we start serious contract negotiations."
"Makes sense. But you're not acting like yourself."
"There is still the matter of the dead assassin's photograph and fingerprints," Smith reminded.
"Not to mention the Cheeta Ching tape."
"Yes, that too."
"All are winging their merry way to Folcroft. I just hope the tape doesn't smell too bad by the time it gets there."
"Why would it be?" Smith asked, his voice puzzled.
"You'll find out," Remo said, hanging up quickly.
At the other end of the nation, Harold W. Smith replaced the receiver. His necktie felt too tight, and he loosened the precise Windsor knot.
Remo, he was confident, was only bluffing. There was no way on earth he had expressed a corpse to Folcroft. It was preposterous.
But to be on the safe side, Harold Smith stopped to speak with the lobby guard on his way out of the building. He gave explicit instructions that any unusually large crates or boxes that arrived at the front desk were to be placed, unopened, in a storage room and the arrival brought to his attention. Immediately.
Then he went home, feeling liberated. He was especially glad to be free of his daily antacid pills. He had read that they contained aluminum, which had a tendency to build up deposits in the brain. Aluminum was suspected of contributing to Alzheimer's disease, a fate Harold W. Smith wished very much to avoid. Otherwise, how could he remember to take his poison pill if the need ever arose?
Chapter 13
The overnight polls changed the public perception of the California governor's race.
Before, only two candidates had placed in the running. Barry Black, Junior and Rona Ripper. They had been virtually neck-and-neck in the eyes of an electorate which had come to despise the previous governor and was apathetic about electing his replacement.
The previous poll had showed Black and Ripper tied, with less than twenty percent of the respondents expressing a preference. Two percent had endorsed Esperanza. Less than one percent wanted the interim governor-the previous California Secretary of State-to continue in office. The remaining seventy-seven percent had declared themselves undecided.
The new poll put it at a three-way tie between Black, Ripper, and Enrique Espiritu Esperanza.
When Harmon Cashman read the poll results in the morning edition of The Los Angeles Times, over coffee and Oreos, he leaped from his seat and said, "I'm jazzed! I'm really jazzed!"