Finally he spoke. "These tidings you bring would have gladdened my heart had you only rendered them to me before. But you have dumped me like an old granny. And now you come to me seeking forgiveness, groveling and begging."
"I am not groveling."
" Pleading with me to take you back. But how can I trust one such as you, since I am the only true father you have ever known?"
"Name your price."
"Sinanju is not to be bought. It may be rented or hired. I will not trade the sanctity of Reigning Masterhood for mere favors."
"I belong here. With you."
"Two days ago you swore to me the way of the assassin was not your way."
"Something happened that taught me different. I am what I am."
For the first time Chiun's hazel eyes locked with Remo's. "Will you sacrifice for this boon?"
"Anything," Remo answered.
"Give up maize in all its lurid allure. Swear to me that your pale lips will never again touch yellow grain or drink it."
Remo swallowed hard. "I promise."
Chiun's voice softened. "I might consider a grace period in which you might possibly prove your worthiness to succeed me—against all evidence to the contrary, of course."
"You won't be sorry, Little Father."
"That remains to be seen. I have sent word on the wings of swallows that the House is open to other offers."
"I know."
"And I have told Smith that I will not consider his offer," Chiun added.
"So that's that."
"No. That is not that. It is only that if I say it is that. And it is not that. I cannot treat with Smith without going against my solemn word. But the apprentice Reigning Master may."
"Apprentice Reigning Master? I don't remember ever hearing of an apprentice Reigning Master."
"You will be the first in the history of the House. Because you are white and a corn addict, you naturally cannot be trusted with assuming the exalted office without a suitable period."
"How long?"
"Ten, perhaps only fifteen years."
"I thought you wanted me to take over."
"In time, in time. First you must prove your worthiness, and the best way is to enter into your first negotiation with an emperor. Go to Smith. Suggest that the House might be persuaded to reconsider its current negotiating position. Do not overemphasize this point. Show no eagerness. Promise nothing. Let veilings adhere to your every word, and remember no word is more powerful than silence or the narrowing of the eyes in the heat of negotiation. Show me how you narrow your eyes, Remo."
Remo frowned. His eyes bunched up like concord grapes.
"Your eyes seem incapable of correct narrowing. But I will give you a mirror. Spend the next hours practicing, then hie yourself to Emperor Smith's fortress, there to lure him and lull him into loosing his purse strings more widely than ever before."
"Got it," said Remo, jumping to his feet. He took a deep breath. "Thanks for giving me another chance."
"A chance is only a chance. The proof is in the pudding."
As Remo started to go, Chiun called out,"You have forgotten something."
Remo thought. Turning, he bowed deeply. A forty-five-degree bow.
"How's that?" he asked, straightening.
"Very good. Proper and direct. But it was not what I meant."
Remo looked blank.
"Did you not ask me to hear the story of the stonecutter?"
"Oh, right." Remo started to sink down on the floor when Chiun motioned him to remain standing.
"It is too late. Obviously you were not sincere in your desire, or it never would have slipped your frail mind."
"No, I really want to."
"Enough. Later. If you implore me enough."
"Got it, Little Father."
At the door Remo paused and said, "Thanks again. You won't regret it."
And under his breath the Master of Sinanju intoned, "Let us hope neither of us does."
Chapter Thirteen
The President of the United States couldn't believe it when his chief of staff came with the news.
"He's what?"
"Refusing to accept your call."
"Since when does the president of the United Mexican States refuse to take the U.S. President's call?"
The chief of staff wanted to say, "Since you became President," but swallowed his tongue and said nothing.
The President of the United States looked ill. It was bad enough that the Republican Speaker of the House had refused to take his calls in the aftermath of the November revolution of a year ago, but that was politics. This was a threat situation on the nation's vulnerable southern border.
"What's the disposition of our troops?"
"The Eighty-sixth Airborne is en route to Brownsville. If Mexico City makes a move, they make it against Texas. They once owned it, you know."
"If they think they're taking back Texas, it'll be over my dead body."
The chief of staff, eyeing a recent bullet hole in the Oval Office window, rapped the President's desk three times sharply.
"What's that?"
"Knocking on wood."
"Oh," said the President, who also rapped on the ornate desk.
The chief of staff went on."Additionally, elements of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Division, the Tenth Mountain and other battle forces are being positioned at likely choke points along the common border."
"That doesn't sound very formidable," the President said worriedly.
"With all the troops we have bogged down in UN peacekeeping details around the world, we're stretched pretty thin in California and Arizona, true. But let me add that the aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan and its battle group are even now steaming toward the Gulf of Mexico. If they attack, our retaliatory response will be swift and decisive."
"They won't attack. They don't dare. What reason do they have?"
"Internal problems can be solved by external thrusts. You know that it's the second rule of statecraft. Or maybe the third."
"What's the first?"
"Don't get yourself invaded," said the chief of staff.
The door burst open and the First Lady stormed in, looking agitated.
The President frowned at her. "I'm in conference."
"We can't afford all these troop deployments. Are you insane? It'll bust the budget. What will that do to our reelection?"
"My reelection."
"You get reelected, I'm reelected. If the voters toss you out on your fat can, I'm back to doing pro bono work. I'm too important to go back to the working world."
A sheet of paper fell on the Presidential desk. He looked at it. "What's this?"
"A list of emergency budget-cutting options that will balance out what we're squandering on this non-crisis."
The President's puffy eyes skated down the page. At the very bottom was typed a .tempting target. The Federal Emergency Management Agency.
"Didn't we slash FEMA's budget last year?"
"So? Slash it again. The Cold War's over. FEMA is an albatross."
"They're pretty handy for hurricanes and earthquake relief and stuff like that."
"Leave enough to manage natural disasters. But cut off all Cold War survival stuff. We don't need it."
"If we're invaded by Mexico, we may need to go to that hardened FEMA site in the Maryland mountains."
"It's already built. It's not going away if you freeze their funds. Besides, if we don't have FEMA hard-sites, neither does Congress. Maybe that'll make Speaker Grinch think twice the next time he sends over his damn regressive legislation."
"How many times do I have to tell you, don't call him that. If the media gets it on tape, we'll have a real problem."
"Just sign it. I'd do it myself, but it wouldn't be legal."
"Okay," said the President, signing the paper. "There. Their funds are frozen for the duration of this crisis."
The First Lady snatched the paper off the desk, said a frosty "Thank you" and marched out with her heels clicking.