"That's all very interesting," I returned.

"But you've only answered part of my question." At last I cocked one of my guns, let some of my anger show.

"What about the conflicts in Martial America?"

She met me with exasperation.

"What about them? They're traditional, Mr. Axbrewder they go back longer than you can imagine. With the best will in the world, Sternway sensei can't resolve them. What little effectiveness he has as a mediator depends on his stature outside those conflicts."

Working to convey the impression that I took her response seriously, I paused again, relaxed into the silence. I wanted her to drop her guard. But I didn't drag it out. A moment later I remarked, "That's also very interesting. Unfortunately it's bullshit."

Then I opened fire.

"From what I've heard, both Sifu Hong and Nakahatchi sensei like Anson's idea of cooperation among dojos. They're in conflict with each other because you've been stirring up trouble."

I heard the hiss as she snatched a breath. The next instant she flashed back at me, "Mr. Axbrewder, I've had enough of this. I'm trying to answer your questions, I'm trying to get along with you here.

I certainly don't deserve " I interrupted hard.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sue. Didn't you prepare the leases for Essential Shotokan and Traditional Wing Chun?"

"Yes, but " she began.

That admission was enough.

"So you were in a position to know that Hong expected precedence. But you didn't mention his feelings until you'd already moved Nakahatchi into Martial America ahead of Hong. In fact, you created an insult that didn't exist."

"That's absurd! How was I supposed to know ?"

I kept right on interrupting her.

"You just lectured me about conflicts between martial arts schools. How could you not know? Do you expect me to believe that Anson didn't tell you he'd offered Hong the chance to be first in Martial America?

"But you didn't stop there. As I hear it, you made a point of making Nakahatchi aware that Hong was offended. But you didn't explain Nakahatchi's circumstances to Hong. How am I supposed to interpret that? It sure looks like you didn't want Hong to understand that Nakahatchi wasn't trying to upstage him."

"Mister Axbrewder." Sue's vehemence caused a crackle of distortion in my phone's earpiece.

"You're taking the entire situation out of context." Her disdain filled the connection.

"I don't discuss one client's business with another. That's privileged information. I'm ethically bound not to tell either Sifu Hong or Nakahatchi sensei about each other's decisions.

"I only mentioned Sifu Hong's reaction when I realized he'd misinterpreted Nakahatchi sensei's actions. I thought Nakahatchi sensei deserved a chance to correct Sifu Hong's misapprehensions. It's not my fault he didn't take advantage of the opportunity.

"And that's privileged information as well. I don't know who has been talking to you, but they should not have done it."

All right. So she was fast on her feet. Living up to her reputation.

That didn't bother me. I could exchange volleys with her like this all day.

"Well " I made a pretense of backing down.

"Maybe you're right." Then I tried a more oblique attack.

"But I have to say, I'm still confused by your role in all this. If you thought Nakahatchi deserved a chance to straighten things out, why didn't you think Hong deserved accurate information?"

"Because," she retorted with heavy impatience, "he's a Wing Chun stylist. I don't expect you to understand what that means, but believe me, it's relevant. He's too touchy to be reasonable."

I had her, and she didn't even know it. Grinning fiercely at my windshield, I let her bury herself.

"Soft stylists are like that generally," she pronounced.

"They're flashy and dramatic because they don't want anyone to know that their techniques don't really work. Instead they cultivate secretiveness, trying to convince themselves that the rest of us aren't smart enough to recognize their real power. And they're touchy. You should hear the complaints at tournaments. The judges aren't fair, the refs won't give them points they deserve, everyone is prejudiced against them. Since they can't demonstrate any effectiveness, they've made the whole thing about ego.

"I didn't explain Nakahatchi sensei's position to Hong," she concluded with mis-aimed sarcasm, "because I had no reason to think he'd listen."

"I see." I let my grin show in my voice.

"It's starting to make sense now. There's just one more thing I don't get." Then I asked cheerfully, "Why did you tell Hong that I was hired to protect the chops from him? I mean, considering that he's so 'touchy' and all."

"Mr. Axbrewder" my earpiece positively spat at me "I've had enough of this." Righteous Sue Rasmussen in full cry.

"From the beginning you approached our tournament with contempt, and all you've done since then is sneer.

"You forget that I know what you're like. When I heard Mr. Lacone made the mistake of hiring you, I knew you weren't qualified to deal with the situation in Martial America. You're too ignorant and 'superior' to appreciate the danger. So " She took a deep breath.

"I gave you some help. I made Sifu Hong aware that his school was being watched. You weren't likely to grasp what the ownership of those chops means, or how far almost anyone at Traditional Wing Chun would go to retrieve them. On your behalf, I made them nervous. I made them cautious. Otherwise they might have stolen those chops out from under your nose."

I wanted to applaud, but she didn't give me the chance.

"This conversation is over," she informed me. Then she slammed down the phone.

Well, gosh, I thought. Apparently she'd figured out why I suspected her of lying.

I'd finally won a round. For a minute or two I couldn't stop grinning.

Sternway's squeeze spent almost as much time and ingenuity undermining Martial America as he did promoting it. Bless his woman-ridden little heart, he had a saboteur in his midst.

Or With the suddenness of a cerebral hemorrhage, a window seemed to open in my head. Through it, I saw nameless intuitions tremble on the verge of clarity. Hong and Hardshorn and Bernie shimmered on the horizon like mirages, obscured or invented by heat, and accompanied by other figures with their faces hidden.

Maybe it wasn't her lover sweet Sue had sabotaged. Maybe it was me.

Before I could grasp all the implications, however, before I could catch even a glimpse of the danger I'd created for Hong, the window closed. I found myself in a muck sweat, despite the van's valiant AC.

Even through my sunglasses, Garner's hard light had a mocking tinge.

Goddamn it, where was Ginny when I needed her?

Some part of me knew what Sue's performance meant, I was sure of that.

But I'd lost the window. It wouldn't open again until it was good and ready. Or I was.

Maybe it was me.