And just like that, without warning, I was hooked. Instead of rejecting Lacone's offer, I put my head into the trap.

"All right," I said, even though the very idea scared me.

"How about this? You can hire me for a week, as a consultant. I'll analyze your security, suggest ways to improve it. At the same time, I'll poke around where people don't want me. Look into their backgrounds, their connections, see what I can turn up.

"You'll pay me twice what I'm making now. Give me the keys to the building, let me do the job my way. And after a week we'll both decide whether we want to keep it up."

Then, because I didn't like Posten and didn't know how far I could trust Deborah, I added, "If that's acceptable to Watchdog, of course."

Posten acquiesced, scowling like a man with indigestion.

Lacone didn't hesitate.

"When can you start?"

"After lunch tomorrow. Say around one-thirty?" That would give me time to take care of at least some of my own affairs.

The developer stuck out his hand.

"It's a deal."

We shook on it.

Sternway consulted the air as if the rest of us weren't present.

I wanted to get this over with.

"In that case, let's meet here at one-thirty. If Nakahatchi leaves the display in the manager's safe room until then, we can escort it back to Martial America. When it's in place, you can show me around, make sure I understand what's involved."

"Fine, fine." Lacone beamed in all directions.

"Whatever you say. One-thirty it is."

Wrapping an arm around Sammy's shoulders, he drew the Senior Security Adviser with him toward the end of the platform.

Before HRH could join them, I said in the same tone I'd used on Lacone, "Mr. Sternway, I've got a couple of questions."

Apparently he wanted to seem affable.

"I thought we were on a first-name basis, Brew. Call me Anson."

He kept changing the rules. One minute I was Axbrewder-with-disdain, the next I was colleague-Brew. I couldn't keep up with his vagaries, so I avoided the issue.

Bluntly I told him, "I don't understand why you're involved in all this. I thought you wanted no part of Martial America."

I'd just been hired to poke around where people might not want me.

He frowned without much conviction.

"I must have given you the wrong impression. I'd like nothing better than to see Martial America succeed. If it does, it will benefit the martial arts generally, as well as promoting its member schools. In fact, I persuaded three schools to relocate there. I'll join them as soon as the complex makes enough money to support lower rents."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically.

"I've been involved with Martial America from the beginning," he went on.

"I helped design the building. Mr. Lacone needed the advice of a martial artist. I served as his consultant."

Just to be sure I'd read him right, I asked, "Did you volunteer?"

"Of course not." His tone said, You must be joking.

"Mr. La-cone hired me."

So that was about money too, not some hypothetical benefit to the martial arts.

"Did you also get paid for persuading those three schools?"

I half expected him to take offense, but he was too sure of himself for that.

"Certainly," he said as if the answer were self-evident.

"Time and effort cost money, Brew. You know that as well as I do.

Considering what Mr. Lacone hopes to accomplish with Martial America, my involvement is a perfectly normal expense. And I would say it's necessary. He won't succeed without me."

Thus spake HRH, Director of the IAMA. Probably I should've responded by bowing my head to the floor. But I didn't. Instead I grabbed my opportunity to ask a different kind of question.

"I've heard that you call Tae Kwon Do 'a toy martial art'. What's that all about?"

In an instant his manner changed. He seemed to condense in front of me, gather for an explosion. At the same time his stance lifted as if he'd grown suddenly lighter. Without transition he became a shout of danger.

"Perhaps I should have been more discreet," he pronounced, frowning.

"I assume you'll respect my confidence."

I nodded like he could trust me implicitly. I wasn't eager to get hit by Parker Neill's teacher.

He studied me for a moment. Then he risked answering my question.

"Master Soon is a fine martial artist, but he can't deny or alter the fact that TKD deserves to be called a toy. It has become the Korean national sport. When a martial art becomes a sport, it loses its seriousness, its credibility."

"Because sports are controlled by rules," I put it just to make Sternway think I understood, "and real martial artists know there aren't any."

"Exactly." The sense of threat he radiated began to ease.

"But if Soon is such a fine martial artist," I continued, "he must feel tarnished by what's being done to his art. He must want to regain face."

"Exactly," Sternway repeated. But abruptly he seemed to lose interest.

Or maybe I'd touched a nerve. He cocked his head like he was listening to Demura's audience, then informed me brusquely, "I have to go, Brew.