"Of course, you don't know me. But I have to say, I'm still confused by your reaction. Have Sternway sensei or Mr. Lacone given you any reason to think that they don't trust and respect you?"

T'ang Wen squirmed. Again he dropped his gaze, hid what was in his eyes. Uncomfortably he answered, "We were given reason."

I let my tone sharpen.

"You implied a minute ago that you consider Sternway sensei honorable.

What has Mr. Lacone done to make you suspicious?"

T'ang stayed hidden behind the mask of his face.

"He himself has done nothing. He is a polite and cooperative landlord, as such things are measured in this country."

"Then where did you get the idea ?"

Abruptly he looked up, gave me a straight thrust of silver.

"Mr. Sternway's associate. Ms. Rasmussen."

That cut seemed to bite deeper than it should have.

"She said that I'd been hired to protect the chops from you?"

"She did not say it," he stated flatly.

"It was present in her words."

"Let me guess." I scrambled inside.

"She's also the one who told you that Nakahatchi sensei moved here ahead of you to claim precedence. She didn't say it.

"It was present in her words."

" T'ang replied with a curt nod.

Damn and damn. Sue Rasmussen, the cutthroat cheerleader, was going out of her way to plant trouble for Martial America. Rather odd behavior for a woman who slept with Lacone's ambassador. What was she trying to do? Undermine Sternway so that she could take over the IAMA?

Instincts whispered in my ears, offering me hints too breathy and obscure to be deciphered. Sue Rasmussen wanted to seed distrust in Martial America? Sue Rasmussen?

Marking time while I tried to think, I murmured aimlessly, "That's interesting." If I'd had the sense God gave plankton, I would've turned on my heel right then and walked out of the building, without saying another word to anyone. Alarms squalled at my head, and I did not understand them. My desire to talk to Ginny was so intense that I nearly quailed.

Sue Rasmussen?

What the fuck are you doing?

But of course I didn't walk away. In what you might call a moral sense, I didn't know how. I'd already put my feet on this path. And the idea of asking Hong to appraise the chops was simply too apt to reject without a better reason than blind fear.

"Again, thanks," I said vaguely. Then I made an effort to pull myself together.

"It looks like she owes us all an explanation. I'm certainly going to ask her for one."

With that sop to T'ang Wen's tarnished face, I changed gears awkwardly.

"Can I talk to Sifu Hong now?"

Since he didn't really have any choice, he bowed slightly and led me upstairs.

I was breathing hard, hyperventilating almost transcendentally. I felt like a man in a burning house trying to carry victims he couldn't identify above the reach of the flames.

Fortunately someone had flipped on all the lights, and illumination filled the meeting room outside the apartments. That steadied me. It seemed to expose my alarm to rational examination.

At Hong's door, T'ang composed himself for a discreet knock. If my mind hadn't been so congested with worry, I might've wondered whether Hong's "condescension" would extend to inviting me into his home. But it didn't. When he emerged, he closed the door firmly behind him before offering me an impersonal bow.

By now I understood that there were no accidents in Oriental manners.

As he had yesterday, Hong meant to hear me out in public, at least symbolically. He wanted me and T'ang to know that he wouldn't tolerate any secrets between us.

Which must've reassured the hell out of T'ang. And it suited me fine, especially in my present condition. Despite what I'd said downstairs, I didn't have the slightest interest in keeping my proposal private.

With so many lights on, we could see each other clearly. T'ang stood a bit to the side, ready to intervene if I committed some uniquely gwailo gaucherie, while Hong and I faced each other. Trying to minimize the effect of my height, I made a point of keeping a little distance between us.

I answered Hong's bow with the best one I could muster.

"Sifu," I began, "thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice.

I'm sure you must have a lot of demands on your time."

"Mr. Axbrewder." His flat features neither acknowledged nor denied demands on his time.

"You represent Mr. Lacone and Watchdog Insurance. Their concerns should be discussed with T'ang Wen. However, I am willing to hear what you wish to say."

I felt the slap of reprimand, but it was a light one. By degrees I began to breathe a little easier.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't intrude like this," I said to appease him.

"Mr. T'ang has been more than helpful." Another sop for T'ang and an oblique apology for violating Hong's instructions.

"As I told him downstairs, I have a request to make. But before I get to it, may I ask a question?"

Hong didn't say anything. His molded-clay features revealed nothing I could read. If I'd been talking to anyone else even Hideo Komatori I would've insisted on a response of some kind. Here I decided to interpret silence as consent.

"Sifu," I began as if there were lives in my hands, "have you had a chance to look closely at Mr. Nakahatchi's chops?"

T'ang made a hissing noise. His indignation was palpable.

"Do you expect my master to belittle himself in that way?"

Presumably he meant "belittle himself" by inspecting the chops at the tournament, where anyone from Essential Shotokan might see him do it.

Hong flashed a warning glance at T'ang, but didn't give me any other answer.

"In that case" every handhold in the face of the cliff seemed to crumble under my weight "would you mind coming with me to Mr.