There were a number of secrets entrusted to senior ninja. Special jounin and jounin, in particular, learned code words, signs and countersigns, methods for revealing hidden information, methods for identifying covert operatives in the field. The signal Genma was getting now, a tight, syncopated rhythm coupled with a chakra surge that blistered under his skin, was one of the most important.

And one a ninja hoped never, ever, to receive. Especially not in the middle of a fight.

Genma went slack in the man's grasp, just long enough to give him the idea he'd gotten the message. Undercover. ANBU. Friend. He heard the sound of a bladed weapon being drawn, and mentally added a Motherfucker! to it.

Now he had to throw this fight. And throw it good. Meatshield and genjutsu bitch back there, whoever they were, didn't seem likely to be Konoha undercover agents, meaning ANBU-boy here was going to have to make it look like Genma was a neutralized threat.

The only neutralized jounin was a dead jounin. That was a truism that crossed national and village boundaries.

But the guy hadn't killed him, and he'd had an opportunity. Dying for a mission was always a possibility, but dying for someone else's mission was a sucky way to go.

It probably was a bad idea to think of Sadayo.

There was a fresh flash of light, not so searing this time. Just enough to illuminate them. They were being watched, and Genma needed to make it look good.

Seeing an opportunity and letting it go was hard enough. Giving your opponent a deliberate opening, when you were pretty sure you knew exactly how hard he could hit--ANBU, holy mother of the Buddha--that took real self control.

Genma got a glimpse of the edge of the roof, and beyond it the falls that powered the turbines that this ANBU and his temporary buddies had been trying to sabotage. OK, off the roof was not a life-compatible solution. Probably. He caught the ANBU's eye, grit his teeth, and dropped his guard.