The self-defense class was held in a small gym on the fifth floor. Short, fat Frank was not the instructor. Instead it was a compact woman in her early thirties, dressed in a warm-up suit with the CIA crest on the chest. She showed me the Kung Fu pressure points on a chart—the points which, if attacked, could kill or cripple an opponent. She demonstrated some basic moves that could be used to ward off a deadly assault—the kick to the groin; the push of fingers toward the eyeballs; the disabling kick that could shatter a joint in an instant. I had studied karate when I was a kid, and I had tried to keep fit in the years since. But when it came time to do exercises on the mat, she overwhelmed me.

“Don’t use any of these fighting techniques unless you have no other option,” she said. “If you use them against a skilled opponent, there’s a good chance he’ll kill you. Quite often, the best defense is not motion but time.”

When the self-defense lecture was over, Frank took me back to his office. “Are you going to be carrying a firearm?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Mistake. I’ve got some nifty pieces for you to look at in the armory.” He opened a copy of Guns and Ammo atop his desk and flipped through pictures of various 9 mm automatic pistols, all shot in the lurid colors of cheap pornography. “Hubba! Hubba!” he said, pointing to one of the guns. “Sure I can’t interest you in one of them?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t know how to use it. It would only put me in more danger. I’m a reporter. That isn’t my cover, it’s what I do. Reporters don’t carry automatic weapons.”

“Maybe not, but you need something. I’ve decided I like you. I’m not going to send you out there buck naked. No way.”

He took me down the hall to a moldy storeroom lined with metal shelves. He pulled something down from a box and handed it to me. It appeared to be a fancy Mont Blanc fountain pen. “Now this is perfect for yuppies. You assholes actually buy these three-hundred-dollar pens. This one shoots out a chemical that’s like Mace, but better. It will incapacitate a couple of guys. The gold clip is the trigger. Pull it toward you and it fires. You arm it by twisting the barrel—like so. Use it in good health.”

I took the pen from Frank and pointed it directly toward his eyes.