“I hope you’re not quitting,” he said with a chuckle. When I didn’t laugh, he grew serious and motioned to his office with a bob of his head. I followed him in.

“What the fuck are you telling me, Dan?” he said in a low growl. “You’re going to quit on me after I resisted the temptation to fire you at least ten times?”

“That’s right, Frank.”

“You’re going to quit at this amazing moment in history? When you’re lucky enough to be here on the ground to witness and document something so important?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, eyes pleading for an answer. “Why, Dan? I just got back from the best fucking week of my life, and you’re going to take a piss on my homecoming? Who do you think is going to fill your shoes? Joey Rahman? Flaherty? Herbie?”

“Herbie’s an old pro,” I said. “And Flaherty’ll learn.”

“Oh, God, I’m fucked.”

“I’m sorry, Frank. But it’s complicated. I’m in deep trouble and have to step back to get myself clear.”

“Jesus, don’t tell me you got some girl pregnant.”

“No. It’s not that.”

He plopped down into his chair and fished a cigarette out of his pocket. Then he lit up, inhaled deeply, and exhaled, all the while watching me. He was struggling to regain his calm, and it appeared he’d managed it.

“Sit down and tell me everything,” he said.

Over the next twenty minutes, I laid before him all the misfortunes that had befallen me in the previous four weeks. From my meeting Willy Smets to my wall-scaling servant to Russell Harlan and Birgit Fuchs. I told him about Bikas, too, even though I’d lost the film. And then there was Sushmita. Frank gaped at me the whole time. Winced, too, when I described my ill-advised affair with a gangster’s girl. Once I’d taken a breath to signal my story was at an end, he lit yet another cigarette.

“Wow,” he said. “You are a fucking moron, Jacobs.”

I looked away and nodded. “I know.”

He threw his hands in the air then pushed himself out of his seat. “Christ, not that way. I mean, sure, you’re still a moron. But you’ve got the best fucking story I’ve heard in years sitting in your lap, and you want to quit? Come to your senses, man.”

“Huh?”

“Dan, this is an amazing story. The DEA and CBI want you to go under cover, be a double agent, and nab a drug trafficker. What don’t you understand?”

“Um, snitch, actually.”

“What’s that?”

“They want me to be a snitch, not a double agent.”

“Who gives a shit what they call it? Can you imagine how big this will be if you pull it off? You’ll get a book deal. You could win a Pulitzer, for God’s sake.”