I was reluctant at first, but Lambert did a pretty good job of flattering me. He told me I was the only man for the job. I was a “rare specimen,” he said. I was a spy who had never come close to being caught. I had a lifetime’s worth of espionage experience (I’m four years older than Lambert!), but I haven’t left any fingerprints on the intelligence community. He told me I knew how to survive and stay invisible. He knew I could keep a secret. So I joined.
The Macau job was pretty typical of what I do. My cover in Hong Kong was that of a journalist, which is something I’ve been on several occasions. I was supposedly working on a book about the changes in Hong Kong since the handover in 1997. To tell the truth, I didn’t see that many changes. I’d been to Hong Kong many times before 1997 and a couple of times since, and I can’t tell much difference other than the fact that there are fewer Brits now.
Still, there are some British government agencies left in Hong Kong. They provided the private boat that got me to Macau and back. The rest of it I had to do alone, though. I motored around the peninsula at night and moored a couple of miles from the main port. Like the Americans, the Brits supposedly had no knowledge of my presence or actions in the area, although the U.K. is just as interested in closing down the Shop as we are. That’s why they helped.
I get to the strip mall and walk inside KM Studio, early as usual. I’m always the first one there. The instructor is an Israeli woman named Katia Loenstern. She’s thirty-something and extremely attractive. Very buff and strong, too. I think she likes me, but I can’t reciprocate. It’s just too dangerous in my business to get involved with someone. Besides, I never know when I have to leave the country, and I can’t talk about what I’m doing. It’s not the best set of circumstances upon which to build a relationship. I don’t particularly enjoy being celibate, but I’ve trained myself not to think about it. I can appreciate looking at a beautiful woman, but that’s as far as my thought process goes. I’ve been able to find the discipline to stymie it there before I allow the desire mechanism to kick in.
Katia is in the studio, limbering up on a ballet rail. I think she rents the studio to a ballet class on some days. I can’t imagine that Krav Maga classes alone pay the rent.
“Sam!” she says, obviously surprised to see me.
“Hi, Katia,” I reply.
“Where the heck you been? I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”
That’s right. I was in the Far East. I hadn’t been to class in three months even though I had paid for the whole year in advance.
“I’ve been away on business,” I said. At least it was the truth. “Sorry. I should have told you I’d be gone a while.”
She straightens out and faces me. As usual, she’s dressed in a leotard and tights for the warm-up. She’d put on a little more clothing later for the sparring portion of the class. Katia is tall, muscular, and has a nice, natural body. Her black hair comes down just past her shoulders. She has brown eyes, a long nose, and a rather pouty mouth. Yep, I would certainly jump her bones in another life.
“Just what kind of business are you in?”
“Sales. Overseas sales. I was in the Far East for three months.”
She eyes me skeptically. “You don’t look like a salesman.”
I put down my gym bag that contains a towel and an extra T-shirt and sit on the mat. I begin my own warm-up stretches and ask, “I don’t? What does a salesman look like?”
She gets on the mat near me and continues calisthenics. “I don’t know. Just not like you.”
“What do I look like?”
“You look like a soldier. Like a career soldier. Someone who’s been in the army for thirty years.”
“Thirty years? I’m not that old!”
“No, I guess you’re not. Okay, twenty years. How old are you, anyway? I forgot.”
“It’s on my application for the class, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I could go look it up, but I’m too busy right this second.”
“I’m forty-seven.”
She makes a face that indicates she’s impressed. “Sam, you don’t look a day over forty. Maybe even thirty-eight. And that’s getting pretty close to me.”
I look at her and she smiles at me. Is she flirting? Was that a come-on?
“Why, how old are you?” I ask.
“You know it’s impolite to ask a woman her age.”
“Aw, geez, Katia. Come on, I fessed up.”
“Guess.”
I’m pretty sure what the answer is, but I pretend to think about it. “Thirty-five?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Very good.”
Two more students enter the studio. Josh and Brian are orthodox Jews who believe that “the war” will come to their neighborhood someday, and they want to be able to defend themselves. They’re big guys. I don’t think they’d have any problem defending themselves, with or without Krav Maga.
“Anyway, welcome back,” Katia says to me, ending our conversation.
“Thanks,” I say.
Over the next ten minutes the other students arrive. Out of twelve people, nine are men ranging from age sixteen to forty-something. I think I’m the oldest guy in the class. The three women are relatively young, between eighteen and thirty, I think. Katia’s a very good instructor. She starts each class with a basic warm-up that includes some kind of aerobic activity, strength conditioning with push-ups and sit-ups, and stretching. Warm-ups are usually different in each class to keep things interesting and to ensure that each student leaves with a variety of exercises that can be used to keep fit outside of class. Following warm-up, Katia leads us in hand techniques for fifteen minutes. This time is devoted to hand strikes such as punches, elbows, and hammerfists, and associated defenses. The next fifteen minutes focus on leg techniques — kicks, knees, and their defenses. The final quarter hour is spent on self-defenses, and in Krav Maga there’s a lot to learn. Katia goes through each self-defense move thoroughly, step-by-step to ensure maximum understanding. Then we practice live, with partners. The entire hour includes drills to enhance muscle strength and cardiovascular conditioning, as well as drills to teach students how to operate under pressure or fatigue, defend against multiple attackers, and keep fighting spirit high for the entire duration of a defense or fight.
Unlike the color belt system used by other martial arts systems, Krav Maga is broken down into levels. When you progress through the system, you move up in level until you reach 3B, the most advanced class that Katia teaches. That’s the one I’m in, as well as “Fight Class,” where we have the opportunity to spar while wearing protective gear. In 3B we work on weapons defenses, grappling, joint locks, spinning heel, and slap kicks, and other advanced combatives.
When the hour’s up, everyone is in a major sweat. I can’t wait to get home and hit the shower. As folks are leaving, I wipe my face and neck with a towel and catch my breath. Katia comes over to me and says, “Sam, you should be teaching this class, not me.”
“You do a great job, Katia,” I say.
“I’m serious. You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you? I mean, I knew you were good, but today you showed me a thing or two. Where did you study before? Are you from Israel?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Born and raised here in the States.”
“You’re not Jewish, are you?”
I smile. “Charlie Chaplin was once asked that question,” I say. “He replied, ‘I don’t have that honor, sorry.’ ”