She stepped to the oven and with a grunt dragged it away from the wall. Taped to its rear was an oily rag that held a heavy, cold object. She took the package to the table, unwrapped the cloth, and spread out the parts. It was an obsolete Smith and Wesson .357 handgun, built before MIs appropriated weapon design. Its simplicity betrayed that fact; it was made from a few large metal pieces that clicked together with machined precision. It was reliable, deadly, and untraceable. Weapons these days were computers with bullets attached; this was a reminder of simpler times. She’d bought it in an antiques shop while undercover and filed off the serial and registration marks. At the time, she hadn’t known why she’d done it, but an inner voice told her one day she would need to protect herself in a way the NYPD wouldn’t approve of.