"Why?"

"Because I've told them we don't get along all that well, remember? I think I ought to tell them you weren't interested."

"Well, maybe you're right."

"I think you ought to check with Harry Crisp on this, though."

"Okay, I'll call him right now. Hang on, I'll make it a conference call." She put Ham on hold, got Harry on the phone, then pressed the conference button. "Everybody there?"

"I'm here," Ham said.

"Me too," Harry replied.

"Harry, they've invited Ham out to another gun show, and me, too, but Ham doesn't think I ought to go."

Ham explained himself.

"I think Ham's right," Harry said. "They need to get used to him without you-after all, you're the law."

"Yeah, I guess," Holly said.

"I know you'd rather be out there amongst 'em," Harry said, "but I think Ham's got to carry the water on this one."

"I guess you're right, Harry."

"What about me?" Ham asked.

"Oh, all right, you're right, too."

"I don't hear that very often," Ham said, and Harry laughed. "Harry, you got any special instructions?"

"Nope, just go out there and do what you do. I don't want you carrying any recorders or cameras, either."

"I've got to win their trust, huh?"

"No, not that," Harry said quickly. "If they see you trying, they'll wonder. Let them come to you. Don't make any moves."

"He's right, Ham," Holly said. "Did they say anything except come to the gun show?"

"They mentioned lunch by the lake," Ham said.

"Nothing more sinister?"

"Not unless you consider barbecue sinister."

Harry laughed. "Be patient, Holly, this is going to take a while."

"You're right, Harry," she said. "Ham, take your cell phone this time, just in case you need help."

"No, don't," Harry jumped in. "You need to go naked into the jungle."

"Won't be the first time," Ham said.

"Bye," Harry said, and hung up.

"Listen, I'll call you back on my bugged phone and invite you, okay? Then you can turn me down."

"Okay." Holly hung up.

A couple of minutes later, Ham called again.

"Holly Barker."

"It's your old man, Holly."

"How are you?" she asked, as if she didn't care.

"I'm okay. You and I got an invitation from those folks out at the lake to go to their gun show this weekend and have some lunch with them. You want to go?"

"I'll pass, Ham. Those people are boring."

"Suit yourself, Holly."

"I mean, you don't really like them, do you?"

"I had dinner out there last month. They seem like nice folks, and they have some interesting ideas."

"Yeah, sure. Listen, thanks for the invitation. I gotta run. Take care of yourself."

"Well, somebody has to," Ham said petulantly, then hung up.

Holly hung up, too. "Let's see what they make of that conversation," she said aloud.

This time, Ham wore a freshly starched set of camouflage fatigues. He figured he'd fit right in with the mindset of these people, and he was right.

When Peck Rawlings saw him, he beamed from ear to ear. "Well, Ham, you're looking sharp today," he said, shaking hands.

"I'm okay," Ham said. He unzipped the canvas bag he was carrying and showed Peck the silenced CIA-issue pistol. "I thought some of your folks might be interested in seeing this," he said.

"Damn right they will," Peck replied. "Come on, let's find some of the boys right now."

Peck collected a dozen men, only a couple of whom Ham had met, and escorted them out to the firing range. "Gentlemen," he said, "Ham Barker has brought along something I think you'll find very interesting. Ham?"

Ham took the pistol from its holster, removed the clip, checked that the breech was empty and passed it around, watching as each of the men inspected it.

"Never seen anything like it," one of them said.

"It's not likely you will," Ham said. "I'm told they were made in very small numbers for a government agency that appreciates these kinds of toys." He took the pistol back, loaded it and screwed the silencer into the barrel.

"Pick out a target," Peck said, waving an arm at the range.

Ham lifted the pistol, took brief aim at a whiskey bottle sitting on top of a burned-out car halfway down the range and fired. The shattering of the bottle made more noise than the pistol had.

There was a murmur of approval from the crowd.

"That was a hell of a shot from a hundred yards," Peck said. "I'm a pretty good shot, and I don't know if I could hit anything with a handgun from that distance."

Ham shrugged. "Some of you fellas want to try it out?" He watched as the men, one by one, fired the weapon. One or two of them came close to their targets, but none hit them.

Jim, whom Ham remembered from before, stepped forward with another military-looking weapon-a long-barreled rifle with a large scope affixed. "Show us what you can do with this, Ham," he said.

Ham took the weapon and inspected it. "I believe I've seen one of these before," he said, "when I was in Special Forces." He looked around him. "What can I safely take a shot at that's a little farther away?" he asked.

Peck looked back toward the town and pointed to the water tower, half a mile away. A bunch of welcoming balloons was tied to the top of it. "See if you can hit the top balloon," he said. "The round will end up in the lake."

Ham sighted the rifle. The balloons stood straight up in the calm air. "Good day for it," he said, and popped the top balloon with a single round.

"You think you could do that with the Barrett's rifle?" Peck asked.

"Given an opportunity to sight it in, probably," Ham said. "I fired it a few times in Iraq and did pretty good."

"Maybe we'll try that on another occasion," Peck said. "Come on, everybody, let's eat some barbecue."

Ham unloaded and stowed his pistol, and the group walked to the lakeside, where a group of women had set up a chow line beside a dozen picnic tables. Everybody grabbed a plate, and shortly, they were seated at a table, eating barbecue. Ham noticed that Peck and Jim stuck with him, and another man, one he hadn't seen before, joined them.

"Ham," Peck said, "this is John."

The man, who was tall and slim like Ham, and who wore round, steel-rimmed glasses, offered his hand. "How do you do, Ham?"

"Good to meet you," Ham said. "Just John?"

"That's what they call me," the man replied, biting into some cornbread.

"That's all that's necessary," another man said, and the group nodded as one man.

Ham sensed, from the deference shown to John, that he was somebody special to these people. "John, it is," he said, and dug into his barbecue.

"I had a look at your military record," John said after a moment. "You had an interesting career."

"I guess I did," Ham replied.

"Must be a little boring, being retired."

"A little," Ham agreed. "There's just so much fishing a fellow can do."

John nodded in agreement. "That's how I felt when I retired."

"What service?" Ham asked.

"I wasn't in the military," the man said. "You might say I served another master."

Ham started to ask what master but thought better of it. He nodded and continued with his lunch.

"I wonder," John said, "if you'd like to give some of our people a little instruction in the finer points of shooting?"

"Sure," Ham replied. "What sort of shooting?"

"The kind you were doing a few minutes ago," he said. "We've got some good shots in our outfit, but none as good as you."

"If they've got talent, I can train them," Ham said. "They'll have to work at it, though."

"Oh, they'll work at it," John said, "or answer to me. After lunch, we'll take a little trip down to another range we've got out in the pines, and you can watch our people shoot."