Ham finished his marksmanship class for the day and glanced at his watch. Nearly six. He would go straight to the beach house and see if his newly planted bug was working. He was walking toward the truck when Peck Rawlings approached.

"Well, Ham, this was quite a day."

"It sure was, Peck, and I want to tell you I'm proud to be a part of all this. Anything you want done, you just ask."

"How would you feel about moving out here?" Peck asked.

"Moving?" Ham was alarmed, but he took care not to sound it. "Where?"

"We've got a bunkhouse down in the woods there." Peck pointed off to the south of the range. "Right along the lakeshore. It's real comfortable."

"Well, Peck, I'm pretty comfortable where I am," Ham replied. "I don't mind a little commute."

"Sure, I understand," Peck said. "You just stay where you are for the time being. Of course, when we start an operation, you'll have to move out here a few days ahead of time. We don't want anybody loose in the world who knows what we're going to do and when."

"Oh, sure, I understand."

"Tell you what, you pack a duffel bag with a week's clothes and leave it out here tomorrow. That way, if something comes up, you'll be ready instantly."

"I'll do that, Peck." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd better get going. I've got my once-in-a-blue-moon dinner with my daughter."

Peck took his arm. "Ham, you've got to be careful about seeing her. John is aware that she's… well, aware of who she is, and-"

Ham held up a hand. "Don't worry, Peck. I've never said a thing to her about the group, and I never will. In fact, it occurs to me that when we do get into a project, it might be an advantage having her as a kind of personal reference. She'd say, 'What, my daddy involved in that? That's completely crazy,' and they'd believe her."

"I see your point," Peck said. "Just be careful around her."

"You bet I will." Ham turned to go.

"Oh, by the way," Peck said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "You've taught your last shooting class for a while."

"Oh? You got something else for me?"

"You better believe it," Peck said.

"What is it?"

"Now, don't get too curious. You'll find that, in The Elect, you get information slowly, when your superiors think it's necessary. I will tell you this, though. John wants you to start working on the Barrett's rifle first thing tomorrow morning. He wants you up to speed on that weapon in a hurry, able to hit anything from any distance,"

"I think I'll enjoy that," Ham said.

"See you tomorrow, then. Enjoy your dinner with your daughter."

Ham sighed. "I'll try," he said.

Ham parked at Holly's and ran all the way to the beach house next door. As he walked into the living room, Harry jumped up and hugged him.

"You did it!" he yelled gleefully. "Those sons of bitches are on the fucking air!"

Doug and Eddie were pounding on his back, congratulating him.

Holly came and put an arm around him. "My old man!" she exclaimed. "How did you ever do it?"

"You're not going to believe it," Ham said. "Our lessons ended this morning, and after we took the damnedest oath you ever heard, John ripped up his class notes and burned them in the trash can, and the smoke detector in the room went off. John remembered I said I'd been installing them, and he asked me to fix it."

"And you switched detectors?"

"You bet your sweet ass I did. Have they been talking?"

"Yes," Harry said, "and they were talking about moving you out to the lake."

"Yeah, Peck brought that up, but he didn't push it. He wants me to keep a week's clothes out there, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Something's in the wind, some sort of operation."

"Any clues?"

"Not really, but John wants me to start training on the Barrett's rifle tomorrow morning."

"Damn," Harry said. "What the hell are they going to do with that thing?"

"When I find out, I'll let you know," Ham said.

"I think this is a scary development," Holly interjected. "The idea that they might actually shoot that gun at something or somebody is terrifying."

"Tell me about this oath," Harry said.

"Well, it pretty much called for me to hand them my ass on a platter, and if I do something they don't like, they have my permission to shoot me."

"Swell," Holly said.

"Harry, did you get the scrambled cell phone?"

"It'll be here tomorrow morning, and you can pick it up tomorrow evening."

"I'm getting to the point where I really want a way to communicate," Ham said.

"Well," Eddie put in, "you can always go into Peck's study and talk to the ceiling. We'll be listening."

"Are you getting real-time transmissions?"

"As far as we know," Eddie said. "Who knows what those spooks at NSA are doing with this stuff. There may be some sort of delay piping down here to us."

"Can we find out? That's something I'd really like to know."

"I'll try," Harry said, "but those boys and girls don't talk much."

"Who else is hearing it besides us?" Doug asked.

"Hell, I don't know," Harry replied. "They could be playing it in the NSA cafeteria, for all I know. My guess would be that the attorney general is getting at least a digest of what's being said, and certainly, the director, but I asked for it to be as closely held as possible."

"Oh, by the way, the group has a name."

"What is it?"

"The Elect, and by telling you, I've just made myself eligible for a bullet in the brain."

"We came up with that name in the militia database. Now, who wants pizza and who wants Chinese?"

The following morning Ham packed a large duffel with clothing, including several fatigue shirts. He was going to have to sew that microphone button on a different shirt every day, he reflected. He had grown to hate and fear the recorder in his boot. It was too damn hard to turn on and off, and it had already nearly gotten him caught. He wished he had complained about it to Harry and made them get him something simpler to use. He resolved not to use it again, unless he absolutely had to.

He packed his cell phone and charger into the duffel, and as an afterthought, included a bottle of Wild Turkey. He had a feeling he was going to need a drink every now and then, if he had to start living with those people.

He drove out to the lake and found Peck.

"I expect you want to draw the Barrett's rifle and some ammo," Peck said.

"Right."

"Follow me." Peck led the way into the house, to an innocuous-looking door that turned out to lead to a cellar. Cellars weren't big in Florida, and Ham thought they must have gone to a lot of trouble to waterproof it.

The cellar turned out to be quite something, bigger than the house it served. There was a pistol-shooting range, several storerooms and what could only be described as an arsenal. "Wow," he said, when Peck opened the door.

"Yep, we're pretty well equipped, aren't we?"

Ham spotted assault weapons, grenades, shoulder-mounted antiaircraft missiles, antitank weapons and cases of handguns. Peck selected the Barrett's rifle case from a group of four. "Grab that ammunition box," he said to Ham.

Ham shouldered the 500-round box and followed Peck up the stairs, out of the house and into the sunshine. Peck put the rifle in the back of Ham's truck and got in. "We'll drive," he said.

Ham put the ammunition into the truckbed and got behind the wheel. "To the range?" he asked, starting the engine.

"Past the range," Peck replied. "I'll direct you."

Ham drove off down the dirt track that ran past the shooting range and into the woods behind.