"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."