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in it. Will this surprise of yours require active shooting?”
    “Not tonight,” Bill said. “Anyway, you’ll love the weapon I found for you. Better than your Sig Sauer or my Federal Ordnance .45.”
    Alicia lifted a sandy eyebrow. “I’ll believe that when I see the weapon you ‘found’ for me. Uh, does this weapon come full auto, semi-auto? Domestic or overseas?”
    “Neither, and it came from farther away than Israel,” he teased.
    Alicia’s intense scan of him got even tighter. “Well, here come four of the guys. The rest can’t be far behind. You’ll talk then?”
    Bill had noticed the arrival of four buddies from the corner of his eye. Ranger, Marine, Air Force and a SEAL. The three men and one woman thumped over to their cluster of tables, each shouldering a travel bag and curious looks. In their own manner, each gave him a Welcome Back nod, wink or grin.
    “Well Bill,” called Cassandra Welsh as she sat down opposite him at the far end of the tables, “you been gone too long to be hunting pussy. What gives? Private contracting overseas?”
    The three guys who knew him all too well laughed at Cassandra’s lewd tease, then sat between him and her on the side wall bench. They were Mark, Frank and Stefano, all retired from active work in the Rangers, Marines and SEALs. He blew a raspberry at mohawk-haired Cassandra.
    “I’ve been traveling, yes. Private contracting no. The rest, you will have to wait to hear about until the other guys arrive,” Bill said, grabbing the mug of beer that Cheryl set down in front of him. He lifted it and took a long suck on it. Synthetic beer produced in the Blue Sky’s Food Chamber was okay, but nothing beat the fresh cool taste of beer straight from the tap.
    His fellow SEAL fixed pale brown eyes on him. “You’re hiding something. Something bigger than a stay on the beach at Papeete or the coast of Queensland. As I’m sure Alicia noticed early on. You’ve never called everyone and told us to show up here with a travel bag and a promise of a wild adventure story,” Stefano Cordova said, looking him over while taking his own inventory of Bill’s body language.
    He nodded. “You’re right, bud. I’m hiding something.” Bill waved at Cheryl to bring over some pitchers and mugs. “But like I’ve told Alicia, won’t say anything until everyone is here. It’s not something I wish to repeat five times over.”
    “Why not?” called Frank Wurtzman, who they all called ‘Gunny’ thanks to his demob as an E7 Gunnery Sergeant from the Marines. The big barrel of a man shrugged wide shoulders that made a loose jumpsuit look tight on him. “We’ve all repeated our own fun-time lies lots of times. Part of drinking, being properly buzzed and trying out new lines to impress the sheilas.”
    Cassandra and Alicia chuckled. They well knew the boisterous habits of their vet crowd, being made up mostly of men who’d seen too much action and too much death in far off places. The front door slammed open loudly, surprising two young sheilas at the bar island. In walked the remainder of his buddies. Catching sight of Bill and the rest, they headed straight for the table cluster.
    “Now you’re in for it,” muttered Mark Neller as the heavy-set Ranger grabbed one of the beer pitchers delivered by Cheryl and began pouring foamy beer into the mugs of Alicia, Frank, Cassandra, Stefano and himself.
    At the front of the saloon Bill was struck by how at ease the four men looked as they walked strung out sideways as if mounting a skirmish. Each took a seat on the bar-side of the table cluster, their manner casual, irritated, bored or pissed depending on whom he looked at. Chris Selva of the Rangers was the most casual of them, giving a nod to him, Alicia, Cassandra and the rest. Bob Milley, the group’s other Marine glared at him and sat down next to Cassandra, muttering something to her. Whatever it was, it was obscene enough to make her flip him off. Howard Dunford of the Air