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once the enemy invades, and hit supply depots and snipe at enemy patrols, and run away from search parties. That’s the joke of it. He saw himself in my books, so he figured I’d sympathize with him. He granted me an interview, and now I might as well be one of my own characters. Except that they always know what to do, and I can hardly keep from filling my pants.”
    “Another except: you’re not alone,” Webster said. “The man who’s coming to tap your phone will stay here to protect you in case anything happens. I have squad cars circling the area to look for any cars or trucks that stop too long or come around too often, and I’ll have a cruiser parked in front of the house very shortly. Don’t worry. We’ll get them before they get you.”
    He almost believed that. But then Webster told him “Keep the cigarettes,” and stood up to go, and the ease he’d come to feel drained from him.
    “Wait a while more, can’t you?” He sounded like an anxious child. He couldn’t help it.
    Webster studied him. “Have you got any guns around the house?”
    “Three. A rifle, pistol, and revolver.”
    “You know how to use them?”
    “My wife and I took an NRA course. An ex-Marine instructor taught us.”
    “Well, don’t bother.”
    He said it gently, but it came like a slap all the same.
    “This isn’t like in books. It’s for real, and I don’t want you shooting one of my men by mistake or somebody else who turns out to have nothing to do with this. Were you in the military?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “College exemption.”
    “That just makes it worse. If you go out on your own after one of these guys, you’ll find that writing about shooting a man is a hell of a lot different from having the guts to line up those sights and pull the trigger. You might as well shoot yourself and save the other guy the trouble.”
    He had heard that before, seen it, written it, back when Kess had shown him through the classrooms at Chemelec. “You’ve proven you can hit targets on the shooting range,” the instructor was telling his men. “But you’ll find the real thing very different. First off, a live target can shoot back. Second, he won’t oblige you by standing out in the open and waiting to be shot. When you go out on maneuvers next week, we’ll be simulating combat conditions, and we’ll give you practice on concealed targets. In the meantime, go over the list of aiming problems in the manual and memorize the solution. Note the first item. Remember—when shooting at a target that is running uphill your tendency will be to aim too low. He IS running up, after all, constantly rising out of your line of fire, so you’ll need to raise your aim accordingly. If you want to hit him between the shoulder blades, shoot for the back of his head.”
    Webster was already by the front door.
    “Please?” he asked the detective, his voice thin and dry. “Wait a little?”
    “For what?”
    “The man who’s coming to tap the phone. I guess I’m getting a little paranoid. How will I know he’s really from you? Wait until he gets here, will you? So I can be certain?”
    And then the phone rang.
    He jerked. Adrenaline scalded into his stomach as he stared down the hall toward the phone and then toward Webster.
    But Webster wasn’t there. He was already going down the hall, answering it.
    “Hello,” he said flatly. And that was all Webster said from then on. He only listened.
    He shifted next to Webster, watching his face, which didn’t change the whole time, and he couldn’t keep from asking, “What is it? What are they saying?”
    But Webster just went on listening. Then he swallowed and set the phone gently back on its cradle.
    “What is it?” he repeated.
    After a pause, “Nothing.”
    “But you were listening so long. They must have said something.”
    “No. Nothing. It was just quiet breathing.”
    “There was something else. I know it. Your face is very good. It doesn’t give a thing away. But