hay from the bed of the truck.

Waller walked slowly toward the man.

Fanning was shirtless. Sweating slabs of muscle rippled as he effortlessly flung the bales to the ground. His hairy forearms gleamed like a beaver's pelt in the sunlight. The man paused and looked at Waller. He jumped lightly to the ground and walked up to Waller with a big hand outstretched.

"What's new, professor?"

Waller shook the big hand. "I had to see this for myself," he laughed.

"Good, clean living!" Fanning laughed wiping his forehead with a red bandana.

"Want a beer?"

"Goddamn straight!"

They walked to Waller's car. He opened the cooler and fished out two cans. He levered them open, brushed some ice off and handed one to Fanning. The big man drank deeply.

"Something's come up." Waller said slowly.

Fanning saidout. Far down the meadow Waller saw an old convertible. He looked at it through his scope and began laughing. "You've been reading the fashion magazines, Pat."

In the rear seat of the car were two wooden silhouette targets. The one on the right was clad in a stylish jacket and had a brown wig attached to the top. Resting on the wig was a pillbox hat. The target on the left was wearing a dark suit coat, a white shirt and a blue silk tie. A mop of brown hair was attached to the head.

Fanning handed each man a shell. Waller loaded it into the chamber of his rifle.

Fanning led them to the far left of the mound. He dropped to the ground and demonstrated how to crawl