"You break that counter, friend, you're buying it," a voice stated flatly from the back of the store.

The major looked into the gloom of the dingy, dusty pawnshop. Back among the hanging musical instruments and amplifiers, he saw a smallish man appear and lower his bifocals down upon his nose from where they had been resting, propped on his forehead. He had cruelly cut gray hair that showed his scalp.

"What can I do for you, sonny?" the old Hispanic man asked.

Collins left his bag sitting on the floor and walked to the back of the shop. He was aware of the items surrounding him on the walls and in the racks. As he passed by the boxes with old records and other boxes that held their technological replacements, the CD, he saw the old man's eyebrows rise.

"Maybe you can help me," Collins said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth slightly. "I'm looking to sell a watch and was wondering what I could get for it."

"Depends on the quality, son."

"Well, it's an old railroad-retirement pocket watch, belonged to my father."

"Pocket watches are always nice, just can't get rid of 'em."

That was the answer Collins had been aiming for. He reached into his back pocket, drew his ID out, and placed it on the glass counter for the clerk to see. The man with the gray hair and bifocals looked down at the military identification, then back into the piercing blue eyes of the stranger. The passwords had been exchanged and accepted.

"Welcome to the Group, Major."

Collins looked the store over and grimaced. "I was told this would be different," he said as he looked back at the man before him.

"Don't laugh, Major, this store turns over a nice profit. You'll see the results in the Group's mess hall." The old man came from around the counter and walked to where Collins had left his bag. "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Lyle Campos of the great United States Marine Corps and security for this entrance. Gate Two is what she is," he said over his shoulder. "If you'll follow me, we'll get you started for the complex."