He picked up the major's bag and walked back around the counter, nodding his head for the younger man to follow. They went through two batwing doors into the back area of the pawnshop. Inside were two other men. The shorter of the two stepped forward and took the heavy bag from Campos. The, other, more muscular and bald, walked up to Collins and looked him over. He placed the Beretta nine-millimeter automatic he held at his side into his pants at the small of his back.

"Welcome to the high desert, sir. I'm Staff Sergeant Will Mendenhall, U.S. Army. This is Lance Corporal Frakes, he's a jarhead marine." He gestured to the man now holding Collins's bag. "We'll be escorting you through the tunnel to Group, sir."

Collins was more wary than impressed. The two men wore civilian clothes; the marine corporal had on shorts, and the black sergeant wore an overly stated red Hawaiian shirt and Levi's. Jack just nodded his head and wondered to just what cluster-fuck job he had been assigned.

"Gunny, would you please put the closed sign on the door until we get back?" Mendenhall asked. The old man bobbed his head once and left the office area without further comment.

"You'll have to excuse the gunnery sergeant, Major, he's just a little miffed at recently being placed on the inactive field duty list. He wants to stay with the Group, but he's only allowed gate security, and I suspect even that may change soon enough."

"How old is he?" Collins inquired.

Mendenhall shook his head as he gestured for the major to follow. "No one's commenting on Gunny's age, sir, that's for self-preservation. He may be old, but he's a better man than most men half his age. If I asked him, I'm afraid he would break his foot off in my ass... uh, sir," he said, turning away as he realized he was talking to his new boss. He rolled his eyes at his own conduct.