“It is. It’s a Mossberg 590, made to military specs. Very reliable.” He started across the front room. “Now…one last thing and we’ll be set to go.”

Tom followed Jack around to the guest bedroom where Jack pulled out the bottom drawer on the dresser and laid it on the floor. Tom watched in shock as his son reached into the space beneath and produced one box of shells, then another, then another…

“Jesus, Jack! Did you think you were going to war?”

“After I saw that gator, I figured a little old 9mm pistol wasn’t going to do the job, so I ordered up some heavy artillery.”

“But two shotguns?”

“Well, yeah. One for here and one for the car, in case something happened while we were out.”

Carl stepped into the doorway, carrying the Benelli. “What you got this loaded with?”

“With what’s known as a ‘Highway Patrol cocktail’—alternating shells of double-ought buckshot and rifled slugs.” He held up one of the boxes. “Here are our reloads.”

Tom felt a tightening in his chest. He didn’t know if it was his heart or dismay at what was happening here. He slipped past Carl, went to his own bedroom, and pulled the M1C from the closet. He carried it back to Jack and Carl.

“What are you doing with that?” Jack said.

“Well, since I can’t talk you out of this insanity, I guess I’ll have to come along.”

“No way, Dad.”

Tom felt his anger flare. “Aren’t you the one who just gave me a lecture on going out for a friend in trouble?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And have either of you ever been in a firefight?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No, of course not. Well, I have. And that’s what you could very easily wind up in. You’re going to need me.”

“Dad—”

Tom jabbed a finger at him. “Who put you in charge anyway? Besides, your mother would never forgive me if I let you go out there without backing you up. I’m in.”

Jack stared at him a moment, then sighed. “All right.” He held out the Mossberg. “But put away that antique and take this.”

“But I’m more comfortable with—”

“Dad, it’s going to be dark with all sorts of wind and rain. Let’s hope we can pull this off without any gunplay, but if it comes to that, we’ll be working close—maybe twenty-five feet, fifty max. A sniper rifle’s no good in that situation.”

Tom had to admit he was right. He reluctantly took the shotgun.

“But what are you going to use?”

“I’ll have the grenades. But I’ll also have…” Jack reached back into the space below the drawer and pulled out a huge revolver. It had a gray finish and was well over a foot in length. The barrel alone looked to be about ten inches long.