They both turned to watch a blocky man walk toward them. He had Popeye forearms and a face like an eroded wall, and he wore jeans, boots, and a gray nylon windbreaker with a blue diamond symbol on the chest. A billed cap with the same symbol was perched on his wiry red hair. He walked with purpose, his chest thrust out as if with a desire to smash the air itself out of his way. Then he slowed to a stop ten feet away and studied the two fishermen with cold appraising eyes.

He pointed a finger at the younger man. “Are you Redfield?”

“I’m Buck Redfield,” said the white man, putting just a touch of belligerence in it. “Who’s asking?”

The red-haired man smiled thinly. “I’m the guy who needs you to tell me two little words.”

That was the right signal, the opening of a code phrase exchange. The big man named Buck looked at his friend, who nodded.

“I’m Spartacus,” said Buck, giving the proper response.

“I’m Spartacus,” said the Black man.

“And what’s the other thing?” asked the redhead.

“Azure carbon,” said the Black man, completing the code.

The red-haired man’s smile broadened, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. He glanced at the older man. “You’re Guidry?”

“Marcus Guidry,” agreed the Black man. “People call me Guidry or G. And you are…?”

“Randall Flagg.”

“Real name?”

Flagg snorted but didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced at the boat pulled up on the dirt. “You catch anything?”

Buck shrugged. “A light beer buzz and ten million motherfucking mosquito bites.”

Flagg nodded. “We checked you out. Interesting service records. Good in a fight, the right training, lots of experience, but a little trouble here and there. Buck, you got kicked out of the Marines. Got caught running a sideline in military gear. And, Guidry, you retired from the army before they could retire you for fucking the wrong officer’s daughter.”

“She was of age,” said Guidry, and he punctuated it by spitting over the far end of the picnic table, getting good distance and velocity and without losing his kitchen match.

“What about it?” asked Buck. “You going to lecture us on good behavior?”

Flagg’s smile remained in place, but there was a calculating look in his eyes.

“You’re here because you’re looking to sign on with the people I represent,” he said. “We’re a bit more—and I hate to use this word—liberal in our views about what a man does in his free time. Same for when a man sees an opportunity and wants to make a buck off it.”

They said nothing.