Shane turned the M9 in his hand, as he tried to get used to the feel of the gun. He had kept it after the Egypt mission and, frankly, it was a better pistol than the older-model Beretta Eve had bought to replace the gun she stole from his desk on the night of Nick's murder. That was his primary back-up piece to his CZ-75; this would be better.

He glanced at the makeshift targets he had attached to a couple of bales of hay. Target practice was probably the last thing Shane really needed, but it was a convenient way to get out of the house for an hour or two. He had nearly run into Kim earlier in the morning, and the last thing he wanted to do was discuss what had happened a few nights earlier. You're going to have to deal with it at some point. But not now. He had to focus on his mission. Tomorrow, he would go to Saudi Arabia for pre-mission briefing and, in a few days, he would meet his ISA contact in Baghdad.

The war might be over, but Shane suspected the country would hardly be friendly to a British citizen. His Arabic should be up to snuff, but just in case, maybe target practice was not the last thing he needed. It might come in handy.

Raising the M-9, Shane aimed at the first human-shaped target. He took one shot that came in slightly high and to the right of center, about where the shoulder would have been. He lowered the gun, and was just adjusting the sights, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Uh oh, looks like the marksman's lost his touch."

Shane turned to see Steve standing about 10 feet away. Steve had a bit of a smirk on his face.

Shane nodded. "Guess so." Then he spun around and emptied the magazine of the remaining fourteen bullets in rapid succession. They formed a tight circle right where the heart would have been. Shane took a look at his handiwork and then back at Steve. "Or maybe not."

"Uh . . . yeah . . . ." Steve held his hands up, as Shane ejected the magazine and replaced it with another. "I come in peace."

"What do you want, Steve?" Shane really did not want another confrontation and, despite Steve's entreaties, another confrontation was likely. "I'm leaving tomorrow and need to prepare." Shane slipped the M9 into the waistband of his trousers, just at the small of the back, which is where he would normally carry a back-up gun.

"Hey, dude, I'm trying to talk here," Steve said as Shane turned and faced the target. He reached behind his back with his right hand, pulled the pistol and swung his arm around as he began firing. The first shot struck just to the left of the forehead - about where the target's right eye would have been - but the remaining shots formed a cluster right between the eyes.

"Whoa." Steve walked forward to get a closer look at the target. "Any one of those would've been a killing shot."

"That is the point," Shane replied. He ejected the spent magazine and walked over to where he had set down the box of ammunition. He began reloading the magazines, then popped one into the pistol. "So, now, what's your point?"

Steve hesitated as he looked at the gun in Shane's hand. "You willing to talk or are you just gonna to shoot me?"

"Don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind," Shane said. He flipped on the safety and tossed the gun to Steve. "See what you can do with that."

Steve caught the gun and looked it over. "Nice. Military issue?"

Shane nodded. "Kept it as a souvenir from Egypt. Would've liked to keep the rifle, too, but Captain Nowicki said something about army regulations."

"They'll kill you," Steve joked.

"Not exactly the best thing to say when you have a loaded gun in your hand." Shane tried not to enjoy the uncomfortable look on Steve's face, particularly when Shane removed his CZ-75 from his shoulder holster and checked the magazine on that gun.

"Um, yeah," Steve muttered. He turned toward the five bales of hay, each with a human-shaped target. "Target on the left?" When Shane nodded, Steve raised the pistol and fired five quick shots. They all struck just left of the figure. Steve stopped and grimaced. "Damn."

Shane tried not to smirk. "Didn't the Salem PD teach you anything about aligning your sights? I doubt our eyesight is identical." He watched as Steve looked through and readjusted the sights on the pistol. Shane would have to redo them once Steve was done, but it was a simple matter. After Steve finished, he raised the gun once more and fired another few shots. They all struck the figure, but on the edge of the ribs, to the left of the heart. Steve held up the pistol. "This gun sucks, dude."

"Does it now?" Shane said, returning the CS-75 to its holster and walking over. "Let me see that." He took the gun from Steve, and moved the sights back to where they had been a few minutes earlier, and aimed at the target. Then he fired off five rounds. All hit the target's heart. "Works for me," he said, handing the M9 back to Steve. Shane had to admit that he really was enjoying this.

Steve silently grumbled for a few minutes, before he looked at Shane. "So if you're such an expert, what am I doing wrong?"

"For starters, you're not relaxed enough in the shoulders. And your grip is wrong." Shane held up his pistol and mimicked the way Steve had held the M9. "You're not using your right hand enough to hold the gun securely. That's why you're pulling to the left." As he explained, Shane demonstrated the proper grip.

After readjusting the sights, Steve did his best to copy what Shane had just done. Steve raised the pistol once more and fired the last two shots in the magazine. They struck on the border of the center target, slightly left of center.

"Better," Shane said. "You're still pulling a bit, but you'll get by all right." He pulled the CZ-75 from his shoulder holster and, from an angle, began firing at Steve's target. All of the bullets struck slightly to the right of Steve's best shot. By the time Shane finished, the center of the target was one big hole.

"Okay, dude. Uncle. You win." Steve handed back the M9.

Despite his earlier enjoyment at Steve's discomfort, Shane grew serious as he switched the magazines in the M9. "This isn't a game, Steve. When you get back to Salem, you're going to be in danger. I've never known Lawrence Alamain to do anything to anyone without a reason, so I have to assume he had a reason to fake your death last year. He's not going to let you go so easily, and he won't care if Kayla or Stephanie are in the way."

Steve nodded soberly. "I know." He paused. "And I know they might've been hurt if you hadn't watched out for them while I was . . . gone. That doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you for what happened with Kayla, but, well . . ." He held out a hand. "Truce?"

Now that's quite a surprise, Shane thought. He hardly expected Steve to make such an overture, but at least it was a start. "Truce," Shane said, shaking Steve's hand. Then Shane let go, turned, and fired another dozen bullets from the M9 into the head of Steve's target.