"We will need an army. Not an army with guns, but a lot of people who will follow orders. That may be more important than the money." Homosoto took a momentary repose while he thought. "How big an army will you need?" "My guess? Today? I would say that for all groups we will need a minimum of 500 people. Maybe as many as a thousand." Homosoto suddenly laughed out loud. "You call that an army? 1000 men? An army? That is a picnic my friend." Homosoto was enjoying his own personal joke. "When you said army, Mr. Foster I imagined tens of thousands of people running all around the United States shooting their guns. A thousand people? I can give you a thousand dedicated people with a single phone call. Is that all you need?" He continued his laughter. Miles was taken aback and had difficulty hiding his surprise. He had already padded his needs by a factor of three. "With a few minor specialties and exceptions, yes. That's it. If we follow this blue print." He pointed at the papers spread before them. Homosoto sat back and closed his eyes in apparent meditation. Miles watched and waited for several minutes. He looked out the expanse of windows over Tokyo patiently as Homosoto seemed to sleep in the chair across from him. Homosoto spoke quietly with his eyes still closed. "Mr. Foster?" "Yes?" Miles was ready. "Do you love you country?" Homosoto's eyelids were still. Miles had not expected such a question. "Mr. Foster? Did you hear the question?" "Yes, I did." He paused. "I'm thinking." "If you need to think, sir, then the answer is clear. As you have told me, you hold no allegiance. Your country means nothing to you." "I wouldn't quite put it that way . . ." Miles said defensively. He couldn't let this opportunity escape. "You hold your personal comfort as your primary concern, do you not? You want the luxuries that the United States offers, but you don't care where or how you get them? Is that not so? You want your women, your wine, your freedom, but you will take it at any expense. I do not think I exaggerate. Tell me Mr. Foster, if I am wrong." Miles realized he was being asked to state his personal alle- giances in mere seconds. Not since he was in the lower floors of the NSA being interrogated had he been asked to state his convic- tions. He knew the right answer there, but here, he wasn't quite sure. The wrong answer could blow it. But, then again, he was $110,000 ahead of the game for a few weeks work. "I need to ask you a question to answer yours." Miles did not want to be backed into a corner. "Mr. Homosoto. Do you want me to have allegiance to my country or to you?"