Pastor Stephen Grant?

Stephen Grant is the pastor at St. Mary’s Lutheran Church on eastern Long Island. Grant is one of the more unique second-career clergy around, as he once worked for the CIA. Besides theology, his interests include archery, golf, writing, classic films, the beach, poker, baseball, and history. Grant also knows his wines, champagnes and brews. Oh yes, he generally dislikes politicians, and happens to be an expert marksman with a handgun and a rifle, while being pretty handy with a combat knife as well.

Showing posts with label Las Vegas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Las Vegas. Show all posts

Friday, September 25, 2020

Book Excerpt from The River: A Pastor Stephen Grant Novel by Ray Keating

 


Chapter 6

 

 

The taxi ride from McCarran International Airport to The Twenties was less than eight miles. It took a few minutes longer than normal, though, as Jennifer asked the driver to take the Strip – or Las Vegas Boulevard South – rather than scooting along the Las Vegas Freeway.

As they drove past the landmark “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada” sign, Jennifer squeezed Stephen’s hand. “I love that sign.”

Stephen was a bit surprised. “Really?”

“It’s one of the very few things around here that hasn’t changed since I was a kid.”

“Isn’t Vegas all about change, my economist wife?”

She nodded. “The change here just since I was growing up is incredible. I don’t think people from many other parts of the country fully get it. But when you live it, it’s actually kind of natural. In fact, living it was one of the things that led me into economics.” She turned from her husband, and looked out the window. “Still, no one ever said change was always easy.”

Stephen joined Jennifer in looking out at casinos and hotels of wildly different shapes and sizes – from the Luxor’s Great Sphinx and pyramid to the MGM Grand’s golden lion, along with the “Eiffel Tower Experience” at Paris Las Vegas. While Stephen had been to Las Vegas a few times, the last visit had come more than fifteen years ago – long predating Jennifer, his becoming a pastor, and a chunk of what he was now seeing. 

Stephen turned to Jennifer. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve never been able to fully fit you and Las Vegas together. And now that you and I are here, I still really can’t.”

Jennifer smiled. “There’s more to Vegas than the Strip and gambling. While I was growing up, even with my father in the casino business, my parents, especially my mom, tried to keep me away from much of it. Many people here have little to do with gambling, and only wind up on the Strip when giving the tour to relatives visiting from out of town. At the same time, though, it’s hard not to be influenced. So much of recreational and cultural life occurs at or around the casinos. And let’s face it, few would be here without gambling. But all in all, my childhood was pretty normal, at least until I hit late high school.”

“I know…”

“And there’s still a good deal of Las Vegas in this girl of yours.” She leaned over and kissed him. “That includes some Vegas heat.”

“One of my favorite parts.”

The taxi pulled up to the front doors of The Twenties Club and Casino. The massive building was an amalgamation of 1920s-era architecture. At the street level, the building offered large, two-story arches, red brick, and clear windows. Above the arches, a huge retro-neon sign proclaimed “The Twenties Club and Casino.” As one’s eyes ascended further, the red brick gave way to an art-deco look, with stainless steel, chrome, and stained glass arranged in symmetrical, geometric forms. Crowning the top of the building was a replica of the upper floors and spear of New York City’s Chrysler Building.

The door of the taxi was opened by a young man dressed in a burgundy, white-striped blazer, white oxford shirt with a blue bow tie, pleated, ivory trousers, and white buck wingtips. “Welcome to The Twenties,” he announced with a smile.

After Jennifer and Stephen got out of the taxi, Lou Hammett stepped forward, and said, “Pastor and Dr. Grant, I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Lou Hammett, the executive director here at The Twenties.” After exchanging quick pleasantries, Hammett turned and gave instructions to his staff to take care of the Grants’ luggage.

Following Hammett down the stairs was Dixon Shaw. “Jenny, I’m so happy to see you.”

As Shaw gave Jennifer a hug, Stephen could see his wife tense up. He also heard the unease in her voice, when she said, “Hi, Dad, how are you?”

Stephen understood how out of character this was. It was the most rare of occasions when Jennifer failed to be engaging and welcoming. She was adept at making others feel at ease. Watching Dixon Shaw, Stephen actually saw the same traits in her father. I guess you’d need that running a casino.

Jennifer’s father turned to Stephen, “Pastor, it’s about time we met face to face.”

Stephen said, “Mr. Shaw, it’s a pleasure…”

Shaw interrupted with a laugh. “‘Mr. Shaw’? Come on. It’s Dix.”

“Of course, Dix, and it’s Stephen.”

Shaw replied, “If you don’t mind, can I stick with ‘Pastor’? It makes me feel better when I worry about my Jenny, knowing that she is being taken care of not only by a man of the cloth, but one who knows how to handle himself in a time of danger.” Stephen knew that Dix was referring to the shooting that occurred at St. Mary’s before Jen and Stephen were married. Dix lowered his voice. “And former CIA to boot. You sure as hell are a vast improvement over that asshole politician Ted Brees. How did that sleazy bastard become a U.S. senator? But then again, it’s politics, right? After I found out what he did, I was going to…”

Jennifer, with a hint of daughter-like scolding in her voice, said, “Dad, please.”

Stephen pondered what Dixon Shaw might do to Ted Brees, and part of him was okay with it. He also picked up the slight shrug of the shoulders and pleading eyes directed his way by Jennifer.

Shaw’s smile broadened a bit more. “Sorry, Jenny.”

Stephen saw Dix enjoying his daughter, and thought it appeared genuine. Stephen even picked up a bit of tension draining from Jennifer.

A small, gentle clearing of the throat came from behind Shaw.

He turned, “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He took Candy Welles’ hand and brought her forward. “Jenny and Pastor, this is Candy Welles, the beautiful light in my life.”

Stephen extended his hand. “Of course, we’ve met Ms. Welles before. It’s good to see you.”

Jennifer seemed taken off guard. “Well, yes, hello, Ms. Welles.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” Candy replied.

“As the flight attendant on Dix’s Casino Beach jet on our wedding night, it would be hard to forget,” answered Stephen.

“You certainly had more interesting things to be focused on that night, but that’s so nice. And please, call me Candy. It’s like we’re almost family.”

Jennifer replied, “Um, family? Yes, well, Candy it is.”

Dix added, “It was shortly after that flight that we started seeing each other.”

Jennifer observed, “How nice.”

Stephen could see Jennifer’s emotional conflict. Move things in a different direction, Grant, and quickly. He looked around, and said, “The Twenties looks like an intriguing resort.”

As he slid his arm around Candy’s waist, Dix replied, “I’m very proud of it, and of the work being done by Lou. How about a quick tour, then you two can settle in a bit and we’ll have dinner later?” Looking at Stephen, Dix added, “I thought you could meet my business partners.” 

“That sounds great to me,” answered Stephen. “How about you, Jen?”

She answered slowly, “Yes, of course. But I already know Nicky and Chet.”

Dix commented, “But you’ve never seen The Twenties, have you, Jenny?”

“No, Dad, I haven’t.”

Dix nodded at Hammett, who was standing off to the side. “Lou, give us the grand tour.”

“Yes, sir, Dix,” said Hammett. He signaled over a waitress, who was wearing a short flapper dress with sequins and dangling fringes, a long strand of pearls, bobbed hair, and a cloche hat. She presented a tray of champagne flutes. Jennifer was the first to take a glass, followed by Candy, Stephen and Dix.

Dix toasted the arrival of his daughter and son-in-law, and they all took a sip of the 1995 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay.

As the small group turned to follow Lou, Jennifer whispered in Stephen’s ear, “I’ll be needing a few more of these, I think.”

Lou, along with Dix and Candy, took Stephen and Jennifer on a nearly hour-long stroll throughout the massive hotel, including the Speakeasy Lounge that featured various musical and comedy acts. The Round Table was the resort’s top-tiered restaurant, fashioned after and saluting The Algonquin Round Table of Dorothy Parker fame. Harlem Jazz served up some of the best music in all of Vegas. The two casinos in the building had different personalities – Prohibition sought to capture a 1920s Chicago feel, while the Miami Deal served up palm trees and a large windmill in the middle of the room as a tip to the Roman Pools & Casino of 1920s Miami. The tour went on to include pools, dozens of shops, a spa and salon, fitness center, art gallery, and a small arena.

The tour ended at the door of the suite that Dix insisted Stephen and Jennifer stay in as his guests.

In response to protests from both Jennifer and Stephen, Dix declared, “A beautiful suite for a few days, as my guests, is the very least that this negligent father, not to mention negligent father-in-law, can do.” 

He kissed Jennifer on the cheek, slapped Stephen on the back, took Candy’s hand, and walked away. 

While heading down the hall, Dix said over his shoulder, “We’ll see you at dinner. Nine o’clock in the Speakeasy.”




 

Sunday, May 17, 2020

Ray Keating Talks and Reads from THE RIVER


We’re heading to Las Vegas, baby, as Ray Keating reads from THE RIVER!

Get paperback and Kindle edition of THE RIVER at Amazon via
Signed books are at www.raykeatingonline.com

Monday, March 23, 2020

Head to Las Vegas While at Home with THE RIVER

Staying at Home? Take advantage of the big sale on Kindle editions of the Pastor Stephen Grant thrillers & mysteries! Prices slashed from as much as 7.99 to $2.99 each.


Get started or caught up on all 12 of these gripping adventures featuring Stephen Grant, former Navy SEAL, onetime CIA operative and current pastor. The books have been well reviewed by critics, and on Amazon. Regarding THE RIVER, for example, Kirkus Reviews declared, “A gritty, action-stuffed, well-considered thriller with a gun-toting clergyman.”

Get the Kindle edition of THE RIVER for only $2.99 at

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

Mark the Anniversary of Legalized Gambling in Nevada with a Chapter from THE RIVER

Nevada legalized gambling on March 13, 1931. Decades later, Stephen Grant arrived in Las Vegas for a nail-biting, highly personal adventure. Read Chapter 6 from THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL, which has a very Las Vegas flavor to it.


Chapter 6 
The taxi ride from McCarran International Airport to The Twenties was less than eight miles. It took a few minutes longer than normal, though, as Jennifer asked the driver to take the Strip – or Las Vegas Boulevard South – rather than scooting along the Las Vegas Freeway. 
As they drove past the landmark “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada” sign, Jennifer squeezed Stephen’s hand. “I love that sign.” 
Stephen was a bit surprised. “Really?” 
“It’s one of the very few things around here that hasn’t changed since I was a kid.” 
“Isn’t Vegas all about change, my economist wife?” 
She nodded. “The change here just since I was growing up is incredible. I don’t think people from many other parts of the country fully get it. But when you live it, it’s actually kind of natural. In fact, living it was one of the things that led me into economics.” She turned from her husband, and looked out the window. “Still, no one ever said change was always easy.” 
Stephen joined Jennifer in looking out at casinos and hotels of wildly different shapes and sizes – from the Luxor’s Great Sphinx and pyramid to the MGM Grand’s golden lion, along with the “Eiffel Tower Experience” at Paris Las Vegas. While Stephen had been to Las Vegas a few times, the last visit had come more than fifteen years ago – long predating Jennifer, his becoming a pastor, and a chunk of what he was now seeing. 
Stephen turned to Jennifer. “Can I tell you something?” “Of course.”
“I’ve never been able to fully fit you and Las Vegas 
together. And now that you and I are here, I still really can’t.” 
Jennifer smiled. “There’s more to Vegas than the Strip and gambling. While I was growing up, even with my father in the casino business, my parents, especially my mom, tried to keep me away from much of it. Many people here have little to do with gambling, and only wind up on the Strip when giving the tour to relatives visiting from out of town. At the same time, though, it’s hard not to be influenced. So much of recreational and cultural life occurs at or around the casinos. And let’s face it, few would be here without gambling. But all in all, my childhood was pretty normal, at least until I hit late high school.” 
“I know...” 
“And there’s still a good deal of Las Vegas in this girl of yours.” She leaned over and kissed him. “That includes some Vegas heat.” 
“One of my favorite parts.” 
The taxi pulled up to the front doors of The Twenties Club and Casino. The massive building was an amalgamation of 1920s-era architecture. At the street level, the building offered large, two-story arches, red brick, and clear windows. Above the arches, a huge retro- neon sign proclaimed “The Twenties Club and Casino.” As one’s eyes ascended further, the red brick gave way to an art-deco look, with stainless steel, chrome, and stained glass arranged in symmetrical, geometric forms. Crowning the top of the building was a replica of the upper floors and spear of New York City’s Chrysler Building. 
The door of the taxi was opened by a young man dressed in a burgundy, white-striped blazer, white oxford shirt with a blue bow tie, pleated, ivory trousers, and white buck wingtips. “Welcome to The Twenties,” he announced with a smile. 
After Jennifer and Stephen got out of the taxi, Lou Hammett stepped forward, and said, “Pastor and Dr. Grant, I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Lou Hammett, the executive director here at The Twenties.” After exchanging quick pleasantries, Hammett turned and gave instructions to his staff to take care of the Grants’ luggage. 
Following Hammett down the stairs was Dixon Shaw. “Jenny, I’m so happy to see you.” 
As Shaw gave Jennifer a hug, Stephen could see his wife tense up. He also heard the unease in her voice, when she said, “Hi, Dad, how are you?” 
Stephen understood how out of character this was. It was the most rare of occasions when Jennifer failed to be engaging and welcoming. She was adept at making others feel at ease. Watching Dixon Shaw, Stephen actually saw the same traits in her father. I guess you’d need that running a casino. 
Jennifer’s father turned to Stephen, “Pastor, it’s about time we met face to face.” 
Stephen said, “Mr. Shaw, it’s a pleasure...” 
Shaw interrupted with a laugh. “‘Mr. Shaw’? Come on. It’s Dix.” 
“Of course, Dix, and it’s Stephen.”
Shaw replied, “If you don’t mind, can I stick with ‘Pastor’? It makes me feel better when I worry about my Jenny, knowing that she is being taken care of not only by a man of the cloth, but one who knows how to handle himself in a time of danger.” Stephen knew that Dix was referring to the shooting that occurred at St. Mary’s before Jen and Stephen were married. Dix lowered his voice. “And former CIA to boot. You sure as hell are a vast improvement over that asshole politician Ted Brees. How did that sleazy bastard become a U.S. senator? But then again, it’s politics, right? After I found out what he did, I was going to...” 
Jennifer, with a hint of daughter-like scolding in her voice, said, “Dad, please.” 
Stephen pondered what Dixon Shaw might do to Ted Brees, and part of him was okay with it. He also picked up the slight shrug of the shoulders and pleading eyes directed his way by Jennifer. 
Shaw’s smile broadened a bit more. “Sorry, Jenny.” 
Stephen saw Dix enjoying his daughter, and thought it appeared genuine. Stephen even picked up a bit of tension draining from Jennifer. 
A small, gentle clearing of the throat came from behind Shaw. 
He turned, “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He took Candy Welles’ hand and brought her forward. “Jenny and Pastor, this is Candy Welles, the beautiful light in my life.” 
Stephen extended his hand. “Of course, we’ve met Ms. Welles before. It’s good to see you.” 
Jennifer seemed taken off guard. “Well, yes, hello, Ms. Welles.” 
“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” Candy replied. 
“As the flight attendant on Dix’s Casino Beach jet on our wedding night, it would be hard to forget,” answered Stephen. 
“You certainly had more interesting things to be focused on that night, but that’s so nice. And please, call me Candy. It’s like we’re almost family.” 
Jennifer replied, “Um, family? Yes, well, Candy it is.” 
Dix added, “It was shortly after that flight that we started seeing each other.” 
Jennifer observed, “How nice.” 
Stephen could see Jennifer’s emotional conflict. Move things in a different direction, Grant, and quickly. He looked around, and said, “The Twenties looks like an intriguing resort.” 
As he slid his arm around Candy’s waist, Dix replied, “I’m very proud of it, and of the work being done by Lou. How about a quick tour, then you two can settle in a bit and we’ll have dinner later?” Looking at Stephen, Dix added, “I thought you could meet my business partners.” 
“That sounds great to me,” answered Stephen. “How about you, Jen?” 
She answered slowly, “Yes, of course. But I already know Nicky and Chet.” 
Dix commented, “But you’ve never seen The Twenties, have you, Jenny?” 
“No, Dad, I haven’t.” 
Dix nodded at Hammett, who was standing off to the side. “Lou, give us the grand tour.” 
“Yes, sir, Dix,” said Hammett. He signaled over a waitress, who was wearing a short flapper dress with sequins and dangling fringes, a long strand of pearls, bobbed hair, and a cloche hat. She presented a tray of champagne flutes. Jennifer was the first to take a glass, followed by Candy, Stephen and Dix. 
Dix toasted the arrival of his daughter and son-in-law, and they all took a sip of the 1995 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. 
As the small group turned to follow Lou, Jennifer whispered in Stephen’s ear, “I’ll be needing a few more of these, I think.” 
Lou, along with Dix and Candy, took Stephen and Jennifer on a nearly hour-long stroll throughout the massive hotel, including the Speakeasy Lounge that featured various musical and comedy acts. The Round Table was the resort’s top-tiered restaurant, fashioned after and saluting The Algonquin Round Table of Dorothy Parker fame. Harlem Jazz served up some of the best music in all of Vegas. The two casinos in the building had different personalities – Prohibition sought to capture a 1920s Chicago feel, while the Miami Deal served up palm trees and a large windmill in the middle of the room as a tip to the Roman Pools & Casino of 1920s Miami. The tour went on to include pools, dozens of shops, a spa and salon, fitness center, art gallery, and a small arena. 
The tour ended at the door of the suite that Dix insisted Stephen and Jennifer stay in as his guests. 
In response to protests from both Jennifer and Stephen, Dix declared, “A beautiful suite for a few days, as my guests, is the very least that this negligent father, not to mention negligent father-in-law, can do.” 
He kissed Jennifer on the cheek, slapped Stephen on the back, took Candy’s hand, and walked away. 
While heading down the hall, Dix said over his shoulder, “We’ll see you at dinner. Nine o’clock in the Speakeasy.” 

Thursday, March 5, 2020

Getting Started with THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL by Ray Keating


THE RIVER starts...

The temperature hit 109°F, but with little humidity. 
Dry heat, my ass. It’s just damn hot. Period.Excessive heat, or cold for that matter, never really bothered Stephen Grant. Thanks to his training as a Navy SEAL and then with the CIA, Grant learned that complaining, especially about the uncontrollable, was a waste of time and energy. 

Get paperback and Kindle edition of THE RIVER at Amazon via

Signed books are at www.raykeatingonline.com

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Read the Prologue to THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL Now – For Free!

Please read the opening chapter (actually, the Prologue) to The River: A Pastor Stephen Grant Novel.

Enjoy the entire book by purchasing signed books at RayKeatingOnline.com, or paperbacks or the Kindle at Amazon.com. 


The River - Prologue



The temperature hit 109°F, but with little humidity.
Dry heat, my ass. It’s just damn hot. Period.
Excessive heat, or cold for that matter, never really bothered Stephen Grant. Thanks to his training as a Navy SEAL and then with the CIA, Grant learned that complaining, especially about the uncontrollable, was a waste of time and energy.
Still, he looked down at the sweat visible through his brown cotton shirt, and then his eyes moved to his partner, Paige Caldwell, sitting across the small table. It either bothered or fascinated him – he couldn’t decide – that she looked comfortable, even cool. It was as if she were enjoying an iced drink under an umbrella near the ocean in San Diego, rather than sipping a warm beer in a dusty, outdoor bar in Diyabakir, Turkey, in early July.
“Why aren’t you sweating – at all?” asked Grant.
Caldwell smiled seductively. “I did enough of that last night. Didn’t you?”
Grant nodded. His mind was not convinced that mixing work and sex was smart, or the right thing to do. But given all that Caldwell and Grant had been through over the last two years – never doubting that each other’s back was covered – their intimacies just developed naturally.
Grant and Caldwell seemed to fit together in many ways. Each was self-assured, smart, loyal, willing to take risks, strong, calm amidst danger, and attractive to the opposite sex.
Stephen Grant had an athletic, six-foot build, with green eyes, tanned skin, and short, black hair. Rather typical cargo pants and white sneakers accompanied his brown shirt.
Meanwhile, Paige Caldwell’s fit, five-foot-nine-inch body was covered in freckles, accentuated by full, pink lips, a rounded nose, and steely blue eyes now hidden behind sunglasses. Her long, jet-black hair was pulled atop her head with just a few strands hanging down, brushing against her neck and flirting with the shoulders of a white cotton shirt. The shirt hung loosely over a white tank top and tan shorts.
But a difference did exist.
While dedicated to his work, Grant understood that there was more to life than the CIA. He was unable, however, to detect such recognition in Caldwell. She actually loved being consumed by the job. Other than sex, everything Caldwell did somehow tied in to her work with the CIA. Grant often wondered if Paige even saw their encounters in bed as a way for her to find a necessary release that would make her a better operative.
She regularly made fun of Grant for his “outside interests,” as Caldwell put it, including his love of history, movies and golf. Stephen also had been an archer since his teenage years, but even Paige had to acknowledge that those skills had come in handy during his earliest time with the agency.
In the end, their relationship was convenient and uncomplicated, which appealed to both of them, at least at this point in their lives.
Grant’s official title with the agency was “analyst.” He even had a cubicle at Langley. But he was more often than not missing from his desk. He had a unique skill set, which meant often being in the field doing things unknown to those in adjacent cubicles. Caldwell’s abilities complemented his well.
Grant and Caldwell were posing as tourists. And as tourists, they’d have to be moving on soon if nothing happened. They’d been sitting at the bar for nearly two hours waiting for a shipment to arrive at a small, dull, stone building just up the street, looking to see who would be receiving and stashing the shipment.
After several weeks of what amounted to detective work, the two operatives hoped that they were about to close this investigation. It was a case they wanted no part of in the first place.
Langley suspected that one of their own on the ground in Turkey – Eric Clark – was running a side business. If their suspicions turned out to be correct, that off-the-books venture would cause quite an international incident if exposed.
Grant and Caldwell were tasked with proving or disproving the agency’s fears. If Clark was clean, they were to leave the country without him knowing they had been there. If he was dirty, his mess had to be cleaned up and Clark brought home to deal with the consequences.
With the help of the third member of their team, Edward “Tank” Hoard, Grant and Caldwell found this address to be central to the activity that caught the attention of the agency. 
Hoard earned the nickname “Tank” due to his body-builder physique. He manned the team’s base of operation in Ankara.
The Turks involved in the smuggling operation had been identified. Hoard assured Grant and Caldwell that they would be arriving with a shipment this afternoon. So, they waited to see if Eric Clark would be showing up as well.
As Grant, Caldwell and Hoard had discovered, this was a careful operation. The thefts were calculated to limit the chances of being caught, while maximizing possible payoffs. There was a certain mathematical precision to the risk-reward tradeoff, and Eric Clark had earned a graduate degree in mathematics before joining the agency.
After taking a sip of beer, Grant whispered, “I’m going to find a bathroom.”
Caldwell replied, “No, I don’t think so.” She nodded her head toward the building under surveillance.
A short, stocky man dressed in jeans and a light gray bush shirt approached. His facial features, except for a bulbous nose, were largely hidden behind sunglasses and a tan bucket hat.
“Crap. That’s Clark.” Grant was disappointed. He had hoped, despite the mounting evidence, that Clark was clean.
Clark entered the building. Less than five minutes later, a white van pulled up.
Two men got out of the front cab, walked around the vehicle, and opened the back doors. A third man handed wood crates out to each. 
“Those are our Turkish accomplices,” Caldwell said in a low voice.
Grant grunted his agreement.
After six crates were moved inside, a much larger wood box, roughly six feet long, three feet wide and two feet high, was maneuvered out of the van and into the building by the three men.
“Time to move,” declared Grant. He left enough lira on the table to more than cover their tab. They moved into the narrow stone street, and toward the building that Clark and his friends had entered. The untrained eye would see a couple strolling hand in hand. But as they nonchalantly strolled along, their eyes were scanning the road, windows, rooftops and doorways to make sure no one else warranted their attention and concern. 
Grant generally disliked being on the ground in an urban setting. It meant that potential enemies could have the high ground, and he’d be a sitting duck. While not expected here, he never ruled anything out during an operation.
Behind them, at the corner of a busier thoroughfare, a street vendor was selling fish from the Tigris. Even though they rested on ice, Grant had serious doubts about fish sold from a cart in this heat.
At the other end of the street, three teenagers kicked around a soccer ball.
Grant found nothing in the streetscape to earn additional worry. He nodded at Caldwell, and they moved smoothly to the blue painted door set against the light, tan stone of the building.
As Paige grabbed the door, and quietly clicked it open, they both drew the Glock 19s that were resting against their backs, hidden under shirts.
Grant moved in first, with the handgun in front of him. He scanned the small room. It was sparsely furnished – two dark wood benches, a long, matching table, and a chair in a corner. No one was in the room. But there was movement through an open doorway heading to the back of the building.
Once again, Grant led the way, with Caldwell close behind.
The four men had opened the long crate, and were looking inside. The three Turks, with their backs turned, had no idea that the stealthy Grant and Caldwell were behind them.
But Eric Clark looked up. His smile melted away into a sad resignation.
Clark said, “Hmmm, apparently, I miscalculated. Langley, I presume.”
Caldwell replied, “Sure as hell isn’t Dr. Livingstone.”
The trio of Turks spun to see who was speaking. Grant and Caldwell’s guns earned attention. Unfortunately, the Turks’ reactions were to go for their own weapons.
As chaos broke, Clark yelled, “No!” His partners paid no attention.
A short, fat man with little hair but a bushy, dark mustache was the first to move. As he pulled a gun from a shoulder holster, Grant fired off two shots. They both hit the man’s chest, quickly spreading blood down his ill-fitting white shirt.
The second man moving into action – medium build, thick black hair and a thin beard – managed to get off a shot in the direction of Grant and Caldwell. But before a second could be fired, Caldwell’s 9mm round found its way into the front of the Turkish man’s brain.
It was the third person working with Clark who presented the most significant threat. When Grant fired his initial shot, the middle-aged man, with graying hair, pointed nose and thick eyebrows, dove behind three of the stacked crates, pulling a mini-UZI from a canvas bag on the floor. He clicked the 32-round magazine in place, popped up from behind the crates, and fired at the two CIA invaders.
Amidst the hail of bullets, Grant gained cover alongside a heavy cabinet. Caldwell tried to move back through the doorway, but a round found her right calf. She returned fire blindly while falling to the floor.
The middle-aged Turk dropped back down until there was a pause from Caldwell’s gun. He popped back up, smiled broadly seeing Paige struggling to move in the direction of the doorway, and repositioned the mini-UZI to get a steadier death shot.
But the Turk’s own death came quickly and surprisingly from two directions. Moving in from behind, Eric Clark grabbed the Turk’s head with his left arm, while driving a tactical knife into the man’s back. At the same time, Grant slid from behind the cabinet across the floor, landing a round in the Turk’s stomach.
Clark let the man’s body, along with the knife, drop to the floor, and then, staring at the two guns pointed at him, put his hands up.
Without moving his eyes from Clark, Grant said, “Paige, you okay?”
“As they say in those movies you love, it’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.”
“You owe me, again,” he replied.
Clark interrupted, “Hey, I helped.”
Grant moved toward Clark, with his gun still trained. 
As she assessed her wound, Caldwell lectured Clark. “Oh, right, you’re such a great asset to the team. You jackass. You’re not only a damn thief, but you’re, in effect, a traitor. If it came to light that a CIA employee was running a ring smuggling antiquities out of Iraq, it would fuel conspiracy theories across the region.”
“Still, I wouldn’t allow these men to kill a fellow agency employee. That’s got to count in the equation, right?”
Caldwell replied, “What do you want, a fucking gold star?”
Clark ignored her comment, adding, “Besides, who said I was the one running things?”
Grant asked, “What does that mean?”
Clark smiled. “Now, why would I tell you that? I need something to bargain with, to limit my potential losses, don’t I?”
Grant looked into the box the four thieves had opened.
Staring up was a bronze figure almost five feet long.
Caldwell limped over and glanced into the crate as well. “Who’s that supposed to be?”
Grant responded, “I can’t be sure.” He looked up and down the figure, noting the carvings of torches and the flames at the bottom. “But if I recall from readings I did after one of my ancient history courses at Valpo, this could be a representation of Girra, a Mesopotamian god of fire. He was worshiped for the role that fire played in purification and in making things like bricks, but also feared for his destructive acts, like setting fields ablaze.”
Caldwell rolled her eyes. “Too much information.”
Grant smiled at Paige, and then looked at Clark, who still had his hands in the air. Grant tilted his head toward Girra. “That belongs in a museum.”
Clark looked bewildered, and shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, okay?”
Grant shook his head. “How do you not know that line?”
Caldwell said, “Okay, I’ll say it: ‘So do you.’ Now that you’ve gotten another Indiana Jones moment out of the way – God, how many has that been since we were given this job? – could you get Tank on the satphone and let him know what we have?”

Sunday, June 16, 2019

5-Stars for THE RIVER: Read An Excerpt

New 5-star Amazon review of THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL says:

"I am currently on book 6 of the Pastor Stephen Grant series, but the fourth book, The River, stands out as my favorite. The reveal of who the culprits are towards the end was surprising but also made a lot of sense... An excellent book."




Monday, May 13, 2019

Celebrate May 13th Pub Anniversary of THE RIVER

Celebrate the May 13th publication anniversary of THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL. If you haven't read it yet, grab it today. 


Average Amazon review is 4.3 stars out of 5. And among the positive reviews, Kirkus Reviews says, "A gritty, action-stuffed, well-considered thriller with a gun-toting clergyman."


Signed books at www.raykeatingonline.com

Monday, April 29, 2019

Pastor Stephen Grant Character Quote of the Week from THE RIVER



From THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL, an exchange between Paige Caldwell and Stephen Grant form Grant's CIA days...
     “Why aren’t you sweating – at all?” asked Grant.      
     Caldwell smiled seductively. “I did enough of that last night. Didn’t you?” 




Tuesday, January 15, 2019

4 Cool and Quick Facts: What Are Pastor Stephen Grant’s Interests?



So, other than theology and weapons, what are some of the interests of Pastor Stephen Grant? 

1. Stephen Grant enjoys golf. For example, consider the following from Warrior Monk, with Stephen teeing it up with Fathers Tom Stone and Ron McDermott:

Stone walked up to the first tee right at 7:20. “How’s that for timing?” he said with a smile. He then started rummaging around his golf bag for glove, tee and ball.
            “Pretty good, Tom, unless you wanted to warm up first,” replied McDermott, who stood next to Grant on the tee waiting for their friend.
            “Hitting a bucket of balls and some putts on the practice green like you guys? Yeah, right. That’s a luxury that unmarried men have. It is not a real alternative in a house with a wife and kids vying for morning bathroom time.”
            “Touché,” said Grant.
            “If you guys are ready, go ahead and hit,” Tom said as the exploration of his bag had yielded a glove and tee, but not yet a ball without scuff marks.
            Ron asked Stephen, “Shall I lead the way?”
            “Please do.”
            Ron teed his ball up high. The combination of his long driver with a huge head and a flat, aggressive, inside-out swing resulted in a long draw that landed in the middle of the fairway, but continued to run left and settled just in the light rough some 270 yards away.
            “Nice ball,” observed Stephen, as he teed up his own.
            “Thanks.”
            Grant showed off a smooth swing, with his high, slight fade coming to rest on the right side of fairway at a distance of 255 years.
            “Even better,” said Tom, who finally arrived on the tee box with a hybrid in his hand and a shiny new ball. The look of Stone’s swing was not as polished as his friends’. A three-quarters back swing was followed by a hard, crushing move on the ball, with an abbreviated follow through. The result, though, was a high, straight projection that split the fairway at about 220 yards.
            “And you do that without warming up,” Ron observed shaking his head. 
            “Clean living and concentration,” Tom responded.
            “Really? We’ll see if that clean living and concentration help you sink a putt today,” said Ron.
            “That will require heavenly intervention,” Stephen added.
            “Oh, ye of little faith,” Tom replied. “I tried cross handed last night, and was jarring everything.”

2. Stephen is a big Cincinnati Reds fan. Check this out also from Warrior Monk:

After the late service, no one lingered on another warm, late summer day. Grant changed into blue shorts, and a gray Cincinnati Reds t-shirt. Sipping on a cold Coke in his office, he had the laptop open and was tuning in to the Reds-Cardinals game via MLB.com.

3. Stephen loves classic films. Consider the following from An Advent for Religious Liberty:

A bell rang on a Christmas tree. 
Zuzu pointed to the bell, and said, “Look, Daddy, teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” 
George, holding his daughter, replied, “That’s right. That’s right. That a boy, Clarence.” 
With the end of the Frank Capra film, Jennifer, who was sitting on a large couch with Stephen, looked at Zack Charmichael, whose feet were up in a recliner. “Well, Zack, what did you think?” 
“I liked it. It’s not what I expected. I always thought it was one of those sickly sweet holiday movies. But that was not the case at all. It had a bit of a dark edge to it.” 
Stephen observed, “Absolutely. But I still can’t believe that this was the first time you ever saw It’s a Wonderful Life. How did you miss seeing this Christmas classic?” 
Jennifer interjected, “Stephen, didn’t we settle this at dinner? Not everyone has or even wants your vast movie knowledge.” 
Stephen protested, “We’re not talking about some obscure movie here. This time of year, how can you possibly avoid It’s a Wonderful Life? It’s everywhere.” 
Zack poked, “Well, maybe I had more pressing matters than to watch movies.” 

4. Stephen enjoys playing poker on occasion. Read the following excerpt from The River:

The numbers made sense. In fact, it was a no-brainer. 
Grant was nearly certain that the very large man, with a shaved head, elaborate goatee, assorted tattoos up and down each arm, and mirrored sunglasses, was about to lose this hand.
Grant actually felt a touch of cockiness. He had not been involved in a truly competitive game of poker in more than 15 years. Yet, here he was as one of the final four players out of the 23 who started several hours earlier.
Two had folded. It was between Grant and the big guy. Once Grant called, each would be all in. The winner would vault to the largest stack of chips at the table, and be guaranteed a share of the tournament prize money. The loser would get nothing, but cold comfort for winding up ahead of 19 other players.
After the flop, the turn and the river, on the table were the two of clubs, two of diamonds, three of clubs, four of spades, and five of hearts. Grant held the five of spades and five of clubs. Odds were that the big guy, sitting diagonally across the table from Grant, had a straight, maybe even seven high. He could have a full house as well. But none of those hands would beat Grant’s fives-over-twos full house. Only pocket deuces could snatch the pot from Grant.
After a pause, Grant said, “Call.” He pushed his chips forward.
The dealer looked to the big guy, who smiled broadly, with his goatee spreading out rather elaborately. “Sorry, Pastor.” He flipped over the two of hearts coupled with a two of spades.
The dealer announced: “Four deuces.”
You’re kidding me.
Grant didn’t bother to turn over his cards. Everyone knew he was done. He merely announced with resignation, “Nice, Rodney.”
Grant stood up, and shook hands with each person at the table, wishing them, “Good luck.”
Rodney responded, “It was good to meet you, Pastor. And as promised, I’m going to visit St. Matthew’s.”
“You better,” Grant said with a smile, “I’m going to let Pastor Stout know you’ll be coming.”
Rodney replied, “Hey, I never played poker with a pastor before. Maybe this is a message that I need to get back to church.”