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Feast of St. Ambrose and WARRIOR MONK

Today, December 7, we give thanks for St. Ambrose of Milan, born in AD 340. Much of the action in WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL takes place at the St. Ambrose Retreat House on Long Island’s North Shore. Here’s an excerpt from the book with Pastor Grant and Pope Augustine:

 

     

Grant was now following the pope, his aides and security entourage up the staircase in the castle’s main lobby. 

     Augustine stopped at the statue of St. Ambrose, and gazed at it. As this continued for several seconds, a silence descended in the large chamber. The pope said, “He was interesting, St. Ambrose. During a tumultuous time of disagreement in the latter part of the fourth century, he tried to keep peace among Christians in Milan. And he was not even baptized when clergy and the people called for him to become the bishop. He did not want the job, but finally acquiesced, was baptized, and eight days later became the bishop. He would be one of the great Latin Doctors of the Church. And as we talk about the Church’s role in the public arena now, it is worth recalling that Ambrose previously was a lawyer and politician who came to be a powerful voice in the Church for celibacy and voluntary poverty. If that happened today, few, I think, would doubt the transformative power of faith in our Lord.” The pope smiled, and most everyone else joined in with his infectious laugh. 

     That would be a miracle [thought Grant.]

     With Cardinal Santos leading the way, the pope continued up the stairs to the left of Ambrose…

 

Grab WARRIOR MONK and the rest of the Pastor Stephen Grant thrillers and mysteries here.

Details and Reviews on WARRIOR MONK by Ray Keating

Get caught up this fall on all of the Pastor Stephen Grant adventures? Paperbacks and Kindle editions at Amazon via https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P1S5R26 and signed books at www.raykeatingonline.com. 

Caught up on the Pastor Stephen Grant Thrillers/Mysteries?

 

Are you caught up on all of the Pastor Stephen Grant adventures? Paperbacks and Kindle editions at Amazon via https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P1S5R26 and signed books at www.raykeatingonline.com. 

Commemoration of St. Ambrose: An Excerpt from WARRIOR MONK

On the Commemoration of St. Ambrose of Milan (December 6), an excerpt from WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL. A good deal of the story in this thriller takes place at the St. Ambrose Retreat House on Long Island…

Stephen could, well, feel it. He wondered when the last time such unity existed among so many Christian leaders gathered in one place.

And this nearly euphoric feeling continued throughout the pope’s historic press conference. The questions, though politely put, reflected the usual ignorance and bias Grant had come to expect from so much of the media. 

Theocracy? 

Imposing your religious views on others?

Doesn’t the church have enough problems of its own? 

Given the Crusades, Inquisition and pedophilia scandals, why should anyone listen? 

And so on.

But this pope – no, Stephen reflected – this man, flawed and sinful like any of us, answered each question calmly, thoughtfully, and with disarming kindness. And with a mix of principle, faith and humor, Pope Augustine gained a kind of attentiveness among members of the media that few, if any, in public life could have even hoped for, and many politicians would have killed for. Congressman Ted Brees came to Stephen’s mind.

Grant was now following the pope, his aides and security entourage up the staircase in the castle’s main lobby.

Augustine stopped at the statue of St. Ambrose, and gazed at it. As this continued for several seconds, a silence descended in the large chamber. The pope said, “He was interesting, St. Ambrose. During a tumultuous time of disagreement in the latter part of the fourth century, he tried to keep peace among Christians in Milan. And he was not even baptized when clergy and the people called for him to become the bishop. He did not want the job, but finally acquiesced, was baptized, and eight days later became the bishop. He would be one of the great Latin Doctors of the Church. And as we talk about the Church’s role in the public arena now, it is worth recalling that Ambrose previously was a lawyer and politician who came to be a powerful voice in the Church for celibacy and voluntary poverty. If that happened today, few, I think, would doubt the transformative power of faith in our Lord.” The pope smiled, and most everyone else joined in with his infectious laugh.

  

Book Excerpt: Prologue from "Warrior Monk: A Pastor Stephen Grant Novel" by Ray Keating

Prologue

A few years after the fall of the Soviet Union

      A suppressor never threw off his aim.  But it served as a distraction while the gun rested in his shoulder holster.

     He felt like the target could spot the weapon more easily. Objectively, he understood this wasn’t the case below a suit jacket and trench coat.  Still, it didn’t feel right.

    The two Americans drove on a narrow country road about an hour outside of Paris. Rain was in the forecast, and the dark gray clouds appeared ready to burst. But not a drop had fallen yet. 

Sunflowers populated field after field along the way.  He wondered how the tall, top-heavy plants could stand so erect.

His partner on this particular assignment dropped him off around the corner from an old church, a small wood and stone structure at the center of a bucolic village.  If all ran on schedule, the target, Vladimir Chenko, would be waiting in a pew.

     Chenko not only had been a veteran military officer for the Soviet Union and then Russia, but also was a CIA asset. The Russian reported on the communists for years, and more recently, tried to spot any nuclear materials wandering off.  Or, at least, that was his assignment from the CIA.  

The nugget was money and an eventual life of capitalist leisure.  Chenko retired, and was ready to be united with a bank account packed with U.S. dollars. The Russian sought a safe, preferably tropical location with America’s help.

     But Chenko played both sides, and it had resulted in several deaths.  

One happened to be the American’s mentor and friend.

     By sheer luck, the agency stumbled upon evidence that Chenko had passed on information over the years from loose-lipped field operators who got too trusting, too comfortable and, therefore, sloppy.  That information cost the lives of two U.S. operatives and perhaps as many as ten Russian assets who worked to undermine Soviet communism.  

     With the Cold War over, Chenko apparently thought no one in the West would care enough to unearth his duplicity, or that his tracks were well covered.

    Chenko was wrong on each count. The Americans found out and were quite displeased.

    The American entered the tiny stone church, and stepped into the rear of the nave.  He could smell the age and decay of the place.  Like so many others in Europe, this church appeared empty – but for his target.  It increasingly seemed that if you wanted to arrange a discreet meeting, a church in Europe was ideal. 

He noted the side exit was open, only steps from where a man sat in the third pew, staring at the altar.

     Is the bastard praying?

He paused briefly, taking another look around, then moved forward and sat in front of Chenko.  The pew creaked.  From the sound on the stone outside the doorway, he knew the rain had started to fall. His gaze remained straight ahead, while giving the pre-determined phrase in fluent French. “This church has seen much over the centuries.”

      Chenko responded in Russian, “Yes, and it, no doubt, will see more.”

      He turned halfway around in the pew, and the Russian smiled broadly. 

      Chenko switched to English, “I am ready, my American friend.”

      Friend?

    He didn’t expect the Russian to be armed. After all, this was to be a happy occasion. Nonetheless, he looked Chenko over carefully.

     “My wife is on one floor of a Paris hotel, and my mistress on another.” Chenko laughed in delight as some do when they relish getting away with something. “Both await new lives.  How are we to proceed?”

     Without a word in response or to declare judgment, the American rotated back toward the altar, and reached his right hand inside his jacket for the Glock. 

    The fat, gray-haired Russian double agent moved with surprising quickness and strength. Chenko whipped a cord around his neck, cutting into his skin and cutting off his air.  

  He fumbled the gun as his hands reacted instinctively trying to pull away the cord. He was being hoisted back over the pew via this line of strangulation, feet just off the ground, seemingly helpless to fight back. 

        “I spotted the gun, comrade. Silencers make pistols so bulky,” Chenko spewed into his ear.

        Shit, I knew it.

      Darkness and death were not far off. He snapped his left wrist back hard, allowing the tactical knife strapped low on his forearm to slip forward. He grabbed it, pressed the thumb stud to open the 3.1-inch serrated-edge steel blade, swung it around, and plunged it into Chenko’s left calf.

         The Russian screamed a curse in his native language, but Chenko’s grip on the wire did not falter.

         Son of a bitch!

        Summoning the last bits of his faltering strength, he began pulling the knife up, slicing through skin and muscle, scraping against bone. 

         The double agent screamed.  Chenko’s left hand flinched and loosened ever so slightly. 

   Finally, he had his opportunity, jamming his right hand under the wire, and spinning his body away from Chenko and onto the floor, with the bloody knife still in his left hand.

       Struggling for air, he staggered to his feet. Chenko was pulling up his right pant leg, and grabbing a small revolver strapped above his ankle. 

         Crap!

         The Russian was straightening up to fire.

   One chance existed. He flipped the knife into his right hand, looked at Chenko’s chest, and threw it. The knife struck home.  The Russian dropped the gun. There was a strange, disturbing look of fear on Chenko’s face as he turned and looked around the church briefly, and then toppled to the floor dead.

   That’s the first of two.

        He picked up and holstered the gun; pulled the knife from the dead Russian, closed it and shoved it into his pocket; and took steps toward the side exit. 

    A voice from the back of the church asked in French, “Why, my son?”

         He did exactly what he was trained not to do. 

   He stopped and turned slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure in the shadows at the back of the church. A glimmering gold cross hung from a chain around the shadow’s neck, the only clear feature in the dim light.

    For some reason, he answered, “It had to be done. Justice.”  He walked out into the hard rain.

   Less than a minute later, he was picked up at the designated location.  Other than an exchange on how the mission was completed, they drove in silence.  

    In the heavy rain, the sunflowers growing in the roadside fields drooped their heads ever so slightly.

   Two hours later, he was on a commercial flight heading back to the United States.  

  But he felt different this time.  It wasn’t guilt, nor regret.  There was no satisfaction, which surprised him.  He felt empty.  

   Why risk answering that priest?

  He always saw his work as having meaning and purpose.  His head continued to recognize this.  However, a gnawing for something more had been growing deeper inside.  

   The vision of the priest and that light-gathering cross kept creeping back into his thoughts during the flight.  He tried to read or watch the in-flight movie, but to no avail.

    What did that priest think today?   Was Chenko praying?  Do I care?

   On that flight from Paris to New York, he realized that he did care.

Ray Keating Reads from WARRIOR MONK

Ray Keating talks about and reads from WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL. Kindle edition on sale for only $2.99 at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N6DN3RF, and signed books at www.raykeatingonline.com.

Ray Keating Answers Questions!

Okay, I'm answering your questions, including: When is the next Pastor Stephen Grant novel coming out? Hmmm. Find out. 

AND give me more MORE questions! Let's hear from you! Thanks and God bless!

Hunker Down with WARRIOR MONK

Hunkering down? 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. A review for First Things called WARRIOR MONK “a fun adventure romp.”

Get the Kindle edition of WARRIOR MONK for only $2.99 at

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Getting Started with WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL by Ray Keating

WARRIOR MONK starts...

A suppressor never threw off his aim. But it served as a distraction while the gun rested in his shoulder holster...

Get paperback and Kindle edition of WARRIOR MONK at Amazon via

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1793144745

Signed books are at www.raykeatingonline.com

Read the Prologue to WARRIOR MONK Now for FREE!

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

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

Prologue

A few years after the fall of the Soviet Union

            A suppressor never threw off his aim.  But it served as a distraction while the gun rested in his shoulder holster.

            He felt like the target could spot the weapon more easily. Objectively, he understood this wasn’t the case below a suit jacket and trench coat.  Still, it didn’t feel right.

            The two Americans drove on a narrow country road about an hour outside of Paris. Rain was in the forecast, and the dark gray clouds appeared ready to burst. But not a drop had fallen yet. 

Sunflowers populated field after field along the way.  He wondered how the tall, top-heavy plants could stand so erect.

His partner on this particular assignment dropped him off around the corner from an old church, a small wood and stone structure at the center of a bucolic village.  If all ran on schedule, the target, Vladimir Chenko, would be waiting in a pew.

            Chenko not only had been a veteran military officer for the Soviet Union and then Russia, but also was a CIA asset. The Russian reported on the communists for years, and more recently, tried to spot any nuclear materials wandering off.  Or, at least, that was his assignment from the CIA.  

The nugget was money and an eventual life of capitalist leisure.  Chenko retired, and was ready to be united with a bank account packed with U.S. dollars. The Russian sought a safe, preferably tropical location with America’s help.

            But Chenko played both sides, and it had resulted in several deaths.  

One happened to be the American’s mentor and friend.

            By sheer luck, the agency stumbled upon evidence that Chenko had passed on information over the years from loose-lipped field operators who got too trusting, too comfortable and, therefore, sloppy.  That information cost the lives of two U.S. operatives and perhaps as many as ten Russian assets who worked to undermine Soviet communism.  

With the Cold War over, Chenko apparently thought no one in the West would care enough to unearth his duplicity, or that his tracks were well covered.

            Chenko was wrong on each count. The Americans found out and were quite displeased.

            The American entered the tiny stone church, and stepped into the rear of the nave. He could smell the age and decay of the place.  Like so many others in Europe, this church appeared empty – but for his target.  It increasingly seemed that if you wanted to arrange a discreet meeting, a church in Europe was ideal. 

He noted the side exit was open, only steps from where a man sat in the third pew, staring at the altar.

            Is the bastard praying?

He paused briefly, taking another look around, then moved forward and sat in front of Chenko. The pew creaked.  From the sound on the stone outside the doorway, he knew the rain had started to fall. His gaze remained straight ahead, while giving the pre-determined phrase in fluent French. “This church has seen much over the centuries.”

            Chenko responded in Russian, “Yes, and it, no doubt, will see more.”

            He turned halfway around in the pew, and the Russian smiled broadly. 

            Chenko switched to English, “I am ready, my American friend.”

            Friend?

            He didn’t expect the Russian to be armed. After all, this was to be a happy occasion. Nonetheless, he looked Chenko over carefully.

            “My wife is on one floor of a Paris hotel, and my mistress on another.” Chenko laughed in delight as some do when they relish getting away with something. “Both await new lives.  How are we to proceed?”

            Without a word in response or to declare judgment, the American rotated back toward the altar, and reached his right hand inside his jacket for the Glock. 

            The fat, gray-haired Russian double agent moved with surprising quickness and strength. Chenko whipped a cord around his neck, cutting into his skin and cutting off his air.  

He fumbled the gun as his hands reacted instinctively trying to pull away the cord. He was being hoisted back over the pew via this line of strangulation, feet just off the ground, seemingly helpless to fight back. 

            “I spotted the gun, comrade. Silencers make pistols so bulky,” Chenko spewed into his ear.

            Shit, I knew it.

            Darkness and death were not far off. He snapped his left wrist back hard, allowing the tactical knife strapped low on his forearm to slip forward. He grabbed it, pressed the thumb stud to open the 3.1-inch serrated-edge steel blade, swung it around, and plunged it into Chenko’s left calf.

            The Russian screamed a curse in his native language, but Chenko’s grip on the wire did not falter.

            Son of a bitch!

            Summoning the last bits of his faltering strength, he began pulling the knife up, slicing through skin and muscle, scraping against bone. 

            The double agent screamed.  Chenko’s left hand flinched and loosened ever so slightly. 

Finally, he had his opportunity, jamming his right hand under the wire, and spinning his body away from Chenko and onto the floor, with the bloody knife still in his left hand.

            Struggling for air, he staggered to his feet. Chenko was pulling up his right pant leg, and grabbing a small revolver strapped above his ankle. 

            Crap!

            The Russian was straightening up to fire.

One chance existed. He flipped the knife into his right hand, looked at Chenko’s chest, and threw it. The knife struck home.  The Russian dropped the gun. There was a strange, disturbing look of fear on Chenko’s face as he turned and looked around the church briefly, and then toppled to the floor dead.

That’s the first of two.

            He picked up and holstered the gun; pulled the knife from the dead Russian, closed it and shoved it into his pocket; and took steps toward the side exit. 

A voice from the back of the church asked in French, “Why, my son?”

            He did exactly what he was trained not to do. 

He stopped and turned slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure in the shadows at the back of the church. A glimmering gold cross hung from a chain around the shadow’s neck, the only clear feature in the dim light.

For some reason, he answered, “It had to be done. Justice.”  He walked out into the hard rain.

Less than a minute later, he was picked up at the designated location.  Other than an exchange on how the mission was completed, they drove in silence.  

In the heavy rain, the sunflowers growing in the roadside fields drooped their heads ever so slightly.

Two hours later, he was on a commercial flight heading back to the United States.  

But he felt different this time.  It wasn’t guilt, nor regret.  There was no satisfaction, which surprised him.  He felt empty.  

Why risk answering that priest?

He always saw his work as having meaning and purpose.  His head continued to recognize this.  However, a gnawing for something more had been growing deeper inside.  

The vision of the priest and that light-gathering cross kept creeping back into his thoughts during the flight.  He tried to read or watch the in-flight movie, but to no avail.

What did that priest think today?   Was Chenko praying?  Do I care?

On that flight from Paris to New York, he realized that he did care.

 (Please do not reproduce in any manner. Copyright Raymond J. Keating)

Pastor Stephen Grant Novels Character Quote of the Week from WARRIOR MONK

The Pastor Stephen Grant Character Quote of the Week...

“I spotted the gun, comrade. Silencers make pistols so bulky,” Chenko spewed into his ear.

Spy Stuff: Bond 25 Starts Filming

If you missed it, the announcement that the 25^thJames Bond movie was beginning principal photography came recently. 

I not only immensely enjoy the James Bond films, but Ian Fleming and Bond played a role in terms of getting me started writing the Pastor Stephen Grant novels. As I noted in the new Introduction to the second edition of Warrior Monk:

     As for deciding to write Warrior Monk, my work as an economist did come into play. Many years ago now, a colleague mentioned that a new priest at her parish formerly worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. That caught my attention, and I filed it away just in case I ever did delve into the fiction realm. 

     A few years later, in 2007, I received word that Hofstra University on Long Island would be hosting a conference titled “Bond, James Bond: The World of 007.” My editor at Newsday agreed that I should cover the event for my column. At that gathering of Bond experts and fans from around the world, I learned that Ian Fleming was 44 years old when his first Bond novel, Casino Royale, was published. That happened to be how old I was at the time of the conference. So, I took that as some kind of sign. I filed my Newsday column on the conference, and then started working on my first novel, featuring a Lutheran pastor who had been a Navy SEAL and a CIA operative. Stephen Grant was born. 

I truly have gotten excited and humbled when a reviewer here and there has compared the Grant novels to Fleming’s Bond. How freaking cool is that?

Bond 25 – the movie has no title as yet – will be released on April 8, 2020. What do we know about it? Here’s the summary from the Bond people:

Bond has left active service and is enjoying a tranquil life in Jamaica.  His peace is short-lived when his old friend Felix Leiter from the CIA turns up asking for help. The mission to rescue a kidnapped scientist turns out to be far more treacherous than expected, leading Bond onto the trail of a mysterious villain armed with dangerous new technology. 

The return of Felix Leiter is most welcome.

I’m definitely ready for Bond 25. How about you?

- Ray Keating

4 Cool and Quick Facts: Cool Churches in the Pastor Stephen Grant Mysteries/Thrillers

Check out the descriptions of four churches or chapels from Ray Keating’s Pastor Stephen Grant novels and short stories...

1. From Warrior Monk...

The Puddleworths’ sensibilities when erecting this gothic-style building back in the nineteenth century made for an ideal abbey. The family’s original small chapel still served for private prayer. After taking over the facility, the Catholic Church merged another four rooms on the ground floor into the facility’s main chapel. 

The windows along the north side of what was called the Holy Family Chapel long ago were replaced with stained glass scenes from Acts. Stephen found that interesting. He could not recall being in another church or chapel with scenes from the Book of Acts. These included the Ascension, Matthias being chosen to replace Judas, Pentecost, Peter and John on trial, Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch, Paul’s conversion, and Paul preaching in prison. 

But Grant’s attention was drawn to the window between Peter and John, and Philip. That was the martyrdom of Stephen. Grant, in fact, was specifically named by his mother after St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr. So, this was a scene Grant was familiar with – Stephen gazing up at Jesus at the right hand of God the Father, the Holy Spirit as a dove shining the power of faith down on Stephen, all while an angry crowd threw stones to kill Stephen. 

Hope that’s not prophetic as well. 

He turned to the altar, behind which was a wall of statues of saints, with Mary and Joseph atop looking down lovingly on Jesus as a baby. Grant loved his Catholic brethren, and even admired various aspects of the Roman church, but he had a tough time with the Catholic view of and emphasis on saints, especially in worship spaces like this. But he slid into one of the pews, even though Vespers would not begin for another half hour. 

2. From Warrior Monk...

St. Bartholomew’s Church itself was a beautiful, historic stone building that resembled a mini-castle. Another building comfortably housed church offices, a large room for congregational meetings, dinners and events, classrooms and storage. And the large, six-bedroom parsonage was made of the same materials as the church. All of this sat on four acres on a lake in Eastport. 

3. From Lionhearts...

Grant walked by the old brick buildings that populated the small university across the street from the church. When the founders built the Lutheran University of New York, they also erected St. Mark’s. The school buildings, church, president’s home and the parsonage all followed a brick gothic architectural style. At the end of the campus, Grant came to the St. Mark’s parsonage. 

He paused on the sidewalk, and looked back at the church. Grant was a stickler when it came to church architecture, appreciating a wide array of styles, except for the churches built in recent decades that lacked any distinction, sometimes looking like office buildings. Grant not only liked the architecture of St. Mark’s, but also that this very much was a neighborhood church, surrounded by homes, the university, small apartment buildings and local stores. He then had a passing thought of appreciation that his own leaders and congregation at St. Mary’s had chosen a Tudor-style when their new church was built a few years ago.

4. From Warrior Monk...

Entering the nave and proceeding halfway up the center aisle, Grant bowed before turning his back to the altar and the massive Crucifix hanging on the wall behind it. 

The inside of the new St. Mary’s jibed nicely with its Tudor exterior. Lining the walls was a dark wood paneling about four feet high. Rising from there up to the various points in the ceiling were off-white walls accented with wood beams. The windows and ends of each pew came to a similar pointed shape as the ceiling. Rather than stained glass, the windows featured scenes from the life of Jesus Christ etched into otherwise clear glass. Daylight was allowed to stream into the building as a result. 

The largest etched window was behind the choir loft, showing Jesus as the teacher. At the other end, under the Crucifix, the altar rail closely mimicked the wood paneling and beams, while the altar was bathed in a white brighter than the walls...

He strode back into the narthex. A turn left would have taken him down a hall to four rooms—three used for Sunday school and various church meetings, and the other for storage. He instead went down the hall to the right, which led to the budding church library and conference room, a small copy room, his secretary’s office—though Mrs. Barbara Tunney more often acted like a nosy mother than a secretary—and his own office. 

4 Cool and Quick Facts: Cool Weapons Used in the Pastor Stephen Grant Thrillers/Mysteries, Part I

Before becoming a pastor, Stephen Grant was a Navy SEAL and then with the CIA. He has extensive knowledge and experience with a variety of weapons, as do assorted colleagues from his Agency days. Check out four excerpts that feature some cool weapons in the world of Pastor Stephen Grant...

1. Hey, what’s in the coffee table in your office, Pastor Grant? From Warrior Monk...

     A coffee table actually was an oak gun cabinet, with a secure lock hidden from plain view. If Grant didn’t tell anyone—which he didn’t, not even the ever-vigilant Barbara Tunney—then no one would know that it was anything more than a place to rest oversized books, magazines and tea mugs. 

     In the cabinet, Grant kept a 10mm Glock 20 and a Taurus PT-25, along with his Harris M-89 sniper rifle. With both his former employer, the Central Intelligence Agency, and the Church, Grant learned enough about human nature to know that evil existed and protection was necessary. Grant kept identical handgun models at the parsonage, along with a Swiss SSG550 sniper rifle. 

2. From Root of All Evil?...

     Two Black Hawk helicopters sat on a secluded stretch of concrete just outside of Laredo, Texas. While waiting, the four CIA aviation specialists in each copter checked and rechecked systems, including the 20mm turret gun cannons and laser-guided rockets.

3. From Lionhearts...

     Some 10 minutes later, the warning sirens wailed on the destroyer. The first missile erupted into the air amidst fire and smoke, and over the next three minutes, a total of nine more Tomahawk missiles, each with a 1,000-pound warhead, were launched. 

     Each Tomahawk flew 100 to 150 feet off the ground, adjusting nearly instantaneously to changes in the terrain below, and streaking forward at some 550 mph. 

     From launch, the missiles would reach their targets in southwest Afghanistan in less than an hour. 

4. From Reagan Country...

     Grant opened the passenger side door, and pulled himself up and partially out of the door. With his left foot on the floor inside the vehicle, he planted his right foot on the door armrest. Just above the V-shaped opening between the front windshield and the open door, Grant pointed a 40 mm, semi- automatic, 6-shot Multiple Grenade Launcher. 

    Six shots. Don’t make a mistake. 

     Grant squeezed off the first shot, and the grenade struck home. 

Ray Keating Talks about the New Edition of Warrior Monk

New edition of WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL with a new Author Introduction and Epilogue, and the new edition of A DISCUSSION GUIDE FOR RAY KEATING’S WARRIOR MONK.

Warrior Monk paperbacks and Kindle at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Warrior-Monk-Pastor-Stephen-Grant/dp/1793144745/ref=sr_1_3_twi_pap_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1548987282&sr=8-3&keywords=warrior+monk+by+keating

The Discussion Guide via Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Discussion-Guide-Keatings-Warrior-Monk/dp/1795083743/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1548987330&sr=8-3-fkmr0&keywords=A+discussion+of+ray+coating%27s+warrior+monk

Signed copies of Warrior Monk at https://raykeatingonline.com/products/warrior-monk-a-pastor-stephen-grant-novel-signed-copy

Signed copies of the Discussion Guide at https://raykeatingonline.com/products/a-discussion-guide-for-ray-keatings-warrior-monk

Signed set of Warrior Monk and the Discussion Guide at https://raykeatingonline.com/products/warrior-monk-a-pastor-stephen-grant-novel-new-second-edition-and-a-discussion-guide-for-ray-keatings-warrior-monk

New 5-Star Review of WARRIOR MONK

WOW! Thanks! A new 5-star Amazon review of WARRIOR MONK: 

"You'll want to re-read them! Almost four years since I first read Warrior Monk. I've given several sets of the series as gifts and now have a complete set of signed copies! After the holidays, I needed something fun and relaxing, so I reread the whole series, because it's like visiting old friends. Love the characters! Love that the books include Lutheran doctrine, liturgy and prayer! Ray Keating is good guy - mailed me a copy of Lionhearts early so I could have it in time for an overseas trip! Can't wait for the next one!"

Grab WARRIOR MONK at https://www.amazon.com/Warrior-Monk-Pastor-Stephen-Grant/dp/1793144745/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Character Quote of the Week from WARRIOR MONK: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL

From Warrior Monk...

“My wife is on one floor of a Paris hotel, and my mistress on another.” Chenko laughed in delight as some do when they relish getting away with something. “Both await new lives. How are we to proceed?”