“A mighty fortress is our God, A trusty shield and weapon…”
Linda
got out of the car and walked over to the driver’s side window of a silver
Mercedes. Her hand was firmly on the
Beretta in her pocket.
“He
helps us free from ev’ry need That hath us now o’er taken…”
The
window was down. “Can I help you?” Hans
Gunderson asked. He was listening to the radio and getting a little paperwork
done while Flo was practicing with the choir.
“I’m
here for you, your wife and your pastor,” Linda responded without any
detectable emotion in her voice.
“What?” Hans looked at the woman standing by his
car. “Oh, jeez, you’re that
activist-professor lady. What’s going on
now?”
“The
old evil foe Now means deadly woe…”
“I’m
here to make sure you pay for your sins.”
Linda pulled the gun out of her pocket, held it up with both hands about
three feet from Hans’ head. His mouth
dropped open. Linda pulled the
trigger. Hans Gunderson’s blood
splattered the gray leather seats.
“Deep
guile and great might Are his dread arms in fight…”
Linda
headed into St. Mary’s seeking other prey.
“On
earth is not his equal…”
In the
office, for a nanosecond, Grant was immobilized by disbelief. Hans shot. As the woman walked toward the
front doors of St. Mary’s, old instincts began taking over. Grant slipped
firmly into action.
“With
might of ours can naught be done, Soon were our loss effected…”
He
leaped from the chair, grabbed the keys off the corner of his desk, and moved
quickly to open the coffee table/gun cabinet.
Paranoia, my ass. He picked up
the Glock and loaded a magazine holding 10 rounds, sticking a second mag in his
pocket.
“But
for us fights the valiant One, Whom God Himself elected…”
Barbara
happened to move into the office doorway, asking, “Pastor, did you hear
something out…?” She froze seeing her
pastor approaching with a gun in his hand.
“Ask
ye, Who is this? Jesus Christ it is…”
Grant
grabbed Barbara Tunney’s arm, and told her in a low, commanding tone, “Call
911, and tell them we have a shooting in progress.”
Tunney
stuttered, “A…a…what…?”
Grant had
no time to walk his secretary through this crisis. “Barbara, do it now! Call 911, and then go out the back door and
away from here.”
“Of
Sabaoth Lord, And there’s none other God…”
While
Tunney stumbled to her office phone, Pastor Stephen Grant stayed low and moved
quickly down the hallway holding the pistol out front. He uttered a quick, simple prayer: “Jesus,
give me clarity and strength.”
Part of his mind returned to a
distant, yet still familiar place, but with even greater earnestness. For the coming seconds, he would be more
hunter than pastor.
“He
holds the field forever…”
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