The girl sighed. Steeling herself, she again took aim at the hapless, albeit greedy, rodent. But it's such a But it's such a cute cute bunny. bunny.

Montoya shook his head. Unlike lawyers in the same firm, Priests could not share such confidential information. "No, of course not."

"Then all I can tell you is they-the government-murdered my people and are coming to kill me. I need sanctuary."

Montoya was a simple enough priest, no expert in canon law. He knew that sanctuary had once been within the power of a church to grant. He didn't know if it still was and said so.

As Flores was about to speak, the faint but distinctive crack of a rifle sounded.

The shot was audible even at the several hundred yards from the mission's entrance where Musashi and his team waited. Like his agents, Musashi tensed, then relaxed. "Just some kid with a .22," he told his a.s.sistants, dismissively. "Let's move in five...but slowly and carefully. The file says this is a peaceful group. No forcible entry. The Kevlar T-shirts we're wearing should be more than enough. And, boys...we can't afford another major shoot-up. Go easy."

In through the back entrance came Miguel, rabbit in one hand and his other arm around a softly weeping Elpidia. The rabbit, despite the use of hollow points, had not died instantly. Lacking confidence-well, she was was new to firearms-Elpidia had aimed center-of-ma.s.s. The rifle had cracked; the rabbit-corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g through the air-had given a single, decidedly human-sounding scream, kicked twice and died. new to firearms-Elpidia had aimed center-of-ma.s.s. The rifle had cracked; the rabbit-corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g through the air-had given a single, decidedly human-sounding scream, kicked twice and died.

"You have got got to aim for the head, Elpi," Miguel had shouted. He needn't have raised his voice; the girl was hurt enough as it was. to aim for the head, Elpi," Miguel had shouted. He needn't have raised his voice; the girl was hurt enough as it was.

Miguel had quickly apologized and led her away, shotgun slung and the rabbit-destined for the stewpot-clutched by the ears in Miguel's right hand.

At the rifle shot, Flores stiffened and lost his train of thought, or argument, completely.

"That's just one of my boys taking care of a rabbit problem," calmed Montoya. Continuing, "In any case, though, I don't know enough about canon law and sanctuary to offer them, Father."

"I do not know either, Jorge. I know they will kill me if you do not offer it, though."

"We can't simply kill the priest in the mission," Musashi cautioned his cohorts as they approached the front door. "Too many witnesses and two Catholic groups in as many days would be a bit much, even for the media. We'll just take him and then he will try to escape after seizing a weapon."

"Did you clear those weapons, Miguel?" Montoya demanded, sternly, as the boy-turning-man walked into the foyer with both arms otherwise occupied. It was expressly forbidden to enter the mission with a loaded weapon.

Miguel's mouth dropped open as he tried to stammer out a reply. He had had been thinking more about Elpidia than the rules for firearms. "Oh, Father, I am sorry. No. I will...right away." been thinking more about Elpidia than the rules for firearms. "Oh, Father, I am sorry. No. I will...right away."

"Go outside with them then."

Still leading Elpidia, Miguel began to turn away. They had reached the small, shallow and dark alcove that led to the exit when...

Just outside the door, Musashi and his team halted. Though readied, their "knocker" was placed to the ground. Musashi reached up a hardened hand and knocked briskly, twice.

Sister Sofia turned away from the two priests, likewise turned the inside door k.n.o.b and asked, "Who is-"

She didn't have time to finish as Musashi's a.s.sistant pushed her roughly aside.

In burst the agents. "FBI! FBI! Hands in the air," they shouted.

"What is the meaning of this?" Montoya demanded. "This is G.o.d's place. You have no right here."

Musashi didn't answer immediately. Scanning the area quickly his eyes came to rest upon a quailing Father Flores. "We're here for him. Stay out of the way and n.o.body gets hurt."

"I'll get hurt, Jorge," Flores reminded with trembling voice.

Montoya looked at Musashi, measuring him. The agent reminded the priest of certain Viet Cong he had known in the past, however brief such acquaintance may have been. Montoya looked and knew then that Flores did not exaggerate. He was a dead man unless given sanctuary.

"You will take n.o.body," Montoya announced, interposing himself between Flores and the FBI.

Musashi snorted at the idea of some silly old man trying to gainsay him him and began to push the obviously injured and ailing priest out of the way.... and began to push the obviously injured and ailing priest out of the way....

And found himself, breathless and stunned with his back against the thick adobe of the mission walls. Instinct long honed took over. Musashi's right hand leapt towards his left breast.

In their darkened alcove, Elpidia and Miguel stopped instantly as the main door smashed inward and three strangers entered with shouts and alarm. A fourth remained, faintly perceived, by the mission door. While the girl's hands merely tightened on her small caliber rifle, the boy instinctively unslung and drew his shotgun to his shoulder. He took a general aim, muzzle pointed downwards. Miguel had had "dealings"-often quite unpleasant ones-with law enforcement agencies before.

Elpidia stood frozen for long moments as she watched the priest, the father she had never had, put his own body between an unshaven, unkempt man and the one who had announced he was part of the dreaded FBI. She stood frozen as she watched the injured father pushed to one side. She stood frozen as she watched him smash his a.s.sailant's back to the wall. She watched as the FBI agent's right hand slipped into his suit. She saw, as if in slow motion, as the b.u.t.t of a pistol began to emerge.

Screaming an inarticulate "No!" Elpidia unfroze. Her rifle flew to her shoulder and her finger to the trigger. If the range was short, the shooter was unpracticed. If the shooter was unpracticed the rifle had nine bullets still in the magazine. If the bullets were small caliber they were each hollow points.

The muzzle of Elpidia's rifle flashed fire.

Though again Elpidia aimed for center of ma.s.s, her first bullet took Musashi in the throat. The soft lead slug entered just below the Adam's apple. As it met the resistance of flesh the lead peeled back, expanding and tearing its way through larynx, meat, blood vessels and cartilage. Musashi's mouth gaped like a fish. His body shuddered from shock and pain.

Rifle weaving, Elpidia struck next the agent's right collar bone, missing the rectangle of light body armor the agent wore under his suit. Under the bullet's impact, the bone shattered, casting its own splinters inward along with the fragments of lead.

Musashi groaned and, letting go his pistol, reached both hands up to where his throat spurted crimson.

Elpidia's third shot missed her target's right ear, but her next two punched into and through the agent's face, doing a fair job of scrambling his brain.

The girl's next shot missed completely as an incredible, shocking roar exploded in front of her own face; Miguel's shotgun.

Miguel too, had seen the pistol being drawn. Yet the year-old words of the Father shone clear in his memory: "Do not point a weapon at a man unless you intend to kill him."

Miguel didn't want to kill anybody...but understood the priest's unspoken words: "If you do point a firearm at someone, kill him."

He stood frozen, as Elpi had earlier, while her rifle spit its first flame. When he saw the rest of the agents reaching inside their suit jackets-more guns being drawn to kill the girl he loved-he unfroze immediately and lifted the muzzle to point at the nearest of the agents. As if shooting skeet, his finger stroked the trigger. The recoil rocked him backwards, though not nearly so forcefully as the buckshot knocked back the agent who took the blast full in the face. Bones, blood and brain burst, a crimson cloud hanging briefly in the air before decorating the wall.

Miguel recovered from the recoil and swept the muzzle left for his next target. Sweep, stroke, blast, recoil, recover, sweep...

The last agent standing exclaimed, "My G.o.d they've got guns!" before Miguel's last-hasty-shot tore away half the agent's left leg. He fell outward and, whimpering, began to crawl to safety.

Miguel advanced to finish the job until held in check by Montoya's outstretched arm.

Though shocked by the shotgun's fierce blast, Elpidia recovered quickly...as anyone whose life had contained as many hard knocks as hers might have recovered quickly. Her last three shots took Musashi-quite needlessly, he was already dead and his body and mind simply didn't know it yet-in the chest. One was stopped by the body armor, the others just missed and entered the chest cavity, perforating lungs and other otherwise useful organs.

Leaving a trail of blood, the agent's body slid slowly down the wall to come to rest on the bloodstained floor.

Still holding Miguel back, Montoya's eyes swept over the scene: three fresh corpses, three spreading pools of blood. His nose sniffed at the familiar cordite smell. His ears heard the wailing of the lone survivor as he dragged his mutilated body down the neatly kept walkway that led to the mission's door...as they heard the retching of Father Flores, spilling his pungent vomit to join the spreading blood.

Montoya sniffed again. Yes, there was was something else besides the expected smells. He eyed Flores with a mild distaste, then in charity turned his eyes away. something else besides the expected smells. He eyed Flores with a mild distaste, then in charity turned his eyes away.

In the distance, but growing rapidly closer, the priest sensed as much as heard the wailing of police sirens... many of them.

Chapter Four.

From the transcript at trial: Commonwealth of Virginia v. Alvin Scheer * * *

DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUEDBY MR. STENNINGS.

Q. So what did you do about it, Alvin?

A. Do? Me? I didn't do a d.a.m.ned thing...excuse my language. Didn't see where there was anything I could do. Me being a kinda' little fish in a pretty big pond, and all. I saw on TV where somebody decided they could do something about it, though. Quite the thing, it was. News stations didn't hardly cover anything else for weeks.

Seemed some priest, the Catholic kind, I mean, well... when the government tried to bust into his church? Done kilt 'em. Most of 'em. Least that's what the TV said.

There were troops everywhere. Coming off planes from Washington. Unloading them things something like tanks but on wheels...that was that new "Presidential Guard, Secret Service" group. PGSS they called it. Something in that name rung a bell...the name and them black uniforms they wore. But I wasn't sure what. Like I said, I ain't no educated man.

They were landing by helicopter from all over, too. Surrounded the place.

Another funny thing. First few days? There were mostly Texas police surrounding the place. By...oh... lemme see...maybe three days later? Nothing but feds and reporters.

And all the reporters? Well, wasn't too much difference among 'em. All the same story. "Priest was a pervert." "Murderer, too," so they said. "Tax evader." (I says, 'Good for him, if he was.') Weren't but two weeks after the feds took over from the state that the books were comin' out. I didn't read none of 'em, mind you. But I remember seeing the t.i.tle of one: Father of Pain, Father of Pain, they called it. they called it.

The books came out just about the time everything began to cool down.

Austin, Texas

"Jesus. Jesus Jesus! JESUS! what am I going to do, Jack?"

Juanita, agitated beyond measure, paced frantically around the governor's office. "He's my brother brother-I am not going to let him be killed. I..." She stopped because she had not the first clue as to how she was going to do anything. When she still had had control of the situation her brother had refused to listen to her and surrender. Now that that control was not oozing but pouring through her fingers?

"What am I going to do, Jack?"

Though he showed it less, Schmidt himself was seething inside. He knew knew that Montoya was not, could not possibly be, guilty of any real crime. "I don't know either, Juani. Jorge is...well...when he sets his mind on something you just can't change it. I know. I've tried." that Montoya was not, could not possibly be, guilty of any real crime. "I don't know either, Juani. Jorge is...well...when he sets his mind on something you just can't change it. I know. I've tried."

Unseen-so he hoped, in the dim, green-filtered light of an early jungle morning, Sergeant Montoya's fingers gently closed the eyes of the last remaining of the ARVN rangers. "Take his soul unto you, O Lord. His name was Tri and like me, he belonged to Your Church." The Vietnamese, wounded in half a dozen places, had added a seventh wound, biting completely through his lower lip to keep silent as he died.

"Leave me, Jorge. Now. Before it is too late."

Montoya ignored his chief. It was light enough to see by now. He removed his helmet and load-bearing equipment, placed his rifle against a tree, and drew out his map and compa.s.s, using the compa.s.s to orient the map to the ground.

"We're about fifteen hundred meters from the alternate PZ"-the pickup zone... a place where helicopters pick up soldiers. "Since we're overdue, they should be looking for us there. I think we may have lost the VC."

"Jorge...if you make it back...Tell Juani, would you..."

"Don't be silly, Jack. We'll both make it. Besides, she already knows."

"But he and those children don't stand a chance."