“You’re half-right,” Bolan granted. “But I’m not the only one who’s coming, and I’m on your side.”
“We don’t need men with guns to help us do the Lord’s work, Mr. Cooper.”
“There are others coming,” Bolan said again. “They’ve killed already, would’ve taken your visitor long before he got here if they hadn’t missed him. He got away once. Between your setup and the storm, I can’t imagine he’ll be lucky twice.”
“Who do you represent?” Brother Jerome demanded.
“No one who’ll acknowledge me,” Bolan replied. “We’re off the record here.”
“I see. Perhaps I should inform you that I’ve spoken to the FBI, the U.S. Marshals Service, and someone claiming to be a deputy attorney general. I have told them all the same thing. Sanctuary is a sacred principle that I am not prepared to violate.”
“That’s why I’m here, and not a SWAT team,” Bolan said. “Nobody’s looking for another Waco, but the men tracking your guest are only paid to do one thing—and I can promise you they don’t leave any witnesses.”
Brother Jerome stood silent for a moment, fingertips pinning the Steyr to his desktop. Finally, he said, “The choice cannot be mine. Brother Thomas!”
In a second flat, the monk who had delivered Bolan stood beside him. “Father?”
“Please fetch Brother Andrew and the postulant at once. I need to speak with both of them.”
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