Page 68 of Fatal Strike
“Never mind. I’m in a weird mood. First off this morning, we need to fuel up for the day.”
After a quick breakfast at the Sunflower Cafe, Jon and Leah made their way to the church. As the hour for Judge Mendez’s service approached, several FBI agents and GPD officers stationed themselves as part of a security perimeter around St. Peter’s. Only a fool would attempt a violent crime here today. And with three of the perpetrators dead, how many were left?
By 9:30, the sanctuary was at capacity, standing room only. While Leah devoted her attention to her assigned location, the same corner as the previous night, the number of people made her nervous. The heat index outside soared in the midnineties, and all the people inside the church caused the AC to work harder.
Father Gabriel emerged from a side room with Mrs. Mendez and her family. The children had changed from one black outfit to another. Poor kids. Losing their daddy and enduring the hours in church.
Isn’t this the best place for children?
Where did the random thought come from?
She kept her stance, earbud in place, with Jon and the other FBI agents in strategic locations. Beneath her jacket was her Glock. Leah scrutinized the people, all ages and races. The sermon seemed short, Father Gabriel talking about the death and resurrection of Jesus and how His death meant Judge Mendez would live forever in heaven.
Leah was puzzled when the priest performed some breadand wine rites. Had no idea what it meant, but she’d ask Jon later or look it up.
But her attention was immediately seized when a young man seated on an aisle stood and waved both arms. “This isn’t over. More people will die.”
46
WITH ONE HAND WRAPPEDaround his Glock, Jon rushed up the aisle from the rear of the church. Innocent people shoved together in pews on both sides of the aisle, their sobs of grief shifting to fear.
“Hey, man, is there a problem?” Jon said, noting the man had a recent bruise to the left side of his face and the wild light of a drug high emanating from his eyes. No visible weapon. “Ican help.”
Agents and officers quickly moved to avoid panic and lead people out of the church.
“No one can help me. It’s gone too far.”
“I’d like to try.” He poured sincerity into his words. “Let’s talk outside where we can have privacy.”
“Who are you?” His crazed gaze darted about. “Why the gun?”
“FBI.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. Just warning people. But I’m afraid.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Jon said. “Are you packing?”
“I’m not the one these people need to be afraid of.”
“I get it. What’s your name?”
“Henry Kantore.”
“I’m Jon.” He pointed to the aisle on his left. “Walk with me to the front, and we’ll talk in Father Gabriel’s office. No one is going to hurt you.”
The young man wrapped his arms around his chest. “Okay.”
Jon escorted him to the front of the church and cuffed him. No resistance. He caught Everson’s attention and silently let him know the situation was handled. Jon and Henry exited the sanctuary and walked down the hall to Father Gabriel’s office. The man smelled of days-old sweat. Jon heard the service continue with Father Gabriel’s booming voice and organ music. He assumed people were allowed to file back into the pews.
Inside the office, Jon seated himself across from Henry and opened the conversation. “You said you’re afraid. What’s going on?”
“The Venenos are after me.”
“Why?”
Henry sniffled and stared at the floor. “I refused to kill someone. Can’t do it.”
“Who?”
