Galilee Episcopal Church, Virginia Beach, Virginia


Alvin was no artist, no assassin, no highly trained oriental spiritualist. He was not even a predatory insect, however buglike a social worker had once made him feel. He was simply an angry man with a job he felt he had to do.

As soon as Rottemeyer reached the podium, he—as had Smythe—took a single deep breath, let much of it out, and began to squeeze the trigger on his rifle. Not so highly trained as the professional was, Alvin's trigger moved more quickly.

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