THE SENTINEL 

By Tessa Harvey

    D.S. Alistair Sutherland was not happy. He did not believe in all this religious stuff and he certainly did not believe that we all worship the same god. He had taken the trouble to really look into some religions and found that the god of those who believe in radical Islam is quite definitely not the same one the Christians hold dear. Perhaps if people could unite more in the Christian sphere it would help, he thought., but then people are divisive.
    Even different areas and regions in the same country are at odds with each other.
    But these are his own personal thoughts and what is really bothering him is the bloke they call the sentinel, John Dixon.
    Yes, he is highly trained, highly successful and very well qualified. But he is just one person. The word keeps coming into his mind "Shield." His grandad had been some kind of minister or preacher or vicar. Alistair had been very young when the old man died.
    But one thing he had told his grandson keeps coming back: "God is real, Alistair, laddie." He had spoken in a broad Scottish brogue, but the boy had understood. "God is real," he had reiterated, "and He speaks to us if we listen."
    Well, if evil existed, there must be good - he had seen that. Real, unselfish love for others - and maybe God.
    So the word "shield" must mean their man on the plateau needed help. D.I. Sutherland felt strongly he was needed. Intuition had brought him great success, as well as sheer hard work and guts.
    He dressed warmly but casually and took off quickly in his non-0descript vehicle, somewhat dented and dusty, but extremely well-maintained.
    And hidden deep inside an easily accessible pocket, the small gun he was licensed to carry. It was only to be used in a desperate emergency, but Alistair wondered if there could be any more desperate situation. He even prayed for the boy's sister, Sylvia to recover.
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