The Overseer (38 page)

She could feel their shared past. Their collective feeling of dirtiness and shame. Feelings of hopelessness and pain. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a heavy tear plummet across her face. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve had to go through.”

“Are you a new trainer?” a Hispanic girl in her twenties asked.

“Trainer?” Hannah asked.

“The pretty women,” an African American girl in her teens said. “They come and teach us what to say and do. They recruit new girls. Are you one of them?”

“No,” Hannah said, shaking, feeling another tear form. “I came here to help three girls.”

“Who?” one of them asked.

Hannah smiled, recognizing the face. “You, Kimberly,” she said with a choked smile, hot streams of tears tumbling from each eye.

“Me?” the girl said. Blonde hair and green eyes, a dirty face and dirty clothes. The hint of bruises on her face. Sixteen years old—a woman and a child all at the same time.

“Yes,” Hannah said, feeling her smile strain under the flood of tears, recognizing the faces of the other two girls. “And you, Tori, and you, Nikki.” She looked them all over. “I’m here to help you all.” Hannah considered her own captivity. “If I can.”

They all stared at her. Lost and scared.

She didn’t know what to say to them, and they certainly weren’t used to her yet. Hannah stood and walked to the other side of the room, sitting with her back against the wall. How had she gotten herself into this? How was she going to get them all back out?

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, trying to clear her mind.

“Hannah?” a young voice asked. She opened her eyes and looked up. The girl named Kimberly was standing over her. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, making room for Kimberly to sit next to her. The girl ignored the invitation and sat down in front of Hannah, two feet of space between them. Hannah tried to ignore the distance and smiled as best she could. “What do you want to talk about, Kimberly?”

The girl was reluctant for a moment, then spoke. “How did you know to look for us here? They said that no one would come looking for us.”

“They were wrong,” Hannah said firmly.

Kimberly looked at the basement door. “I hate this place,” she said.

“I know,” Hannah nodded. “This must be horrible for you.”

“It’s worse for a lot of the other girls,” Kimberly shrugged. “Olga was in an orphanage. They couldn’t keep her after she turned eighteen, so they set her up with a work program.”

“But it turned out to be this?”

Kimberly nodded. “One of the others has a husband and a son back in Russia. They gave her pictures of both of them and said they’d kill them if she caused any trouble.”

Hannah tried to think of something to say that would cheer Kimberly up, something that might remind her of something other than this hideous dungeon of a place. “I spoke to your mother,” she said with a smile, “and I knew I had to find you.”

Kimberly shook her head. “She must be so mad at me for sneaking out. I just wanted to get out and meet people.” She wiped a very wet tear from her face. “I can’t believe how stupid I was. My parents must be so angry.”

“No,” Hannah said, reaching for Kimberly. “Your mother is just very—”

The girl recoiled before Hannah could touch her.

Hannah paused, taking a moment to look into the girl’s intense eyes. “Kimberly,” she asked, “did they hurt you?”

“You want to know if they raped me?” Kimberly asked flatly, accepting the factuality of her situation.

Hannah lost her air as she watched the girl speak so casually about something so terrible. “Yes,” Hannah said with a nod.

“No,” Kimberly said, “they left Tori and Nikki and me alone. They said that we were going to be sent to another country— and that they would do it there.” Kimberly looked at a door at the other end of the basement. “But they take the other girls into that room. The new girls scream and cry, but the ones who have been here longer know there’s no point.” Kimberly was quiet for another moment. “It scares me to think about what it’s going to be like when it happens to me.”

“No,” Hannah said, looking Kimberly in the eye, “it’s not going to happen to you. I’m not going to let it happen to you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Devin watched as Crest took a piece of paper from the file in front of him. “I had a chance to pull this up before I brought you in here.” Crest looked over the sheet. “Have you by any chance been in the area of Ohio in the past few days?”

“It’s possible,” Devin replied, dodging the question.

“Well, it appears that a partial fingerprint was lifted from a Ka-Bar combat knife embedded in a man’s chest.”

“And?” Devin remained cool.

“That partial matches your fingerprint, which is on record from your days with the armed forces. The place where the body was found was covered in your fingerprints, despite the fact it appears someone tried to wipe them away.”

“I see,” Devin said acceptingly, trying not to say or do anything rash.

“And then there was a double homicide in the suburbs of Las Vegas last night. A known criminal by the name of Anthony Scarza and his associate George ‘Scud’ Pryor.”

Devin continued his nonchalance. “So?”

“Again,” Crest continued, “your fingerprints were found.”

“You said Scarza was a criminal,” Devin replied. “I’m certain there were other prints in the house. Prints of people with criminal records.”

Crest shrugged. “I can’t speak to that. But your fingerprints were there, as well as on a murder weapon in Ohio. That makes you a suspect in an investigation that could seriously damage your career.”

“Perhaps.”

“Speaking of your career,” Crest continued, eyeing another document. “It appears that your employer, Domani Financial— who curiously shares the same name as the forward-seeing order of the Firstborn to which you also belong—is being investigated by the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Internal Revenue Service.” Crest leaned back, pushing the file away from him. “So it looks like you’re going to need a new job, Mr. Bathurst,” he said coyly. “One that can make you friends. The kind that can make charges like murder and obstruction of justice”—he gave a dismissive gesture—“go away.”

John stood in the hall with Trista, watching her face in profile. They had stepped out of the meeting with Crest but had been told to stay in the hall and not go too far. Two security guards stood across the hall from them, giving them their space.

It had been a strange and emotional day so far. The kind that brought a person’s perspective and priorities into an unusually sharp focus. The kind of thing that made a person think about who they wanted to spend the rest of their life with…

“Trista?” John said. She looked at him with dazzling eyes.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Her cell phone rang. “Just a second,” she raised a finger, checking the caller ID. She frowned. “It’s Clay Goldstein.” She turned to John. “I should take this.”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said with an accepting smile, “you probably should.”

“I’ll just be a second,” she said, opening the phone. Trista said hello and turned away, delving into conversation with Clay Goldstein.

John stood alone for a moment, looking the other direction, and saw someone else.

“Angelo?” he said, confused.

He stood alone and still in the hall, ten feet from John. “Mr. Temple,” Angelo replied with a nod.

John approached Angelo, watching the security guard follow at a distance. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“She’s a remarkable woman,” Angelo said, glancing past John toward Trista.

John turned, watching her talk on the phone, and smiled. “Yeah. She really is.” John looked back. “I love her.”

“Sadly,” Angelo said, “she thinks she loves you too.”

“What?” John stammered. “Really? Why is that sad?”

“Because it’s her willingness to cross lines,” Angelo said, “her willingness to accept others who are not like her, including people like you. That’s what makes her dangerous. That’s why the Thresher wants her dead.”

“What are you saying?” John asked.

“I’m saying that you’re endangering her by letting her cross that line.”

John was incredulous. “What?”

Angelo nodded, continuing. “She turned down the man in Belize because she’s still in love with you. She came back to see if she still felt the same way.”

John stood there for a moment, letting it all sink in—the thought that she reciprocated feelings for him. “I’m willing to cross those lines too. Why doesn’t the Thresher want me?”

“Because you’re weak.”

“Weak?” John asked.

“Yes,” Angelo said with a nod. “You don’t even have the strength to walk away from her to protect her.”

“I’m going to get her hurt,” John said, remembering the way she had nearly died in the monorail station. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Angelo agreed, “and if you love her you’ll do everything in your power to put distance between yourself and her— because if you don’t, you’ll get her killed.”

John could feel his heart sink. Angelo believed what he was saying, and John couldn’t help but see it too. The crazy wanderer was right.

“But,” Angelo continued, “none of that is going to matter once the reckoning comes.”

“The what?”

“The end of the Firstborn,” Angelo said without hesitation.

“The end? Do you mean destruction?”

“Yes,” Angelo said, “and the deaths and suffering of countless others.”

“How do we stop it?” John asked, grabbing Angelo’s arm.

Angelo looked at the hand on his arm, scowling dangerously. “Would you listen to me if I gave you an answer?”

“Of course,” John insisted.

“Even though you refused to listen to me before?”

“How do I stop it?” John asked again, more intensely than his good sense told him to approach such an unstable person.

“It’s too late,” Angelo said, regretfully.

“Why?” John asked, grasping for some explanation that might make enough sense to refute. “Why is it too late?”

“Because of what is happening
right now
,” Angelo said morosely.

“What’s happening?” John demanded.

“Hannah Rice,” Angelo said.

John could suddenly feel it.

The dark basement. Near the Mexican border in Arizona. The feeling of futility and loss. The girls—so many girls. All of them trapped in a hellish existence.

Hannah was in trouble. Desperate trouble.

John turned from Angelo, rushing toward the room Crest had taken them into, shoving the door open. Devin and Crest were still sitting where they had been when the door flew open. They turned their attention to John.

“Devin,” John said, looking at his friend, “it’s Hannah. She’s in trouble. We have to help her, but she’s near the Mexican border.” John looked at his watch. “Which means that we have to leave
right now
.”

Devin stood, turning toward the door. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Crest,” Devin said courteously, walking toward John, “but this is something I have to deal with.”

“What if I could help?” Crest offered, standing.

Devin stopped less than a foot from John. “Help how?” Devin asked without looking back.

Crest took a piece of paper out of a folder. “In my hands I hold an offer from the OGA. Sign it as a show of good faith, and I’ll make sure you have transportation and backup that will get you to your friend in time. I’ll hold on to the contract. If you feel good about things after working with my people on this, I’ll file the paperwork. If not, then I’ll tear up the contract.”

Devin remained still, thinking for a moment, before looking at John.

John felt something terrible in his stomach—something about Crest, but there was no way to say it or articulate it for Devin.

“I made Hannah a promise,” Devin said, looking John in the eye, as if he could tell what John was thinking. Then Devin turned and moved toward the table, took a pen from his pocket, and signed the document.

“OK.” Crest nodded. “Follow me.” Crest moved past Devin and John, leading them down the hallway. “The Las Vegas airport is a five-minute drive from here,” Crest explained, moving briskly. “The plane will take you to Yuma, Arizona. They have an airport there. The flight will take only about fortyfive minutes. I’ll set up transportation with my Department of Defense contact out of Yuma army base.”