The Overseer (40 page)

But it was too late for him. The dragon was slain.

A woman named Olga sat in the basement of the church, listening to the sounds of struggle and screaming upstairs.

Then it suddenly stopped.

She held her breath. Footsteps moved toward the basement door, the way they always did. Steps moving downward, announcing someone’s arrival.

Dominik?

No, the steps were too soft. It was someone else.

The door opened, and the girl named Hannah stood there, covered in blood. Olga panicked—had the girl been stabbed or beaten until she bled? No. It was someone else’s blood.

Hannah stood in the threshold for a moment, silent, as if she didn’t know what to say or do. Olga, along with the others in the basement, stared back.

Hannah motioned for them to follow. “Come on,” she said, beckoning them to come to the door.

Olga froze. She knew the punishment for trying to escape. She knew the cost of trying to get away, and this wasn’t worth it.

“Come on,” Hannah said again.

Olga remained still. There was no such thing as freedom. She wondered these days if there was even an outside world anymore.

The girl named Hannah approached. “Follow me,” she said sweetly, looking right at Olga. “I’ll show you the way.”

Olga hesitated. Hannah’s hand reached toward her. “You’re free,” she said with a smile. Olga waited, trying to see if it was some kind of a trick or a cruel joke, wondering if freedom was really such a good thing.

“You’re free,” Hannah said again.

For a split second Olga let herself believe it might actually be true. She took Hannah’s hand, and the girl helped her to her feet.

“Come on,” Hannah said, turning to the others, beckoning them to join her, moving toward the stairs.

Olga followed, walking up the stairs behind Hannah, waiting for the moment when she would wake up. When she would know it had all been a dream. When Dominik would arrive and stop them and beat them…and worse.

None of those moments came.

Olga arrived at the top of the steps and turned toward the sanctuary. The place was a disaster.

Somewhere behind her someone opened the church doors. Turning around she could see the others, moving out of the doors.

Olga took a step forward. Then another. Could it be true? Was it really happening?

As she stepped out into the sunlight, she saw the others standing around her, all looking up at the sky and out into the landscape.

No walls. No bars. No chains.

They were free.

Misha sat in the passenger’s seat as they drove the truck along the hot Arizona highway. She hated the heat, and no matter how much she turned up the air conditioning, she couldn’t seem to cool off. She had lived in Eastern Europe for four decades before the fall of communism and the rise of the criminals that now ruled her old world. It was cold in those parts of the world, and she doubted she would ever get used to the heat here. Misha fanned herself and looked out the windshield at a road sign.

They were less than ten minutes from the Mexican border. Then they’d sell these brats and she’d go home where it was cool. Just a little longer, she told herself.

Where are you going?” one of the women asked as Hannah moved toward the car. They stood outside of the old wooden church, sun beating down.

“I have to get the others,” she replied, opening the car door.

“Are you coming back?” another asked.

“Yes,” she said in earnest, “but I have to go.”

Finding the keys in the ignition, Hannah started her car and turned it toward the road. Slowly she drove past the freed captives before she hit the gas.

“This way!” Crest motioned, and Devin followed.

They exited the plane at the Yuma airport, getting out on the landing strip. A set of Black Hawk helicopters was fifty yards away, rotors chugging.

“These choppers are from the Yuma military base,” Crest shouted over the sounds of jet engines and helicopter blades. “The pilots and choppers are property of the United States Army. They are not allowed to cross the U.S. and Mexico border, and the military personnel are not allowed to engage in hostilities on domestic soil without a presidential order—which I wasn’t able to get at such short notice.”

“Meaning?” John asked, coming alongside.

“Meaning that they can get you where you need to go, but once you’re there it’s up to you. They can’t back you up. Which means you’re on your own if things go bad.”

“Understood,” Devin said, keeping pace.

“I had them put Kevlar vests and firearms on the choppers for you.” Crest stopped and turned to John. “Do you know where they are?”

John nodded. “I think so.”

Devin raised an eyebrow, not sure he liked the uncertainty.

“OK,” Crest said with a nod, reaching out to shake their hands. “Good luck.”

The car screamed down the desert highway.

Hannah rubbed her eyes. There hadn’t been enough drugs in her system to knock her out, or even really disable her for long, but she could still feel the effects. Her judgment was impaired, and her depth perception wasn’t good. She didn’t care. If the police caught her, they could have her license for all she cared.

But she wasn’t stopping now.

She was already too far behind. Too far away. She had to catch up.

She wasn’t going to lose these girls. Not now. Not after traveling across the entire continent to find them. Not after all the pain and anguish that came from it all. Not after all those people had died.

Hannah saw a sign for the highway and the border crossing. That was the way they had gone. She could feel it. She knew it in the pit of her twisting stomach. This was the way to go.

She pulled the car onto the highway and shifted gears, pressing down on the gas. They were driving a truck. A slow one. And they were hauling illegal cargo. Unlike Hannah they cared if they were pulled over and caught.

She laid into the accelerator, watching the needle climb and the world outside blur. The engine howled violently. The world. The moment. The pursuit—fractured into a rapid fire of chaotic colors:

Golden sun—crisscrossing the ground.

Brown dust—hanging in the air.

Black asphalt—blurring beneath her.

Red needle—climbing up the speedometer.

Like flying. Weightless. Every distant object flashing into immediacy.

The vehicle moved faster and faster, breaking eighty miles per hour. Then ninety. The needle crossed the one hundred line.

There was no stopping now.

“Sorry about the delay,” Crest said into his cell phone, standing on the desert landing strip—one of his superiors from the OGA on the other end. “Bathurst has been with me since he signed the papers.”

“Good,” his superior replied. “I’m glad you were able to convince him. He’ll be a valuable asset to the Firstborn program.”

“Agreed,” Crest said with a smile.

“Do you think he suspects that we were the ones who provided the white supremacy group with the weapons and intelligence for the assassination?”

Crest looked around to see if anyone might be watching or listening. The landing strip in the Arizona sands was deserted. “Judging from his demeanor? I doubt it highly. But that’s the problem with working with these so-called Firstborn. We’ve always got the tiger by the tail when we do something like this.”

“We’ll still need to take care of the senator if we want to protect our work.”

“Agreed,” Crest said with a nod. “We’ll have to think of something. But we knew that was a possibility when Professor Mancuso told us about the likelihood of Firstborn involvement.”

“Yes, he did. And I would say that gaining Bathurst as an asset is still far more valuable.”

“True,” Crest concurred. “Which brings me to the next item of business.”

“Yes?”

“It turns out the stories were true. There is an organized Firstborn movement.”

“That is interesting.”

“It gets better,” Crest continued. “Their central office in Manhattan is being audited and investigated by the IRS and SEC. It’s exactly the kind of leverage we need.” Crest smiled to himself. “It’s Christmas for us.”