The Overseer (7 page)

John stepped off the elevator onto his floor, cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Hello?” the other end answered.

John moved down the hall. “Vince, it’s John. We need to talk.”

“What happened with Hannah Rice?”

John shifted the phone as he approached the door to his office, reading the plaque:
John Temple: Overseer
. He hated the sign. It seemed pretentious, but it seemed like the only way he could remember which office door was his. “Hannah was in a house fire.”

“A house fire?”

“She was tracking some girls who are going to be trafficked. Something went wrong. One of the people she was following spotted her or something.”

John opened the door to his office and stared.

Devin Bathurst—striking dark skin in a crisp suit—turned from his place at the window and looked at John.

Vince continued on the other end of the line. “Is she OK?”

“She’s fine. Some guy named Angelo—” He paused. “Hey,” John interrupted himself, eyes focused on Devin, “it looks like Devin needs to talk to me. Can I call you back later?”

“If you need to, John,” Vince said firmly. “But keep me updated on Hannah.”

John nodded. “I understand.” He said good-bye and closed his phone.

“You didn’t need to get off the phone for me,” Devin said in his typical commanding tone, eyes unblinking as ever.

John waved a dismissing hand as he moved to the other side of his desk and took a seat. “Boring conversation anyway. So, how did things go with the suicide?”

Devin took a seat across from John. He cleared his throat before speaking with very deliberate words. “I dealt with it.”

Concern tugged John to inquire, “What do you mean by you ‘dealt with it’?”

“The man didn’t complete his suicide attempt, and he’s now at an institution where he can recover and rehabilitate.”

John nodded. “So, how did you talk him down?”

“I told him that I was there to help and that life was worth living.”

“And?” John motioned for Devin to continue.

“He denied it at first until I told him I knew about the gun and that he planned to take his own life right there in Central Park.”

“And he just
gave
you the gun?” John asked.

“No. He said that his wife had left him after he lost everything in the crash. He said that he just couldn’t take the loneliness anymore and that he was helping the world as a whole. The man told me that he’d come to that place three other times before but had never had the courage to do it until that day.”

“Wow,” John said with genuine interest. “What did you say to him?”

Devin coughed awkwardly into his fist. “I told him that he was trolling for sympathy and that if he really wanted to die that he would have done it already.”

“
What?
” John exclaimed.

“I told him to suck it up. That loneliness was part of life. That we’re all born alone and that we all die alone and that he’d better get used to it.”

“Devin,” John stammered in disbelief. “That’s exactly the
wrong
way to talk to someone threatening suicide!”

“He was trolling for sympathy,” Devin repeated. “He’d meant to do it three times before. Three times. He wasn’t serious about doing it.”

“You can’t say that,” John groaned, rubbing his palm into his forehead. “Just because a person makes a series of
false
suicide threats doesn’t mean that
this time
they aren’t serious. A person only has to mean it once—and the vision said that this time was going to be it!”

“Whose vision was it anyway?” Devin grumbled.

“Gina Holst.”

“From accounting?” Devin shook his head. “I told you not to send me on this one.”

“It was important,” John argued, still trying to come to terms with what he was hearing. “I needed someone who I knew I could trust to get it done.”

“And I dealt with it,” Devin retorted calmly.

“But…” John scanned his desktop with big eyes, trying to think of what to say. “How? How did you talk that guy down after
that
?”

“I took the gun.”

“Took it?” John asked, eyebrow raised. “How?”

“He went to use the firearm on himself, so I delivered a swift jab to his face and stripped the firearm, like I would with anyone making threatening motions with a firearm.”

“You punched the man in the face?” John choked.

“Then,” Devin continued, “I took him to a reputable institution where he can get the help he needs from people who have better…
people skills
. I’ll be paying his expenses personally.”

John closed his eyes, still recovering from the shock. “At least he’s safe now.” John sighed. “First it’s Hannah, then you—”

Devin snapped to attention. “What about Hannah?”

“I just visited her in the hospital. She was caught in a house fire while on a mission.”

Devin’s eyes glared into his. “Was she hurt?”

“Yes—I mean, no. Not badly anyway,” he stammered. “She’s already been discharged.”

“Did you send her on that mission alone?”

“No! You know I don’t like her operating on her own. She just felt…called. It involved a kidnapping—of young girls. You can guess that would get her attention.”

Devin processed the information. Literal input, literal output. “She’s overcompensating. The trauma of her own kidnapping is causing her to project onto these girls. Perhaps it’s an attempt to cope, but she’s not being wise.”

John nodded, glad they were on the same page on this one. “I told her she could continue work on it—but not alone. She needs backup. I know I’ve had you working on other people’s stuff that I shouldn’t, but is there any chance I could get you to help her?”

Something passed through his eyes—a flicker—but before John could identify the emotion, it was gone. “I’ll do it.”

“Another thing.” John looked away. “This is weird, but Hannah was rescued by someone named Angelo. Claims to be a Firstborn, but get this—he can see past, present,
and
future. And he made a warning about Thresher.”

Devin waved away the concern. “The Thresher is an intellectual bogeyman. There have been a lot of false scares over the years.”

“You don’t view it as a threat?”

Devin stared him down. “We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Our real focus should be on achieving what God put us here to do. Now, let me show you what I’ve got. It may even have a connection to Hannah’s mission.”

Devin reached for his briefcase. He snapped it open on his lap and lifted a few items before tossing a newspaper on the desk between them.

“Senator Foster to Visit Nevada to Investigate Sex Trafficking,” John read from the page, looking at the picture of an African American politician—American flag pinned to his lapel. “So?”

Devin set down his briefcase and sat up straight. “He’s going to be assassinated in Las Vegas. I think it’s going to be racially motivated.”

“Really?” John shook his head. “That stuff still happens?”

“We have an African American president now,” Devin stated. “The illusion that America is a purely white nation is evaporating. Some people don’t like that—and the death knell is going to be loud.”

John looked at the picture again, studying the image. “I don’t buy it. It sounds like something from the fifties or sixties. Not today.” John shook his head, still having trouble with the idea. “And why Foster? There are other African American politicians—including the president himself.”

“He made some very unflattering comments about the white supremacy movement,” Devin said, brushing something from the sleeve of his perfectly pressed tan sport coat. “He’s even made allusions to the idea that the FBI should declare war on those groups again like Hoover did decades ago.”

John shook his head. “They’d really kill him over that?”

Devin shrugged. “I don’t know the details. You know how vague our visions can be.”

John held the paper in his hands for several seconds, looking it over, feeling the thin pages on his fingers. He looked up at Devin—the difference in their skin tones suddenly painfully apparent—a fact that John worked very hard not to acknowledge and even harder still not to think about.

“I need funding,” Devin said in his usual businesslike manner, handing John a piece of paper. “This is a cost breakdown. I need the money to get people and equipment to Nevada, a place to keep them, and funds to support them at the time. We need to stake out the area and be prepared to stop the assassination before it begins.”

John looked at Devin’s skin, moving to the eyes that were housed in it. He couldn’t say no. Not to this. Could he? He picked up the sheet of paper, the numbers blurring on the page as they washed together.

“Look,” John started, “there’s something I should probably tell you.”

“Yes?” Devin said without blinking.

“Well,” John replied, hesitant. “It looks like we
may
have drawn the attention of the SEC.”

Devin’s ire was somehow crystal clear, despite his placid features. “What?”

“And the IRS.”

“The IRS? You’re joking.”

“No,” John chuckled nervously. “I really wish I were. It looks like they may even freeze our assets.”

“On what grounds?”

“We’ve been accused of insider trading,” John offered as calmly as he could.

Devin didn’t flinch. “You dumped that stock, didn’t you?”

John nodded.

“I told you it only takes once.”

“Three times actually.” John shrugged, trying to make light of it.

“Three times?” Devin shook his head. “I told you not to take me off of financial duty. But instead you’ve had me running all over the continental United States for the last year chasing visions had by people in HR and accounting.”

“I’m doing the best I know how.” John felt himself get defensive. “I still think you should have kept the Overseer job when they gave it to you instead of handing it over to me. Just the other day I had one of the Domani Financial staff tell me that God appointed you as Overseer, and you were therefore unable to step down, making
you
the rightful Overseer.”

“I’m the wrong man,” Devin insisted.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the job of a leader is to get people to do things, and there are only two ways to make that happen—you can either make people want to do things, or you make them afraid not to. And I’m not above using fear to push people.”

John heaved a sigh. “But at least you’d be pushing people in the right direction.”

“No,” Devin retorted. “Bullying people into doing good is just as despicable as charming people into doing evil.” Devin stood, picking up his briefcase. “This is your job, whether you like it or not.”

John followed him out the door.

“The Firstborn are going to need a strong and worthwhile leader through this,” Devin said. “Listen to counsel, but lead with your conscience.” Then he turned and walked away.

John nodded. “I’ll keep that in—”

She was standing in the hall, typing something into her cellular telephone. Blonde hair. Business attire—black and red. Her features—every one of them—sculpted and beautiful. Her eyes lifted, as if she could sense that she was being looked at.

“John,” she said with enigmatic shock.

The syllables fell out of John’s mouth without heed: “Trista.”

Devin nodded at her. “Miss Brightling.”

Trista’s eyes snapped away from John. “Devin, just who I was looking for. I was told to see you to get up to speed on the financial situation.” Her eyes darted back to John for a split second as she approached Devin.

“Yes,” Devin said, “I can have you up to speed in very little time. I’m headed back to the office; I can brief you on the way.”

“Excellent,” she replied with a nod.

“Trista,” John said again, just trying to get her attention in some way now. She looked at him, face neutral. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she said, eyes only making contact with John’s for a moment, then looking away.

“Last I heard you were in Belize.”

She nodded, looking at him again. “It was good.”

Devin cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the lobby.”

Trista smiled, nodding at Devin. “I’ll be right with you.”

Devin turned away, walked down the hall, and disappeared around the corner.

“So,” John asked, feeling a bit unsteady, “how was it?”

“What?” she asked, expression stoic.

“Belize.”

“Oh,” she replied, snapping back to the conversation. “It was…” She paused for a moment, thinking. “It was good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, nodding, as if the movement would shake the feeling of awkwardness from him.

The hall was quiet for a moment as they simply looked each other over.

“So,” John began again, heart rate a little quicker than before, “any chance we could catch up?”

“Sure.” Her eyes searched his face. “It has been…awhile.”

“A year,” John agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked to the sides, realizing they were alone in the hall. “So, are you free tonight?”

“Uh,” she said with a lilting smile, “I think so.”

“Dinner?”

“Sure, I guess we could do dinner.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll give you a call. Does that sound good?”

“Do you have the number for my new phone?”

“No, I…”

“I’ll call you,” she said, walking the same way Devin had gone, looking back.

“Does eight work?” John called after.

“That should be fine,” she nodded, waved, then turned and walked away.

John watched her disappear around the corner. Trista was back. And his world had turned upside down.