The Overseer

by Conlan Brown

  “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.”

  They were halfway down the hall when John heard someone call his name. He turned back and saw Trista standing there, approaching fast. “John, wait!”

  “Trista,” he said with a bittersweet smile, remembering what Angelo had said to him just minutes before.

  “I just got off the phone with Clay Goldstein,” she said with the hint of a smile. “He’s officially the new Overseer, and he’s restructuring the business aspect.”

  “OK,” John said with a nod. “He’ll certainly do a better job of that than I did.”

  “He’s offered me a job,” she said, waiting for John’s reaction.

  “Good,” he said with a nod. “You should take it.”

  She looked down for a moment then back to John. “What do you plan on doing?”

  “Right now?” he said. “We’re going to help Hannah—but then I’m setting out to figure out how to stop this reckoning that Angelo is talking about.”

  She nodded, listening intently. “Do you need help with—”

  “No,” John said, cutting her off, stepping close. “You have to get as far away from me as you can,” he ordered. “Every moment you’re near me you’re in danger.”

  She blinked. Confused. Shocked. Angry. All of it coming at her faster than she seemed to be able to process it.

  “Mr. Temple,” Crest said from the end of the hall, waiting with Devin, “are you coming?”

  John nodded, then looked back at Trista. “You have to promise me you’ll be safe—and that you’ll stay as far away from me as you can!”

  He turned to walk away, and she grabbed his hand. “John!”

  He turned back. “Yes?”

  Trista threw her arms around him. “I love you, John.”

  “I love you too, Trista,” he whispered. “And that’s why I have to go.”

  Then he pulled away from her, looked at her for what might be the last time, and followed after Devin and Crest.

  Less than fifteen minutes later they were in the air.

  Chapter 22

  MISHA SAT IN the sanctuary pew of the decrepit church. Her nephew, Dominik, sat next to her. She looked at the disgusting dragon he had tattooed on his arm. It didn’t mean anything, as far as she knew. It wasn’t the kind of blurry powder blue that his other tattoos were. But those were things he’d gotten in prison in Russia. Melted shoe rubber and urine were used to make those, like the one he had on his chest that represented the crime family he’d worked with, or the one on his back—a church with five steeples, one for each year he’d spent in prison. No, the dragon was an American tattoo, with vibrant color and sharp detail. It didn’t have any of the meaning that Russian prison tattoos were supposed to have—it was simply a depiction of his carnivorous soul.

  “She was in New Jersey,” Dominik said, shaking his head. “And then I saw her again at one of the storehouses we have in Ohio. It’s like she’s following me.”

  “Is she police?” Misha asked.

  “Don’t think so,” Dominik postulated. “Seems too young.”

  Misha nodded, thinking it over. “What should we do with her?”

  He shrugged. “We could kill her.”

  “Ourselves?”

  “If we have to,” Dominik said. “Or we just keep her here and sell her with the rest of the girls. Make some money.”

  “Will she be a problem?” Misha asked. “She doesn’t seem scared. It might make her hard to control.”

  Dominik was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking. “I think I can break her will.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  He shrugged. “Then we kill her. But there’s no point in doing that if we can make some money off of her. The worst that happens is I waste some time with her.”

  Misha thought for a moment. Dominik did have a point. “She is pretty,” Misha agreed. “Not as beautiful as Ukraine girls, but still very pretty.” She looked at her watch. “We need to take the girls across the border to hand them over to the buyers. Could you stay here and watch things while we’re gone?”

  “Sure,” Dominik said. “That could give me some time with the trespasser. I’ll have her broken in no time.”

  Hannah sat silently on the floor, Kimberly two feet to the side. They hadn’t spoken for what seemed like an hour, sitting silently in the dungeonlike basement.

  The floorboards overhead creaked. Someone was walking toward the back of the church. A door opened. Footsteps on the stairs. They were coming down into the basement.

  Hannah turned to Kimberly, eyes wide. Trying to think of something to say or do. She stood, pulling Kimberly to her feet, standing in front of her.

  The door opened. Misha and Dominik looked over the room to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

  Misha spoke. “Kimberly, Tori, Nikki”—she motioned for them to come—“it’s time to leave.”

  Hannah looked over at where the others were huddled, wondering if the girls would obey. A moment
, then the girl named Tori stood, followed by Nikki.

  “Wait,” Hannah said to the girls, motioning for them to sit again. “Don’t get up. Don’t do what they say.”

  Misha looked past Hannah. “Now!” she demanded. “Or Dominik will beat you. Understand?”

  Tori turned her attention to Hannah, watched her face for a moment, then walked the rest of the way across the basement to where Misha stood. Nikki followed.

  “Put out your arm,” Misha instructed, and Tori obeyed, receiving a quick injection in the arm. “Now you, Nikki.” She also obeyed. “Good,” Misha said with a maternal tone, running her hand across the top of Nikki’s head. “This will make you sleep during the drive. OK? Now go upstairs and Zoia will take you to the truck before you fall asleep.”

  The girls obeyed, going quietly up the stairs.

  Misha looked at Hannah. “Now you, Kimberly.”

  Hannah adjusted her stance, placing herself more directly between Misha and Kimberly. “No,” she declared, “you can’t have her.”

  Misha looked back at Dominik, motioning him toward Hannah.

  He stepped forward and grabbed Hannah, pulling her away.

  Hannah fought. Tried to struggle, but her hand slipped and she felt Kimberly pulled from her as she screamed, watching the girl receive her injection. Dominik grabbed her tightly from behind.

  “Her too!” Dominik ordered.

  Misha looked down at the syringe. “I don’t know if there is enough to completely—”

  “Do it!” Dominik growled, trying not to lose control of the squirming Hannah.

  Misha approached, grabbing a section of exposed arm. There was a pinch. Then a burning under her skin.

  Dominik threw Hannah down, and she hit one of the mattresses.

  “I’ll wait until the stuff starts to kick in,” Dominik said to Misha, motioning her toward the stairs. “You take them to the van and get going. Tell me how it goes when you get back.”

  Misha nodded, leading Kimberly toward the stairs. Dominik followed.

  Then the basement door shut.

  Hannah stood, rushing toward the door, grabbing at the knob. The locked door wouldn’t open. The knob wouldn’t turn. She was trapped.

  The world shifted a fraction of a degree. The drugs were already kicking in. She remembered what Misha said about there not being enough. Maybe it wouldn’t affect her at all. Maybe she would be just fine and nothing would—

  Her knees buckled, feeling disconnected from her body. Everything seemed to slip three feet away. Hannah dropped to her knees on the mattress, looking at the others. “We’re going to have to get out of here,” she said, gray filling her peripheral vision.

  “We can’t,” a woman with a Russian accent said. “If we ever tried to run away, they would beat us and—”

  “Listen to me!” Hannah stammered, feeling herself weaken. “You can’t be afraid. You have to keep fighting…”

  Her arms felt like they were made of rubber, giving way under the weight of whatever drug it was that they had pumped into her.

  The basement door opened somewhere behind her. A footstep, heavy and resolute. Steps coming toward her, one after another—slow and deliberate, each step echoing like thunder.

  A meaty hand touched her shoulder, rolling her over onto her back.

  Dominik stared down at her.

  His scowling face. Dark eyes.

  He pulled her to her feet, dragging her toward the door at the other end of the room. The room that Kimberly had pointed to. The room of screaming and suffering. Dominik let go of Hannah and she dropped to her knees. He opened the door, stepping into the darkness. He hit a switch. Fluorescent lights flickered on, clicking as they warmed up. He walked to the center of the room and the filthy bed there.

  Hannah didn’t wait. She pushed herself up, stumbling toward the stairs. One step in front of another, a foot catching every few steps. The light at the top of the stairs. A burst of speed, ramming across the threshold with a total lack of grace, turning the corner toward the church door, opening it. Sunlight flared in her eyes, and the world went awash in white. A moment to adjust, then she saw it—the truck, like the one in Illinois, three quarters of a mile away.

  They were getting away, and she had to—

  Someone grabbed her from behind, throwing her back into the church sanctuary. She hit the floor and looked up at Dominik, who lumbered toward her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked angrily.

  Hannah scooted away from him, pushing far and as fast away as she could. Without effort he caught up with her in seconds, picking her up and throwing her onto a pew.

  “Now,” he said, getting close, putting his weight into her, breath foul, “I’m going to break you.”

  Dominik grabbed her wrists and pinned them back, moving in close. Inches away, he licked her face—

  Somewhere through the drugs she could feel herself react.

  Hannah moved fast, biting his neck. Her teeth clamped down on the soft flesh, and Dominik howled. He tried to pull away, and she bit harder, feeling the skin break.

  Neck bleeding, Dominik gave her a rough shove back and pulled away. He moved to strike, and she pulled up her arms, taking the blow. He shouted in furious anger and tried again.

  Hannah shoved back, ramming her knee between his legs. He froze for a second to steady himself.

  It was her chance.

  Hannah pulled her legs free and delivered her most vicious kick, smashing her heel into Dominik’s face.

  He flew backward, face and neck bleeding, and toppled from the pew into the aisle.

  Hannah leapt up, pumping to the next pew back, running toward the aisle—rushing for the door.

  Dominik recovered too fast, chasing after her. Footfalls reverberated through the floor. He grabbed her by the hair and shoulder and swung her into the back of a decrepit pew. The seat plunged forward, knocking over the next two in the row. Dust flew into the aisle in a thin cloud.

  She stood, steadying herself. The world was still undulating. A moment of shifting.

  Dominik grabbed her. Hannah didn’t wait—she threw an elbow into his face as hard as humanly possible. He swung blindly, and Hannah pulled away, moving toward the front of the sanctuary.

  Hannah looked for a weapon, something she could use to hit him with.

  Dominik opened his eyes. Looked at Hannah with fury, and charged. She tried to get out of the way in time, but he tackled her, their bodies slamming into the pulpit, knocking it down. The old wood broke. Hannah stood, trying to get away, but he grabbed her and threw her toward a railing that separated the choir from the congregation.

  She hit the wood, and it collapsed, sending bits of railing smashing free.

  Dominik stood for a moment, hand on his forehead, steadying himself as he groaned in pain.

  Hannah looked at the smashed wood all around her and saw a wooden post from the railing. She grabbed the post like a club and stood, swinging.

  The blow hit Dominik on the side of the head with a sound like a croquet ball being hit with a mallet. He took the second blow with his forearm, blocked the swing, and grabbed at Hannah, throwing her toward the wall.

  Her shoulder hit a stained-glass window, half covered in cardboard duct-taped in place. The remaining glass broke and tumbled to the floor.

  Dominik came in fast, punching her in the stomach. Hannah gasped for air, and he threw her down. He shoved her to her back, her shoulder blades hitting the floor. Lifting his knee, pushing it into her chest, he pinned her down with all his weight.

  Hannah tried to fight free, tried to break loose from someone so much bigger.

  She could feel his past.

  He reached for his belt.

  All the girls.

  She wished she had a gun. A way to defend herself.

  The faces and the screaming.

  The belt came loose, and he threw it aside.

  All the money.

  Something sharp prodded at the back of Hann
ah’s knee—a chunk of the stained glass.

  The feeling of power.

  Dominik leaned in, nearly purring. Face close.

  Hannah reached down, grabbing the piece of glass.

  Dominik saw that she was doing something and reached for her arms. Hannah fought with all her strength, breaking free. He reached for her arm—

  She acted without thinking. It was the self-defense training that had taught Hannah to strike for someplace soft. The shard of heavy glass slammed into Dominik’s throat, and his eyes went wide.

  He pulled away as fast as he could, scrabbling for the shard. His eyes bulged in shock, fixated on her. Blood bubbled around the protruding shard. He foamed red at the mouth as he coughed splatters of crimson that gurgled from his lips. Dominik’s body convulsed and shook, slamming himself against the wall as he choked and gagged. Pained sounds came from his blood-filled mouth as he groped at the makeshift blade. He winced, pulling slowly at the jagged shard. The blue glass turned red in a matter of seconds. Dominik squealed like a pig as he tugged the glass free—slowly, slowly, slowly. The shard came loose with a ghastly slurping sound.

  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.