The Overseer (42 page)
She shoved the passenger door open and climbed down onto the pavement, moving toward the back of the truck. The police car had stopped close, but the officer was too busy talking on his radio—probably getting some kind of backup. The other two cars were coming in fast behind the first, slowing to a stop behind it.
Misha opened the back door to the truck; the others who were in the back with the girls looked up.
“What happened?” one of them asked.
Misha didn’t answer, grabbing at the first girl she saw— Kimberly. The heavily sedated girl stumbled as Misha pulled her from the truck. “Up,” she ordered, dragging the girl toward the front of the truck where the crash had been.
Misha knew that if she was going to have to cross the Mexican border, she was going to need to bring something with her that would make some money. One of the girls would be enough. That would bring her enough money to make it back to the United States and continue business.
A helicopter was touching down; nearby, men were getting out. Misha ignored it. She looked down from the helicopter and saw the crushed passenger side of the silver sedan, the girl named Hannah stumbling out.
“Stop!” Hannah shouted.
Misha didn’t stop. Border patrol guards came rushing from their stations toward the wreck, ignoring Misha and the girl. Only a little further and she would cross out of United States jurisdiction.
“Stop!” Hannah shouted again, stepping in front of Misha.
“Out of my way,” Misha ordered.
“Stop her!” Hannah shouted, pointing, trying to block the way. Misha panicked, seeing all the faces suddenly turning toward her—and she lifted the handgun and pointed it at Hannah.
“Put it down!” someone shouted from behind.
Misha turned fast and looked.
Two men—one black, one white—wearing bulletproof vests and holding guns.
She shot at them, and they opened fire.
The barrel of a handgun flashed at the level of her eyes just before her sight was smashed into darkness.
T
HE
Y
UMA AIRPORT
was all but empty. Hannah stood in the concourse with Kimberly, waiting quietly. She had rescued Kimberly and the other girls the day before. And today, as the sun was setting, she was sending the last of the girls on her way.
“You still haven’t told me how you found me,” Kimberly said, looking up at Hannah.
“Well,” Hannah said, “would you believe me if I told you that God called me to find you?”
Kimberly watched Hannah for several seconds. “I guess that’s the only thing that makes sense.” She was quiet for a moment. “Like the one sheep out of a hundred.”
“That’s right,” Hannah agreed. “The shepherd left the ninetynine to find the one.” Hannah turned back toward the windows showing the runway, a jet slowing to a stop and taxiing toward them. “That must be it,” Hannah said, looking down at Kimberly. “Are you ready?”
The girl looked hesitant. “I’m sort of scared. Does that make sense?”
Hannah watched the people exit the plane, walking toward the airport doors. She spotted the person she was looking for. “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I can see how you would be scared. But I don’t think you have to be.”
“Kimberly!” a woman shouted from the door.
The girl’s mother and father rushed toward them. Kimberly left Hannah’s side and ran to her parents.
Her parents held her as she cried.
Maybe not like the lost sheep, Hannah thought. Maybe more like the prodigal son, who squandered his inheritance on wild living, only to be welcomed back by his father with love and acceptance. Like the bride of Christ—freedom lost and bought again.
Maybe that was an overstatement, but Hannah didn’t care. All she knew was that Kimberly was in her parents’ arms. And she was free.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do now?” John Temple asked, coming up alongside her.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said, brushing a tear away. “Maybe I’ll go back to school. Make another attempt at having a normal life.” She turned to John. “And you?”
“I’m going to find Angelo,” he said, leading her toward the airport door. “He seems to know a lot about this ‘reckoning’ that’s coming. He seemed to know how to stop it.”
“Where is he?” She followed John into the setting sunlight.
“I don’t know.” John shook his head. “I think he’s still in the Nevada desert somewhere.” He smirked. “Now that I’m here, I think I’ll take some time to reconnect with God and fight the devil in the wilderness, like ancient monks used to do.”
Hannah nodded. “You’ll have to let me know how that goes.” She stopped for a moment. “What about Trista?”
John looked away. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”
“And you and Trista aren’t meant to be?”
John shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out in due time.”
They walked across the parking lot to where Devin Bathurst stood.
“So, what’s your decision?” John asked Devin. “Are you going to accept the offer from the OGA?”
Devin nodded. “I’ve signed the papers.”
“What’s this?” Hannah asked. “What’s the OGA?”
Devin filled her in, and she nodded. “It’s strange. Clay Goldstein talked about power—said how some people find it in religion, some in politics, some in business. Looks like that’s what’s happening here.”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“Well, it’s just that the Firstborn are restructuring into a business.” She turned to John. “You’re embracing your religious duty in the wilderness.” She turned to Devin. “And you’re going to work for the government.” She thought for a moment. “I guess everything is changing.”
“I guess everything is,” John agreed.
Devin was quiet for a moment, then spoke. “Well, then I guess there’s just one thing left to do.”
Angelo walked along the desert highway, watching the sun set, trying to thumb a ride.
He could feel them—John, Devin, and Hannah—together. Praying together. The three of them kneeling in the Arizona desert. But their reason wasn’t money, power, or the demand for a religious experience.
Angelo felt something change—something about the coming reckoning.
There was something about these three—coming together in humility for no reason other than love and mutual respect.
He smiled.
He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—about the past, the present, and the future. About life. About the world. There was a word for it. Something distant and special.
Then he remembered the word.
Hope
.
The word was
hope
—and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was filled with it.
G
ENERAL
Jamin Walters –
For doing so much to help promote these books
Scotty Gallagher –
Thematic development
Ryan Olsen –
Technical Advisor
Mark Fauth –
Technical Advisor
Scott Miller –
Fire-Sciences and EMT Advisor
Lee Vary –
Breaking writer’s block
Russel Garret –
Various and profound contributions
JL –
For introducing me to the pressing issue of human trafficking
P
ROOFREADERS
Very special thanks to those who took the time
to look over this book and give feedback:
Scott Coffey
Kirstin Roberts
Wil Davis
Shannon Davis
Cathleen Walters
E
DITORIAL
Lori Vanden Bosch –
Amazing Content Editor
Dinah Wallace –
Phenomenal Line Editor
Bob Liparulo –
Friend and support
Jeff Gerke –
Friend and mentor
Debbie Marrie –
The person who makes everything happen
Chip MacGregor –
Marketing Advisor
James L. Rubart –
Marketing Teacher
Frank Redman –
Because we writers all
desperately need honest feedback
Eric Wilson –
A scholar and a gentleman. A writer’s writer.
Thank you.
Sue Allen –
For giving the fine talent you brought to
the Left Behind series to a small book like this.
And the countless others who made this book possible.