The Overseer by Conlan Brown Page A

and he reached into his jacket to retrieve it. “This is Bathurst.”
    “It’s a trap,” the voice announced in a hushed tone.
    Devin looked around the lobby, trying to see if someone was watching him. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
    “Do not help the senator—it’s a trap. The Thresher will be unleashed.”
    Devin continued turning in his slow circle, eyes open for someone with a cell phone who might be watching him. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name. Who did you say you were?”
    “That doesn’t matter now. The Thresher will be unleashed— the Firstborn will turn against each other.”
    “I’ve seen that happen before. It can be survived.”
    “No,” the voice warned, “the Firstborn won’t survive this. They’ll be marched to destruction if you do this.”
    Devin shook his head. “I’m going to need evidence if you want me to listen to you.”
    “You have to trust me.”
    “I don’t make a habit of trusting anonymous callers,” Devin stated. “Do you have any evidence?”
    “I’ve seen what happens if you move forward.”
    “And I’ve seen what happens if I don’t,” Devin rebutted.
    “You have to listen to me!” the voice said again, emphatic.
    “I would be more than willing to sit and talk,” Devin said, watching Trista approach, “but until you’re willing to meet me in person, I’m afraid we have nothing to talk about.”
    “I won’t do that, Mr. Bathurst. You have to understand that—”
    “I do understand,” Devin replied.
    “You aren’t listening to—”
    Devin snapped his phone shut.
    Trista approached. “Who was that?”
    Devin returned his phone to its pocket. “Wrong number.”

    The man named Crest sat in his office playing Solitaire on his desktop computer. It had been a slow morning, and he had a few minutes to kill. Government work wasn’t always as secure as people liked to think it was, but it was enough so that playing digital cards every now and again wasn’t the end of the world. The position of government desk driver was only his cover anyway, and as far as he could tell, showing too much of a work ethic might draw unwanted attention.
    The phone rang, and Crest gave it a moment, adjusting his glasses and clicking a few cards with his mouse before he lifted the receiver. “Yes?”
    “Mr. Crest,” the assistant, a guy named Jim, said on the other end of the line. “You have a call. They wouldn’t give a name but said it was about someone or something called Angelo ? He said that you’d know what he was talking about.”
    Crest sat up, clicking out of his card game. He thought his heart might have stopped for a moment. “Put him through,” Crest ordered without hesitation.
    “OK,” the confused assistant said, transferring the call with a click. He waited for a moment.
    “Mr. Crest,” the contact said from the other end of the line, an unrecognized voice. Probably some low-level person who had been given the task of passing on information. “The asset known as Angelo may have appeared on the grid again.”
    “Where?” Crest asked, glancing at the door to make sure it was closed and firmly latched.
    “A hospital in New Jersey. One of the cards he was issued by the Agency three years ago was used to pay a hospital bill for what appears to be a random patient.”
    “Who was the patient?” Crest asked, eyes fixed on the door, glancing at the windows, trying to make sure he kept his voice low in case someone was standing too close outside his office. Not the ideal talk space for this kind of discussion.
    “Uh…” whoever the contact was searched through files, “Hannah Rice. Sound familiar?”
    Crest frowned. Rice? That did sound familiar for some reason. Something having to do with the Pennsylvania incident the previous year? “Nothing solid,” Crest replied. It didn’t matter. Keeping track of the names of the so-called Firstborn wasn’t his job anyway. There were other people for that. “Has the OGA changed Angelo’s