The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  “Almost five,” Rupert answered, before gesturing to the rows of provisions. “Do you want a protein bar? Or a bottle of water?”

  “Morning or afternoon?” I asked anxiously, ignoring his considerate offerings.

  I had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.

  The runner department held daily mandatory meetings at 5pm. And they meant mandatory. If you were anywhere on the island, attendance was not a question.

  “Afternoon. You have just enough time to change clothes, but probably not enough to shower.” Rupert wrinkled his nose again. “I feel bad for the person who sits next to you. You really do smell ripe.” He grinned cheekily.

  I hurried towards the exit, ruffling Rupert’s hair as I passed.

  “Brat,” I said affectionately. “Don’t you know that a gentleman never tells a lady she smells bad? I’m sure it’s somewhere in one of those books you’re always reading.”

  Rupert laughed and swatted at my hand.

  “Eww, don’t touch me. Now I need a shower, too.”

  Though he’d never admit it, I knew Rupert loved the attention all the runners paid him. For many of us, he was the younger sibling we’d never had.

  When I reached the foot of the staircase, I paused.

  “Gaige should be coming through any minute,” I added. “Tell him to head straight to the conference center, no dilly dallying. He has our acquisition.”

  The slimy plant bits still clinging to my hair like some sort of eco-friendly extensions reminded me that I had a score to even with my partner.

  “And feel free to give him a swift kick in the ass to get him going.”

  Rupert snorted in response.

  “That guy doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t listen to anyone.”

  “Just tell him that, thanks to his little stunt, I’m not going to cover for him with Cyrus,” I called over my shoulder as I climbed the steps leading out of the gate. “Have a good one, Rupe!”

  LOCATED ON AN island in the Caribbean, the Atlic Syndicate was like a small, independent nation isolated from the rest of the world. Technically it was a U.S. territory, but we didn’t adhere to any laws other than our own. Cyrus Atlic, the syndicate’s Founder and current head of operations, had paid a hefty sum to keep the island off of the Electric Global Railway System, or EGRS. There were only two ways on and off the island: via boat or through a vortex.

  Beautiful as it was secluded, the island was truly paradise. Lush vegetation provided a colorful backdrop that was dotted with waterfalls and wrapped in white-sand beaches. Amaryllises and hibiscuses lined the footpaths. The salty ocean breeze always managed to feel both relaxing and invigorating.

  A small smile tugged at one corner of my mouth as I headed down the footpath to the bungalow I shared with Molly.

  “If the other camp kids could see me now…,” I muttered happily.

  The short jog took less than five minutes. Pushing open the front door, I sighed contentedly as I entered my very own slice of the island nirvana.

  The feeling didn’t last long.

  The interior lights were all off, the room only faintly illuminated where the sun shone through the gauzy white fabric covering the windows. The French doors that opened to a small patio overlooking the ocean below remained firmly closed, which was only the case when both my roommate and I were away. The patchwork quilt that normally sat sloppily in one corner of the couch was neatly draped over the back instead, a tribute to my compulsive need to clean and straighten only in the hour before leaving on a run.

  My gaze landed on the clock in our kitchen and I swore loudly. With only five minutes to change and sprint to the conference center, I was never going to make it on time.

  I scurried to my bedroom and beelined for the en suite bathroom. Ignoring the siren call of a hot shower, I shrugged out of the robe Rupert had given me, peeled off the wet layers of my maid’s uniform, and tossed them over the shower doors to dry. The atrociously ruined stockings went directly into the wastebasket.

  Back in my bedroom, I quickly dressed in a pair of cotton pants and the heaviest sweater I owned. Though the air outside was warm and humid, I still felt the cold river water deep in my bones. Since my feet were scraped and bleeding from my run through Florence, I opted to carry my most comfortable leather sandals until decorum mandated their necessity.

  Retracing my steps through the common area of the bungalow, concern for Molly sparked anew and made my chest tighten. Without thinking, I reached for my proverbial safety blanket: a round gold locket of delicate filigree with a sapphire set in the middle. I brought the locket to my lips before letting it fall back in place between my collarbones.

  It was the one link I held to my past and I never took it off. As a child growing up in the work camp, it had given me hope that one day I’d find my birth family. As a runner, the same still held true.

  Exiting through the back of the bungalow, I crossed our patio to the path leading straight to the conference center. At the footpath’s crest, the conference center rose into view. It was the largest building of the island compound and the most outwardly modern. The walls were tinted glass that deflected the heat of the beating sun during the day while absorbing the energy of the rays to power the entire island.

  The stones surrounding the massive building were warm on my bare soles, soothing the pain. Unfortunately, I was only able to luxuriate in the respite for a moment. I slid on my shoes, pushed open a tall glass door, and hurried through the lobby.

  An unoiled door hinge dashed all hope of slipping in to the meeting unseen. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. My own eyes found the formidable man at the head of the table, and I muttered apologies as I scurried to my assigned seat.

  Keeping my eyes down, I grabbed the Qube sitting on the table in front of my chair and pulled it to me, preparing to take notes like a dutiful employee. An elbow nudging my ribs drew my attention, and I did a double take when I saw Gaige. Somehow, my pain-in-the-ass partner had managed to beat me to the meeting. He smirked at my stunned expression and mimed pinching my lips shut with his thumb and forefinger. I swatted his hand away before he actually tried to close my mouth for me.

  “Stassi? Gaige? Do you care to take over the meeting, or is it okay if I continue?” Cyrus asked in a tone that was firm, but not angry.

  “Of course, Cyrus. Sorry I’m late. I had to go change. Someone sent me on a little swim in Florence,” I replied, with a pointed look at Gaige.

  “So sorry that I saved you from Napoleon’s guards, Stass,” Gaige shot back with an irritating grin. “Next time, I’ll be sure to leave you to the Frenchies.”

  Cyrus stifled a smile at our banter. The amusement softened his tanned, weathered features.

  “Are you okay?” our boss asked me. The slight crinkle around his eyes was the only sign that his question was more than a polite inquiry.

  “Never been better,” I grumbled, running a hand through my damp, disheveled hair. It occurred to me in that moment that I probably should’ve consulted a mirror before I left the bungalow. Maybe run a brush through my mermaid hair.

  Too late now.

  “As I was saying,” our fearless leader continued, addressing the whole table again. “Judah just returned from Lisbon….”

  I leaned back in my chair, content to have everyone’s attention directed elsewhere. While Judah’s run was recapped, I tuned out the sound of Cyrus’s voice, but kept my gaze on him.

  Cyrus Atlic was a legend. While physically imposing—tall and exceedingly well-muscled for a man in his late fifties—it was his accomplishments and vision that commanded respect. Our syndicate’s Founder had actually worked on the Fourth Dimension project—the team that discovered time travel.

  The initial finding was met with mixed reactions from the government and the project’s financers. With a vested interest in privatizing time travel, several of the corporate investors pushed to launch a time tourism program soon after the discovery, allowing those with enough money to vacation
in any time period of their choosing.

  Fortunately for the world, the pilot program never grew beyond infancy. Private citizens proved incapable of responsible travel; they caused more trouble and created more holes than money and influence were capable of fixing or explaining. That was when the government officially stepped in and shut down the venture. The Fourth Dimension project was deemed unfit for further exploration, and became one of the highest-level classified files in the government archives. Very few outside of the scientists, contractors, and financial backers ever even knew of the project’s short existence.

  Cyrus, who was an exceedingly wealthy businessman and brilliant scientist at the time, had been an integral part of the Fourth Dimension project since its inception, as both an investor and a researcher. And it wasn’t within his nature to let such an incredible discovery languish in redacted documents.

  Though the logic of the ban on time travel did not escape Cyrus, it also did not deter him. He believed that with the right training and preparation, carefully vetted individuals could visit other eras without disrupting history. With that idea in mind, he quietly purchased Branson Isle from the Americans. Cyrus then established the Atlic Syndicate—a business specializing in locating and acquiring objects from the past.

  Historical procurement was a lucrative business. For an obscene price, we would obtain any item from any time that a client requested. Any item. And a never-ending parade of the world’s most affluent lined up for our services. The profits were more than enough to keep the island in pristine condition and provide lucrative salaries to the syndicate’s employees. While most of the world lay in ruins as a result of the Epic War, we lived in untold luxury.

  But Cyrus’s dream went beyond founding the most elaborate black market the world would ever know. Our boss was a patron of the arts, enraptured with the lost works of creative geniuses throughout time. Artwork, literature, plays, films—every colorful aspect of humanity—they were all lost during the fifth world war. Preserving culture was Cyrus’s passion. For him, amassing a fortune was simply a fortuitous byproduct of that.

  In order to give life to his great imaginings, Cyrus needed employees. First and foremost, he needed runners—gophers sent back in time to fetch the items his clients requested. After working out the kinks that come with any new business model, he developed a solid training program focused more on the art of assimilation than the physical aspects of jumping from one point and place in time to another. Runners studied people, events, and cultures, learning to blend within past societies without becoming a part of recorded history. And without causing ripples in the timewaves.

  Another elbow from Gaige interrupted my musings. When I looked up, all eyes were on me once again.

  Realizing I was tuned out, Gaige cleared his throat and answered for me.

  “There were a few hiccups, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  His chestnut eyes glanced pointedly at me.

  “Right, sorry,” I said, quickly figuring out that Cyrus had asked about our run. As the lead runner on the mission, I was also the one responsible for recounting it to our boss. “I was able to infiltrate the palace without issue. Napoleon’s letters to Josephine were exactly where the historians guessed—the desk in his study. There were some ‘hiccups,’ as Gaige said, but we made it out okay.”

  “No major incidents?” Cyrus asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Not at all,” I quickly answered, before Gaige could.

  Cyrus eyed me carefully. The half-smile on his face was unnerving.

  “You didn’t bypass customs on the way back?” Cyrus turned the full force of his emerald gaze on me.

  Crap. How did he always know everything? The man had a sixth sense. Possibly even seven or eight of them. Glancing over at my partner, I knew he wouldn’t have offered up this particular piece of information. Neither Cyrus nor the senior runners in the room would approve of our tactics, however successful they’d been.

  Gaige squirmed in his chair but said nothing. Evidently, he was choosing to sit this one out.

  Awesome.

  “Stassi, you cannot keep doing this,” Cyrus continued sternly, all traces of his earlier amusement gone. “We cannot afford to leave behind a trail of mysterious disappearances, nor can we afford for you to be out of commission while you recover from time sickness.”

  “I’m fine!” I exclaimed. “I’m not sick.”

  “This time,” Cyrus shot back. “You didn’t get sick this time. But you will. Everyone does. Time sickness is inevitable for those who don’t follow the rules. Which is precisely why we have rules. Coincidentally, that is also why we have customs: for you to use them. Jumping outside of a vortex is incredibly dangerous, I cannot believe that you don’t understand that.”

  “I know, I know,” I replied. “You’re right.”

  Arguing with a man like my boss was pointless, so I took the path of least resistance.

  “I’m sorry,” I added quietly.

  Though I almost promised I wouldn’t do it again, I held my tongue. It would have been a lie, and we both knew it.

  “What happened?” Cyrus asked, my apology softening his tone.

  “One of the guards found me in the study. I tried talking my way out of it. I tried making excuses. I even tried flirting—”

  “Wow, can’t believe that didn’t work,” Gaige muttered.

  Cyrus shot my partner a warning look, and Gaige’s trademark smirk disappeared.

  “I tried it all,” I continued. “I swear. In the end, I had to make a break for it. My loyal backup,” with this I turned to glare at Gaige, “was occupied elsewhere. Guards followed me from the palace, but I managed to lose them. I was heading for customs when the soldiers caught up with me again on a bridge.”

  “And that’s when I intervened with my quick thinking,” Gaige chimed in. “I staged a struggle and threw her into the Arno to facilitate a clean exit.”

  “Clean is not the word I’d use,” one of the senior runners murmured, eyeing my disheveled appearance.

  “Yes, you’re quite the helper, Gaige,” Cyrus replied sarcastically.

  “What?” Gaige asked innocently. “I saved her. If not for me, our fair Stassi here would be waiting for her date with the guillotine.”

  “Are you really okay?” Cyrus asked, ignoring my partner’s witty commentary to focus on me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. There was—”

  The door to the conference room slammed open violently, interrupting my reply. A tall, lean girl stood in the entranceway. Red, blistered hands gripped either side of the doorframe to support her weight. Her beautiful pale skin was about four shades lighter than usual. Cerulean blue eyes blazed angrily from beneath ebony strands of singed hair.

  Molly.

  “MOLLY!” I SHRIEKED.

  Shoving my chair back from the table, I was at my roommate’s side in an instant.

  Two medics appeared in the doorway behind Molly, both panting and out of breath.

  “Are you okay? Molls, what happened?” I asked, terrified.

  I went to hug her, but stopped myself when I noticed the smoldering holes in her Puritan-style dress. The patches of skin peeking through the holes were a mess of red welts. My arms fell to my sides. Staring helplessly at my best friend, I was overwhelmed by a mixture of horror over her condition and relief that she was alive.

  Molly swayed unsteadily on her feet. Her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. One of the medics reached out to steady her. Despite her bedraggled appearance, she warned the man away with a look so hard it was a wonder he didn’t turn to stone.

  Even with the appalling circumstances, I couldn’t help but smile. Molly’s spirit was still intact.

  She spared me a small, reassuring nod before focusing on our boss. Cyrus suddenly didn’t look quite so fearless under Molly’s penetrating gaze.

  “I quit!” Molly practically screeched.

  “Molly, why don’t you—”

  “I’m serious, Cyrus!” s
he interrupted him. “I’ve had enough! I’m done with this shant.”

  Her words lacked the bite they might normally have carried, but still had the desired effect. The room was stunned silent for several long moments. Every wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Molly, though no one uttered a sound.

  “What is that smell?” Gaige asked.

  Naturally he’d be the one to shatter the quiet with an asinine question.

  “My hair caught on fire!” Molly shrieked. “Thanks for asking, jackass.”

  Molly’s legs gave out as the pain suddenly became too much. I caught her in my arms as she pitched forward, eliciting a cry when my hands made contact with her burned skin. Wincing, I helped Molly to an empty chair and eased her gently onto the cushion.

  “Help her!” Cyrus commanded the medics. They’d frozen in the doorway as Molly yelled at our boss, dumbfounded by the scene. No one yelled at Cyrus. Ever.

  Spurred into action, both men hurried to kneel down beside my roommate. They had their treatment kits open in record time and were attending to Molly’s injuries before anyone spoke again.

  Squatting so we were at eye-level, I gently took Molly’s hand. She was trembling and her skin felt cold to the touch, but she weakly returned my squeeze.

  “I’m fine,” she said soothingly, meeting my terrified stare. “I feel like hell, but I’m fine. At least, I eventually will be.”

  “She should be at the infirmary,” Cyrus said harshly, directing his statement to the medics as though they were to blame for the breach of protocol.

  And yet, everyone in the room knew there was nothing the men could have done to stop Molly from storming in to the meeting once she’d made up her mind to do just that.

  “Sorry, sir,” the younger of the two muttered. He didn’t look up, either reluctant to meet Cyrus’s stern gaze or unwilling to look away from the task at hand.

  “She insisted,” the other chimed in weakly. “We couldn’t stop her.”

  Cyrus turned his gaze back to Molly. “And what was so pressing that it could not wait?”

  “Quitting, obviously,” she snapped, not missing a beat. “Seriously, Cyrus, they tried to set me on fire!”