Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4)

by Andre Gonzalez

  “You lie!” Strike snarled.

  “Heeeheee!” Chris giggled. “You should know I’d never lie, especially to your face. You see, Commander, this whole thing is bigger than the both of us. This isn’t about you or me. This is about the war that no one has been able to make progress in. I’m not afraid to give credit where it’s due. Your people have put up a hell of a fight. Your recruiting techniques appear flawless. Do you know how many times we tried to join your organization undercover?”

  Strike stared at him blankly and shrugged her shoulders.

  “At least five times a week for the past two years. You sniffed us out every single time, killing my poor soldiers dead on the spot.”

  “We have a very strict process. Maybe you should look at why your people are so willing to leave. Don’t blame us for your own faults.”

  “Commander, I’m well aware that people will leave the Revolution. It’s no secret that I rip apart lives to get people to agree to join me. I had my life torn to pieces for the same reason, and look at me now.”

  “Scum of the world. I’m sure your dead wife would be proud.”

  “There you go again,” Chris said, tugging on his crotch. “Such a mouth on you, I could just kiss it.”

  “Come near me and I’ll bite your fucking face off.”

  “Your words might as well be lingerie, Commander. Color me officially aroused.” Chris smirked. “Anywho, I expect people to leave the Revolution, what I didn’t expect was for them to join your side. I thought for sure, many would just flee to try and escape the fun. And you know, I’d leave them alone. Once I’ve caused them pain, I’ve already taken what I need. Aren’t humans funny? So eager to split into two different sides. We don’t have free thinkers in the world anymore.”

  Strike shook her head. “You’re delusional. People flock to goodness and safety. No one wants to live under a man who demands pain from them. You pry on the weak and vulnerable, just like all of you dirtbags around the world. You’re a coward—a pussy.”

  Chris leered as blood really did rush to his penis. “I suppose we should get you ready for the show, on that note.” The guards who had brought her up remained by the door, and Chris nodded to them. “Gentlemen, please slide a chair over to the center of the room and tie the commander to it with her hands behind her back.”

  “Yes, sir,” said a bear of a man, who took charge and stepped forward to start rearranging furniture.

  Chris and Strike watched, standing beside each other while a strange hollowness filled the air. He wanted desperately to feast on Strike’s fear, but there was none. Whatever she was radiating seemed closer to confidence, a much more sour flavor than fear or grief.

  “What was the final meal of your life? Just curious?”

  “I had a bowl of spaghetti with meatballs,” she replied surprisingly quick.

  “How lovely. Tell me, Commander, have you thought about death yet? Not the pain that’s coming, but the darkness afterward? The fall into a pit of nothingness as you watch your entire life flash by.”

  Her stern expression softened, and Chris watched as her mind played through this exact scenario.

  “Was it all worth it, Commander? Becoming this fierce leader for the Road Runners and trying to take me down? Surely you must have known this was a possibility for how it could all end.”

  “This isn’t the end. They’re going to come save me, and then we’re going to kill you.”

  Chris grinned. “That’s a nice daydream. You know, those people did show up with plans to take you out of here. And now their bodies are my front lawn decorations. Little gnomes, you could say. If anyone else comes this way, they’ll have to navigate through a minefield of dead Road Runners.”

  Chris stopped talking and studied the commander’s face, watching as hope gradually vanished from her eyes, her soul deflating like a balloon with an invisible leak. With that, the aroma oozing from her body changed from the bitterness of confidence, to the sweetness of fear. With a few words he managed to flip her emotions and spiral her thoughts out of control.

  “Sir, everything is ready,” a soldier announced.

  A chair was set up in the middle of the floor, handcuffs and a thick rope lying on the floor next to a sanding table that held a pistol, various blades, pliers, a hammer, and the wires and control panel for the electroshock device.

  “We’re going to have so much fun, Commander. Shall we?”

  Chris grabbed her arm and forced her to the chair, ensuring that her hands ran over the back, where they would remain handcuffed. He grabbed her head and pushed her down like a police officer guiding a suspect into the backseat of their patrol car.

  The helpful soldier returned and tied the rope around Strike’s body and the chair, pulling it snug enough to apply pressure on her liver, making her squirm in discomfort.

  Chris squatted down to meet her eye level and checked his watch. “Ten minutes, Commander, and then we’ll start the show.”

  16

  Chapter 16

  They landed in Aruba right on schedule. Time was unfrozen at the exact point Antonio had said, and he took control of the plane for their descent to the small island. During the latter half of the flight, once the shock of everything had worn off, Martin pondered many questions regarding this and future trips. Mainly, what was the plan? He understood they wanted to ease him back into the United States, but did that even matter at this point? Were they waiting for Strike to actually die before bringing him home, to ensure no one would try to pull off an exchange with Chris?

  The scent of saltwater surrounded them when they stepped off the jet. The ocean waited a whole mile away from the small airport they had landed. With all the stress of the flight gone, Martin suddenly craved a plate of seafood. Lobster, crab legs, and shrimp jumped to the front of his thoughts as he followed his two guards out of the hangar.

  “Commander Blair made arrangements for us, and likely will for all of our stops,” Everett said while they each pulled a suitcase behind them. “No one knows we’re here, so we can spend a couple of days on this island. We have a penthouse suite overlooking the ocean. We’ll be staying together now—can’t take any risks.”

  “I hope dinner is on the schedule,” Martin said, feeling a comfort that reminded him of the first day he arrived at Crooked Island.

  “Absolutely,” Everett replied.

  “One of the finest restaurants on the island is in our hotel,” Antonio said. “You know we’re going there, but we do need to wash up—I’m sure they have a dress code.”

  “The hotel is only five minutes from here,” Everett said as they were walking toward nothing. “We’re supposed to have a town car picking us up.”

  “It’s coming,” Antonio said, nodding in the direction of an approaching black car. “Remember, no speaking aloud of anything Road Runner-related. Not until we get to the suite.”

  The car pulled up and a local stepped out to greet them. His skin was dark, accent thick with the flavors of the tropics. They rode without conversation, their driver whistling along to the music playing on the radio. All the tension faded as they trusted the plan would work to ensure no one had a chance of finding Martin.

  The “hotel” turned out to be a resort. It overlooked the beach, had its own swimming pool, casino, restaurants, night clubs, and golf course. It felt like they were pulling into another world as they entered the massive building. Martin hung back with Antonio while Everett checked them in and gathered the room keys.

  He returned with a wide grin and a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the hotel,” he said. “For their special penthouse guests.”

  “You know we can’t drink on the job,” Antonio said, snatching the bottle away. “Martin, you can have this bottle, but we won’t be joining you.”

  Martin grabbed it and examined the label as if he had been a lifelong connoisseur. “I won’t tell anyone. One glass won’t kill you. You guys work tirelessly.”

  “See, Tony? The future commander wants
us to have a drink with him,” Everett said. “What do you say?”

  Antonio shrugged. “Maybe. Only after a perimeter check.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Everett replied with a grin.

  “Martin,” Antonio said, returning to his stern self. “Some rules do apply while we’re here. Even though we don’t expect anyone to know you, we can’t afford to play it safe. We’d like for you to stay in the suite the whole time, but understand that’s unreasonable. One of us has to stay by your side the moment you walk out of our room. Is that clear?”

  Martin nodded like a scolded child.

  “I don’t mind if you go to the beach, but I’ve got to urge you to not go into the ocean itself. There’s just too much that can happen in open water.”

  “No worries on that front – I’m not one for swimming.”

  “Perfect. Now, let’s go check out this suite and see if the pictures do it justice.”

  They followed Everett down a hallway toward an elevator, and rode it up to the sixth floor penthouse.

  When they walked in, Martin’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Wide, leather couches surrounded a tiger-hide rug. A fireplace crackled softly along the back wall, just below a TV that appeared to be no less than 100 inches wide. The kitchen sparkled, its countertops so shiny they could see their reflections on the granite.

  Even with all the luxuries his new life as a time traveler provided, Martin still let himself be amazed with each new discovery. There are real people who vacation to a place like this, he thought. His trip to the Bahamas had been the only significant thing he’d done since coming into his fortune, aside from buying the big house for him, Sonya, and his mother to live in.

  Sonya. What she’d give to come to a place like this.

  He shook his head free of the thought, not wanting to let her consume his mind like she had done on so many lonely nights.

  “Is this really where we’re staying?” Martin asked.

  “You know how we do things,” Antonio said. “Nothing but the finest.”

  “I guess it’s official, then. You guys have to have a drink with me in this place.”

  Everett cracked a grin while nodding. “Most certainly.”

  Antonio remained silent and walked across the living room, plopping down on the couch where he rubbed his temples.

  “Something wrong?” Everett asked.

  Antonio nodded slowly. “With all the commotion today, I completely forgot about tonight.”

  “Commander Strike?” Everett replied. “You don’t think that’s actually going to happen, do you? Why would he kill our commander? If anything, he’s probably keeping her around to use for information.”

  “No.” Antonio shook his head violently. “She’s been with him long enough. He either has all the information he needs, or has given up trying to get it.”

  “But he can use her as leverage in negotiations.”

  “He tried—it didn’t work. We wouldn’t be here if it had.”

  “Well, thank God for small favors,” Martin said with a chuckle.

  “Thank the voters actually,” Antonio said.

  “The execution is supposed to start in an hour,” Everett said while skimming his cell phone. “There’s a report of a group of Road Runners who were killed on Chris’s property. Sounds like they were there with the intent of breaking out Strike. They found their private jet at the hangar, dozens of boxes of ammunition waiting for them to use.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Martin said, putting a hand over his lips. “How many?”

  “Twelve. That’s a clean sweep for Chris – not a single survivor.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” Martin asked.

  “Not much we can do,” Antonio said. “Those people went of their own free will.”

  A heavy silence hung over the room for a few seconds while they reflected on what had happened to their fellow Road Runners. Martin had a mental flashback to that godforsaken mansion. He could still feel the brisk coldness of the air, smell the snow in the clouds, and hear that crunching noise of walking on snow-packed ground. He pictured those dead bodies on the front lawn, lifeless blobs of flesh to remind anyone else what happened if you dared to approach the mansion.

  “We’re not going to actually watch this broadcast, are we?” Everett asked.

  “I think we need to,” Antonio said, matter-of-fact. “How else will we know if it’s a bluff?”

  “He doesn’t bluff,” Martin said sharply. “He just doesn’t. If he already said she’s going to die tonight, then consider her dead.”

  Antonio nodded. “Well, I’ll be watching. You two are more than welcome to join me. How about for now we get settled into our bedrooms and you can think it over?”

  They agreed and split their separate ways. Martin wasn’t interested in setting up his bedroom, not for a two-day stay. He had no issue living out of his suitcase. This allowed him to kick off his shoes and splay across the king-sized bed. A ceiling fan hummed above and provided him with fresh air that he’d fall asleep to. Until they came to wake him up to watch Commander Strike get murdered on live television.

  17

  Chapter 17

  Chris rummaged through his desk drawers, making final preparations for the live stream of his upcoming show.

  “The time has arrived, Commander. Any final words before we turn on the broadcast?”

  The camera that typically clung to the top of his computer had been turned around and moved closer, but was still out of range from any potential blood splatters. No one had time to wipe the lens clean.

  Strike remained silent, tied to the chair. She looked around the room, and Chris wondered if she was having that moment where one’s entire life flashes before their eyes, like a highlight reel of all the magnificent events that fall forgotten during the day-to-day grind of life.

  “Very well, Commander. I’ll take your silence as acceptance that you are indeed ready.”

  Chris had grown giddy with excitement as the time approached. This may have not been the outcome he wanted when he first snatched Commander Strike away from the Road Runners, but it was still titillating regardless.

  Three soldiers stood around the perimeter of the room, out of the camera’s view. They watched like statues, Chris having made it clear he wanted no intervention unless specifically asked.

  He adjusted the camera once the preview came onto the screen, wiggling it to capture the area only around Commander Strike.

  You’re stalling, he thought. Still wishing for someone to come knocking on the door with Martin on a silver platter? Push the damn button, and start the featured presentation.

  “Time to party, Commander,” he said, and pushed the button to start the live feed overriding the Road Runners’ network.

  He stepped back and stood in front of Strike, but stayed to the side just enough for the viewers at home to see Strike tied to the chair. The green signal flashed on the screen to confirm the connection was live.

  “Good evening, my Road Runner friends. I have to admit, I’m incredibly surprised by your decision to keep Mr. Briar and leave your precious commander here to die. I understand there is quite a rift among your population, and I’m siding with those who are angry about the decision. I want Briar, not this useless commander.”

  He paused, turned away, and punched Strike in the face. Her head jolted sideways as she let out a soft grunt that likely wasn’t picked up in the audio feed.

  Chris returned to the camera. “I’m not sure how many of you have heard, but a courageous group of Road Runners came to my house yesterday. They had that typical Road Runner ambition. You know, the kind where you all think you’re better and smarter than me.” Chris let out a giggle that seemed both accidental and genuine. “It’s my understanding that they came behind your backs. See, they understood loyalty. They refused to sit on their hands while their leader is killed. These were my kind of people, and I was ready to welcome them
back to the light of the Revolution, but they pressed on a little too hard for my liking. My only regret is that they are no longer here to witness this beautiful event today.”

  He paused again, and stepped in front of Commander Strike, her head hanging down to her chest. Chris reared his foot back and swung it forward with all of his might, kicking the commander square in her kneecaps, rocking the chair off its feet for half of a second. He then punched her once more before returning to the camera, a bright red mark appearing clearly on Strike’s left cheek.

  “The funny part is how one day you’re going to look back and realize your decision was all for nothing. I’m still going to get Martin Briar if I have to chase him to the end of the world, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’ll have Briar, and you’ll have nothing.” He stopped speaking and stepped closer to the camera, wanting to get in the Road Runners’ virtual face. “Can you feel it yet? The end is coming. Pretty soon, you’ll turn on each other. Once that happens, it’s checkmate, and the Revolution wins once again. As you watch this show today, I want all of you who voted for this to ask yourselves one question: Was it worth it?”

  Chris drew back, a wide grin stuck on his face, as he returned to Commander Strike. He grabbed her chair and swung it around so she was facing the camera straight on. “Say hi, everyone!” Chris cackled. “Hi, Commander. Any last words of advice before you leave your people behind?”

  Strike raised her head and stared into the camera, her face plastered with zero emotion, skin turning white with fear. “Burn this motherfucker to the ground.”

  Chris howled and started skipping around the chair in what looked like a half-assed attempt at dancing. “Commander, you never fail to bring a smile to my face. I really am going to miss you.”