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

by Andre Gonzalez

  “Do you know where you are?” Antonio asked, getting in Martin’s face.

  “Aruba, heading for the jet to leave.”

  “And why are we leaving?”

  Martin shrugged. “Because you guys are afraid of Chris.”

  The response caught Antonio off guard, causing him to step back.

  Everett joined them after checking on the Revolter’s car. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

  “Help me move our driver over to the passenger seat,” Antonio said. “He looks fine, just knocked out. I wish we could stay to help him, but we really need to get on that jet.”

  Martin waited in the backseat, still gathering his bearings while his two guards slid the driver to the next seat and fastened the seat belt over his shoulder.

  Antonio dropped in the driver’s seat and started the car. The collision had only smashed the trunk and their bags. The car ran with no issues, and they continued to the hangar where the jet waited to take them to their next destination.

  19

  Chapter 19

  Road Runners from all around the continent fled to New York City, but didn’t announce their presence. Instead, the Council watched from their underground offices as the map of their city showed an influx of Road Runners in the area.

  “An increase of fifteen percent and climbing every day,” Councilwoman Murray announced, reading from the latest updates, a new ritual that had started over the past week.

  “Why?” Councilman Martinez asked.

  “Hopefully a peaceful protest,” Chief Councilman Uribe said. “We can’t afford any other dramatics at this point, and this better not be exposed to the general public.”

  “Do we have a team ready to prevent that from happening?” Murray asked.

  “Not exactly,” Councilman Pierre said. “We’ve had to increase security at all of our offices around the country. After Strike’s death, many of those opposed to the decision took to their local offices to protest. Some got a bit too rowdy and the Lead Runners made calls for additional support. We’ve had to move our soldiers all around to where the biggest threats were posed. Primarily in the cities where leadership and the population have differing opinions.”

  “This wasn’t even decided by leadership,” Martinez said. “It was strictly a vote.”

  “And that’s what I fear,” Uribe said. “Right now people are just upset and feel the urge to raise hell. Going to a local leadership office seems like a good place to start. Once this initial shock wears off, people will start taking the fight to each other. Opinions will be voiced, and it will eventually become clear on who voted for which side in this debacle. Once that knowledge is widespread, then we’re looking at a major issue on our hands.”

  “A civil war,” Councilwoman Thrasher stated.

  “I don’t think we’ll get to that point,” Uribe said. “Emotions and tensions are high right now, yes, but we have to get back to business. We have an election to run, and hopefully that will take everyone’s minds off of the horrendous act we all witnessed.”

  “The people don’t want an election—they want their commander back,” Murray said sternly. “They especially don’t want to vote for the man they feel responsible for Strike’s death.”

  “First off, Chris is the only person responsible,” Uribe snapped back. “Secondly, we have no involvement with the election aside from administrative duties. We don’t pick the candidates, or run campaign commercials. We count the votes and make sure nothing questionable is happening.”

  A hurried knock rapped on the door that led to the hallway, and all heads turned to it.

  “Come in!” Uribe barked, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

  The door swung open and one of the aides stepped in, a young woman by the name of Amber Sandoval who had been a direct aide to Uribe for the last five years. She was a tall woman who walked with confidence in each step.

  “We have an issue,” Amber said, strolling in as she brushed back her wavy brown hair.

  “Is this urgent, Amber?” Uribe asked, dropping his pen on his notepad and clasping his hands together.

  “Yes, sir. We’ve been monitoring the increased Road Runner population this morning and it appears there are thousands headed here.”

  “Here? Goddammit!” Uribe snarled.

  “That’s not all, sir. There’s been an incident at the Chicago office. We’re still gathering details, but the entire office has been set on fire. There was a group of Road Runners who traveled from Iowa to Chicago, picking up more as they went. That group barged into the Chicago office with cannisters of gasoline and set the place ablaze.”

  “Our own people?!” Pierre gasped.

  “Do we know who these people are? Do they have any connection to each other, or to the Revolution?” Uribe asked, raising a hand to the rest of his team to remain silent.

  “That’s what we’re still trying to piece together. They tagged the wall with red ink before the building went up. It said ‘Liberty is the future.’ Any thoughts on what that means?”

  Uribe looked to his Council for responses, but only received blank stares in return.

  “No,” Martinez finally said, defeated.

  “We did a quick scan of the voting records from those we know were involved,” Amber said. “At least thirty of them we could identify as having a part in setting the fire. All thirty voted to save Strike.”

  “Chicago is one of our biggest offices,” Uribe said. “How many survived?”

  “Correct,” Amber replied. “There were seven hundred in the office today, going back to follow the tracking devices shows at least five hundred escaped before things got out of hand—we went back to check the footage from inside the office, but nothing came up.”

  “Someone cut off the security system?” Pierre asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  “Yes,” Amber said. “About five minutes before the fire began.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Thrasher said, standing up. “We need to leave.”

  “No one’s leaving,” Uribe snarled. “We need to sit down and figure out how to address this. We need to send reinforcements to Chicago. We need to launch the election. This is not the time to make a run for the hills – our organization needs us.”

  “You can sit here if you want,” Thrasher said, packing up her bag and grabbing her purse. “Those people aren’t coming here to have a discussion.” She had her things and dashed for the door, brushing by Amber who had remained only a few steps inside their private chambers.

  “Stop!” Uribe barked. “Get back here right now!”

  Thrasher didn’t so much as pause, keeping her head down as she charged out of the room.

  “Goddammit!” Uribe cried. “Anyone else want to leave?”

  Martinez and Councilwoman Lewis nodded while Murray crossed her arms. Pierre studied his phone, scrolling down the screen frantically in search of information. Uribe stared in his direction until the councilman looked up.

  “I was just checking the disbursement of soldiers,” Pierre said. “Even though this office is the second most protected, we can’t withstand the amount of people coming this way. The safe decision is to leave. We don’t know what these people want. I hope it’s a peaceful protest, but after Chicago, why stick around to find out?”

  “Well, someone needs to. We are the only Road Runners in power – we are here to serve the people.”

  “With all due respect, sir, that is not a wise decision. The Chicago attacks are only the beginning, I’m afraid. We have a rocky road ahead.”

  “Councilwoman Murray,” Uribe said, turning to his left and ignoring Pierre. “Since when are you so silent? What are your thoughts?”

  “Councilman Ryan hasn’t said anything, either. Why are you singling me out?” Murray replied with a frown.

  “I’m not asking about Councilman Ryan, I’m asking you.”

  “I have no issue staying here,” Murray said confidently. “I’m not afraid of hypothetical s
ituations like everyone else. Do we really think the people of our organization would travel across the country just to hurt us?”

  “Amber,” Uribe said, turning his attention to his aide. “Where are the people coming from? Have you had a chance to see?”

  “Not for everyone, sir, but it appears to be random. We’ve only pulled a small sample size, but it appears to be along the same trend of Chicago—all people who voted to rescue Strike.”

  “Understood, thank you. Please let the rest of your team know to go home immediately. Thank you for your hard work today. We’ll plan to be back to business as usual tomorrow morning.”

  “So you want all of us to leave?” Murray asked after Amber stepped out of the room.

  “Might as well. We don’t even have a full team here – what are we supposed to do?”

  “We can stay and talk to these people coming,” Murray said. “If anyone can come to a peaceful conclusion, surely it’s you.”

  “The world is going mad, Councilwoman. It already was before this drama started. Ten years ago, maybe I’d stay. Back then I never had doubt about people’s intentions. Today is a different story. It’s hard to trust anyone, you know? Common sense and compassion are fading with every year that passes. And we’re the ones who get left with the job of finding a way to keep pushing through it all. I don’t know what our future holds. Sure you can jump ahead and see, but you know that stuff is never accurate.

  “It only takes one event to change the course of everything. We lead in the present, looking back to the mistakes of those before us, hoping to shape a better world from it. But it feels to me, that no matter what we do, the world just keeps on going down a dark rabbit hole.”

  “It all stems from Chris,” Martinez said. “He’s the goddamn devil, tricking people, pitting them against each other. Don’t ever forget that we all share this ability because of him and the Revolution. All time travelers come through the only funnel he has control over. I like to think we all have more in common than Chris would like us to believe.”

  “We’re beyond that,” Uribe said. “We should have killed Chris a long time ago.”

  “That’s a job for a commander, not us,” Murray said bluntly.

  “We can bicker all night about our past, but I’m going home and getting to bed early while I have the chance. I’m sure my guards at home are just ecstatic to stay up all night sitting on my front porch.” Uribe stood, and this prompted everyone else to follow suit, trailing his steps as he left the room.

  Everyone left, except Councilwoman Murray. She remained at the table, offering a fake smile to each councilor as they passed. She had no intent on leaving. She’d be the one to stay and speak with those on their way.

  20

  Chapter 20

  Despite what happened in Alaska, the Liberation grew, gathering new followers in every town they stopped on their way to New York. The Council worked out of the small town of Thornwood, just under an hour’s drive north of Manhattan. They wanted to be near a busy city, but not in the city. Their front above ground was a strip mall, where every member of the Council entered through the mall’s only restaurant, going through the back kitchen and down a secret flight of stairs that took them to an entire world of offices and private meeting chambers underground.

  The place was deserted when the Liberation arrived, but they didn’t care. They came to send a message, and dammit, that’s what they intended to do. The parking lot was deserted as their caravan pulled into the mall, hundreds of cars lining the road and seeming to take over the town. They preferred to move at night, still wary of being caught by regular civilians.

  Chicago was a close call, but they managed to slip out just in time. That had also been a warning shot of things to come, New York and the Council being the biggest targets for their destruction.

  As far as the Liberation was concerned, the Council had the power—and the right—to make the decision and trade Briar for Strike. They failed to do their job and sat by while their sitting commander was killed in a most gruesome fashion on live television.

  Stephen DeVito had been killed in the botched Alaska mission, and they were too new of a group to have procedures set in place for what to do in such a scenario. Instead, they allowed a new leader to naturally rise to the top. That ended up being a man by the name of Thaddeus Hamilton, a ruthless advocate for all matters opposed to Road Runner leadership.

  Thaddy, as his closest friends called him, wasn’t always this way. He was once a loyal Road Runner, grateful for the opportunities they had presented him, but after a mission they had authorized sent his brother—his only living relative—to his death, his opinions toward leadership quickly soured.

  Thaddeus led the caravan and was the first to step out of his car as they stood in front the strip mall’s restaurant, Pavilion. He flicked a cigarette butt into the distance, the lot’s gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached the building and popped a fresh cigarette between his lips. He stood one inch above six feet and always wore a flannel shirt with a black vest, and a pair of jeans. His face was pale, but weathered, partly due to the pack he smoked every day, but also thanks to his life as a farmer in northern California. Even with all of the riches he earned as a time traveler, he couldn’t resist working with his hands every day, tending to a farm where he grew vegetables that he sold to local markets at an unbelievably generous price. He wasn’t in it for the money, and felt he could make the world a better place by contributing this way.

  He was a man tied to his beliefs that everyone should have the freedom to do as they please as long as their actions didn’t put others at risk. Thaddeus was by no means unreasonable, believing that structure had to exist to ensure chaos didn’t run rampant, but when the Road Runners made laws regarding when and where you could travel, he gathered his like-minded friends and protested at the office in Sacramento, pleading with local leadership to do what they could to prevent such laws from passing.

  If someone wanted to travel into the 2070’s and put their life at risk, they had the right to do that just as much as the people who traveled back in time to enjoy a Sinatra concert. These matters bothered him, but never to the point of raising hell over it. People tried to rule the world by enforcing restrictions on what others could and couldn’t do, a fact as old as time.

  “Why is no one here?” Thaddeus asked, more to himself, as he stood and faced the building with his hands on his hips.

  “I just got off the phone with Councilwoman Murray,” a young man said, running up to stand beside Thaddeus. “She said they all left. She tried to keep them in the building, but one of their aides barged into their meeting and told them we were coming.”

  Thaddeus didn’t respond, and simply took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his nose. “That’s unfortunate for us, but good for them. Oh well, we came here to send a message, and we still can. Is Councilwoman Murray still inside?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thaddeus started for the building, the parking lot now filled to its capacity with cars and people. The whole reason for bringing thousands of people across the continent, and hundreds to this particular location, was to wipe out any resistance. He looked over his shoulder to find the roughly three hundred Liberators waiting for his next command. With no one to put up a fight, this mission could have only taken two people to complete.

  “I want you all to wait here,” Thaddeus shouted to his anxious group. On the surface they appeared peaceful, perhaps a regular crowd visiting the already closed mall. But beneath, they all had a burning rage toward the Road Runners for what they had done to Commander Strike. Deep down, they were ready to burn this building to a pile of rubble.

  He turned and started for the building, entering through the restaurant’s front doors that had been unlocked thanks to Councilwoman Murray. The lights were off, minus a glowing lamp in the parking lot. The restaurant had its chairs placed on top of the tables, every inch of the place freshly wiped down with cleaning c
hemicals before another day of business arrived in the morning.

  Except they won’t be open, Thaddeus thought. Unless you want your toast extra burnt.

  He continued down the dark hallway, cutting past the dining room and slipping into the kitchen as he wove between stoves and ovens, beyond the freezer and to the furthest back corner where a narrow door stood in the wall, tiled to match the rest of the kitchen and blend in. Every Road Runner office was essentially the same type of setup, and they had already visited three different locations during their journey to the Northeast. All the hype for the Council’s office was the heightened security detail, but with multiple attacks around the continent, resources were spread thin, and they now had the building to themselves.

  Thaddeus pressed on the door and it clicked as it popped open, the slightest of creaks escaping its hinges, revealing a dimly lit stairway. He stepped down, a clear sense of abandonment in the entire building as his boots clopped and echoed with each step.

  When he reached the floor below, motion lights flickered on and illuminated the entire space, which was nothing but a long hallway with dozens of doors. He started down the hall, passing the doors of Council members with their names etched onto golden plates.

  “Councilwoman Murray?” he called out, his voice bouncing back like a boomerang.

  A door opened and splashed brighter light into the hallway, and out stepped Murray, a wide grin on her face as she raced down the hall to meet Thaddeus.

  “It’s so great to see you,” she said, opening her arms to embrace him. He planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “And it’s great having you in our corner. I know all of us with the Liberation are excited for what we can achieve together.”

  “As am I. I’m sorry about tonight. You know how tight our security is. It was worth a shot, but it sounds like they’ve had eyes on all of you since this morning.”