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

by Andre Gonzalez

  The Road Runners had indeed disappeared from the public eye. Upon returning to Denver, Martin and his team ventured through the downtown office to check in, only to find the place deserted, lights out and a cool draft—even for a basement—as if no one had been there in months.

  The Road Runners were still at work, though, many from the comfort of their homes or meeting at spontaneous locations throughout the week. Every one of their offices across the country had been abandoned for the moment, with the exception of the main hub in Barrow, Alaska. There was simply nowhere for them to go nearby, and they needed to remain close to Chris’s mansion. Still, they scaled back the amount of staff working in that location from the typical fifty Road Runners to a mere twenty.

  With the Council’s chambers going up in flames, they decided no office where Road Runners gathered should be occupied until further notice. Communication remained through email and the private network. The cyber security team revamped their protection so that Chris wouldn’t be able to manipulate their television network, and so far ran into no issues.

  Their broadcast had taken more of an infomercial type of showing, with many of the candidates running commercials and broadcasting speeches. Occasionally, Chief Councilman Uribe hopped on for a few minutes to discuss the happenings of the organization.

  Martin’s security team had no information regarding the nationwide blackout, so after poking around the empty office, they headed for Martin’s Littleton home in an awkward car ride. Even though their world as Road Runners had come a standstill, the rest of society continued on without a worry. Downtown Denver was nearly abandoned on Sunday night, and the highways were wide open as they sped out of the city.

  They rode in silence, pulling off the highway twenty-five minutes later, and arrived to Martin’s house.

  “Expecting company, Briar?” Antonio asked as he killed the headlights. Everett dropped his cell phone and replaced it with a pistol.

  Martin’s stomach sunk to his knees as he craned for a view of his house, one black car in the driveway that he had never seen before.

  “Do you know this vehicle?” Everett asked over his shoulder.

  “No,” Martin replied, his voice cracking.

  A man in a suit stepped out of the front door, his hands held in the air. Antonio parked on the curb, a safe distance of about 100 feet to the entrance. The moon provided just enough light to see the man on the front steps.

  “An ambush?” Everett asked. “He could be trying to play cute and have all kinds of people inside ready to attack us. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Possible, but I don’t know. Why would he expose himself? They could just as easily have parked far away and hidden inside to wait for us.”

  Antonio rolled down Everett’s window, prompting his partner to cock the pistol.

  “Excuse me, sir!” Everett barked toward the man. “Please state your business at this residence.” His voice came out sounding like an intimidating police officer, and Martin was glad he didn’t have to arrive home by himself to these circumstances. He certainly would have assumed the worst and spent the night driving as far away as possible.

  “Easy, mate!” the man shouted back, his accent heavily British. “We’re from Commander Blair’s team.”

  Everett looked to Antonio, who was frowning in deep thought.

  “Please walk slowly toward our vehicle and keep your hands up!” Everett yelled back, lowering his gun, but keeping it pointed in the man’s direction.

  They watched as he made his way down the front steps, his hands stuck in the air. Martin’s heart battered against his rib cage, but he didn’t feel it, adrenaline taking over all sensation in his body.

  “Is he legit?” Everett asked.

  “We have a few seconds to decide,” Antonio replied gravely.

  “If it’s really them, they’re early. They weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning at the downtown office.”

  The man kept a slow, steady pace until he reached the car, stopping at Everett’s window that was halfway down.

  “What’s your name?” Everett demanded.

  “Tony Jenkins,” the man replied, his voice swimming with terror.

  “Stay right there and don’t move,” Everett snapped back.

  Antonio was already on his cell phone, finding the email with the list of names they were expecting to meet tomorrow morning. “It says he’s the head of the campaign team,” he whispered to Everett.

  “Why are you here? When did you arrive?” Everett asked out the window, sure to keep his tone stern.

  “We landed early this afternoon. Our jet became available sooner than we planned, so we took advantage and wanted to see around the city. Our plan was to stay in the office overnight, but no one told us that was a bad idea right now. We phoned Commander Blair and he suggested we sweep Mr. Briar’s house for any security concerns, then stay the night here.”

  “It would have been nice for someone to tell us that plan. I could have put a slug through your head,” Everett said, softening his voice.

  “Sorry, mate, we haven’t received any of your information yet, and I dunno if Blair told anyone of significance. It’s been plenty difficult to reach anyone in America these last few days.”

  “Yeah, we’re a bit occupied,” Everett said while shaking his head.

  “Well, that’s what we’re here for. Help your election and get the group back on track.”

  “Show us some identification and we can get to work,” Antonio said over Everett.

  The man kept one hand in the air while the other reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a wallet that he whipped open as he approached the vehicle, sliding it into the open window for Everett to grab.

  Everett didn’t take it, but craned his neck for a clear view. “It’s him.”

  Antonio killed the engine and hopped out of the car, prompting Martin and Everett to follow suit.

  “Good to formally meet you,” Antonio said, sticking a hand out to their British counterpart. “My name’s Antonio, you’ve met my partner, Everett, and this is Mr. Martin Briar, the next commander of North America.”

  They had gathered on the passenger side of the car and huddled like a group of kids at recess.

  “Pleasure to meet you all. I’m Tony Jenkins, and the rest of the team is inside. Only four of us in total, but we run an intense campaign. No mistakes. No rubbish. Just a clean path to the commandership. Shall we head inside?”

  “Yes,” Martin said, his stomach flipping cartwheels. He hadn’t been back home since finding his mother mutilated to pieces. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to return so soon.

  They started toward the house that no longer felt like a home to Martin, and even less so when they stepped inside. The team of four had wires and computers spread all throughout the main level, kitchen included. One man and two women sat on his living room couch, glasses of water in hand, the lights on, but dim.

  “Martin Briar?!” one of the ladies gasped, jumping to her feet and slamming her glass down on the coffee table. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lila Lawson, and I’ve been studying your life for the past month.”

  Martin scrunched his face in confusion, not sure how exactly to respond to such an outlandish statement. “Thank you? I’m sorry for what you had to learn about my boring life.”

  “Not at all,” she replied, her accent growing thicker as she returned to her normal voice. “Your life is one of the most fascinating I’ve ever seen.” Martin towered over Lila and her tiny frame. She lacked any wrinkles or gray hair, but seemed much older than her appearance.

  “May I ask what you’ve all seen?”

  “All of it,” she replied flatly, tucking her blond hair behind her ears as she pulled out a cell phone and showed it to Martin. “Look, these are all the notes I’ve taken, starting from your birth.”

  On her screen were blocks of text that ran on forever as she scrolled with a skinny finger.

  “Wow, what don’t
you know about me?”

  “Nothing. My job is to learn about the candidate, study their life, and figure out how to translate all of your pain and experience into a strong campaign.”

  “She’s the best publicist in the world,” Tony said from behind, he and the two guards hanging back in the kitchen. “It’s perhaps the most crucial role on any campaign team. Not only does the publicist learn your life better than you could, they have to find any potential issues that may arise from opponents. And when you receive an endorsement like you’re going to, expect nothing but negative campaigns run against you—it’s their only hope to sway voters because they know there’s nothing they can actually say that beats the endorsement.”

  “Please,” Lila said with a blush. “I just do my work, nothing to it.”

  The other two who were sitting on the couch had joined together behind Lila.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lila said once she felt their presence. “I was so struck to finally meet you. Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. This is Madison Barker and Dylan Phillips.”

  The man stepped forward and gave Martin a stern handshake. “Pleasure, Mr. Briar. I’m Dylan and I work on anything technology-related. Keep our computers running, put together the commercials for TV, all that good stuff.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Martin said before turning his attention to the other woman.

  “Hello, I’m Madison, and I work closely with Tony on general campaign strategy, filling in all the holes that fall outside of Lila and Dylan’s scope.”

  Martin was at first struck by Madison’s beauty, her red hair silky and flowing down her back, her hand soft like a pillow as he shook it. She reminded him of a supermodel, her beauty both intense and intimidating.

  “Great to meet you all,” Martin said, gathering his composure. He was back in his house, and back in control, his guards happy to stand in the background while he met his new campaign team. “So what are our plans?”

  Tony cleared his throat and stepped forward, joining the rest of his team. “We didn’t want to waste time, especially being in your house, so we got to work right away, preparing the next four weeks of your life and working out the logistics for travel during this dark time in North America.”

  “We’re not going to use an efficient route for your tour,” Madison said. “Normally, we start in the north and work our way south by going east to west until we reach Panama. Understanding that Chris may have plans, we’re not going to do anything predictable. Could be Seattle in the morning, New York in the evening, and then Costa Rica the next day. We will not announce your appearances until we actually arrive in a city. We don’t want to give the Revolution any sort of opportunity to crash the party.”

  “That’s fair,” Martin said.

  “We understand the target that is on your back, and we’ve been hard at work trying to spin that into a positive for your campaign,” Madison explained.

  “It’s really not that hard,” Tony cut in. “I don’t think anyone has ever seen Chris so obsessed with a single person. He’s afraid of you, and that’s the narrative we’re going to run with. I can’t lie, when Commander Blair asked us to lead your campaign, I was hesitant about doing it for an unknown candidate. But the more we’ve dug into the matter—and your history—this has become maybe one of the easiest campaigns I’ve ever worked on.”

  “I’m curious what your team costs,” Martin said. “Surely you know your worth and can ask for anything.”

  “We normally charge five million up front, and another two if you actually win. And that’s just our fee—not counting any travel or expenses.”

  Martin’s eyes bulged. “And who exactly is paying for that? I didn’t agree to any of this.”

  Tony raised his hand. “Calm down. Commander Blair is covering all of our expenses, and we’ve agreed to take on your campaign for no fee.”

  “Why on Earth would you do that?”

  “For the survival of our organization,” Tony replied flatly. “We can see the big picture from across the pond. North America and Europe are the two biggest populations of Road Runners. If one of those collapses, it’s only a matter of time before Revolters slowly take over the entire world. This particular election is bigger than all of us—it’s about survival.”

  “And you still think I’m the best person for the job?” Martin asked, eyebrows raised to his forehead. “Of all the people who have been Road Runners, I’m the one?”

  Tony nodded. “For starters, it’s not my job to decide that – it’s my job to make the voters believe that. But yes, after our meeting with Commander Blair, I do believe you are the best option, for the lone reason of being a Warm Soul. We’ve reached a point in time where we either fight to end Chris once and for all, or we fall prey to the Revolution. There is no longer a gray area. Our existence is going to swing one of two ways, and we need to make sure it’s the correct way.”

  Martin’s palms slickened with a thin a layer of sweat. Sure, he expected this job to be stressful and high-pressure, but not so high-stakes. If they wanted to use his gift to try and murder Chris, then he’d have no issue with that. But why make him run for commander when he clearly wasn’t cut out for such a role?

  Once again, the thought of running away from of it all crept back into his mind and planted itself there like a toddler demanding attention. It would remain a thought, nothing more. He couldn’t even take a piss without someone having eyes on him. He was in this too deep, and the only way out was to deliver what they wanted.

  “How exactly am I supposed to kill Chris?”

  32

  Chapter 32

  Chris had mulled over his past as he sat in his office. The barricades still surrounded the mansion, and he thought about lowering them to test the waters. How closely were the Road Runners watching him? How many more bombs did they have? Was it worth sacrificing all of his brainwashed soldiers for the simple matter of learning this information? Not to mention the hassle of needing to find shelter elsewhere.

  No, it’s not, he thought. I’m so close to ending this thing, now’s not the time to give them any hope.

  How he wished Duane was there to offer his no-bullshit advice. On the surface it seemed he was one knockout punch away from sending his enemies to sleep, but who was this other group that burned down one of the Road Runners’ offices? His plan to spark division within their organization had worked flawlessly, only he didn’t expect a new group to rise from the rubble. They were now a wildcard, and Chris needed to know what they sought. It was possible they hated both the Road Runners and the Revolution and wanted to overthrow both. They surely didn’t have the numbers to seriously entertain the thought, but movements like this could spread like wildfire once started.

  He’d have someone on his team reach out to the Liberation’s leader and call for a meeting. But for now, he wanted to focus on that knockout punch. He had debated where to strike next, a difficult task seeing as the Road Runners had all gone into hiding, leaving their offices abandoned. He was thinking too big, wanting to attack them in a city like Chicago or Miami. But the answer became so clear, and was right in his backyard.

  “They’ll never abandon this Alaska location.”

  Why would they leave the location closest to his mansion? They watched and studied him, like a hawk waiting to swoop down and snatch its prey. And that’s exactly what they’d do if he lowered the barricades without a reason. That Alaskan office was the only thing currently separating Chris from true freedom to roam his own property. He could bounce around different times and wiggle his way out, but he suspected they had Road Runners waiting at every period in time to find him.

  All this time he thought he had the upper hand in the war, but he was the one trapped. It wasn’t even him who had directly sent the Road Runners into hiding, but rather the Liberation. A strong message needed to be sent courtesy of the Revolution.

  He picked up the phone to call Duane and immediately slammed it down. No. You are in charge, always have bee
n, always will be. Duane is at home dealing with matters. You’re here with all the time in the world. Do as you please.

  Chris smirked as he opened the security software and buzzed the intercom at the same time. “I need all Revolters to my office right now,” he announced, sitting back and waiting.

  It only took a couple minutes for all dozen Revolters in the mansion to work their way to the office. They entered in silence, standing in a line in front of Chris’s desk, arms at their sides, eyes glued on their leader as they awaited instruction. None of them even looked at each other, as you might expect people who worked and lived together to do. Chris had whipped their minds into a subservient state of blind loyalty, a process that took years, but now paid off impressively.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Chris said, standing with his hands crossed behind his back. “I wanted to gather you here to let you know that I am leaving. I’ll be lowering the barricade and slipping out into the world. I need one of you to raise the barricade back up as soon as I’m outside. I don’t know how closely our friends are watching us at the moment, but it’s best if we keep appearances that I’m still in the mansion. I’m going to recruit more members for our team and we’re going to end the Road Runners one city at a time. Any questions?”

  “When can we expect your return, sir?” one of the men asked, his voice confident and demanding, just the way Chris liked.

  “I’d say within a couple days, possibly sooner. Just keep an eye on the cameras and drop that barricade as soon as you see me. Now if you all wouldn’t mind, I really do need to be going.”

  Chris sat back down and typed on his computer, the humming of the barricade’s motors starting within seconds as they lowered. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out the pistol, and shoved it into his waistband before leaving the room with a quick nod to all of his soldiers.

  * * *

  “Thaddeus Hamilton?” Chris asked on his cell phone. He had indeed called Duane and apologized profusely for interrupting him during his leave. But he had no one else to trust with a sensitive matter like tracking down the leader of the Liberation, and certainly no one who could gather the requested information within five minutes. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”