Martin’s voice had turned grave at this prospect, leaving Antonio and Everett with no viable response.
“Do you think they know about the speech today?” Everett asked.
“I don’t know, Ev,” Antonio snapped, growing frustrated. “They shouldn’t, but who knows anymore? This has turned into a real shitshow.”
“I’m going to add some things to my speech that address this,” Martin said, more of a declaration.
“I don’t know what your little team will think about that, but it’s your speech, so you should do what you want.”
Martin glanced at the dashboard and saw their speed now at ninety, the world blurring by through the windows. Downtown was already in sight, and it had taken them a whole fifteen minutes to arrive, record time thanks to Antonio’s lead foot and the lack of traffic in the late morning.
“We need you to stay in the car while we check inside the office,” Everett explained over his shoulder. “You got your gun?”
“I don’t. It’s still in the bag in my bedroom—didn’t think to grab it because we left so fast.”
Good one, Martin. Now you can just chuck your flask at anyone trying to kill you. How can a commander be so stupid? Clearly you’re not cut out for the job.
“There’s a spare in the glove box,” Antonio said as they exited the freeway and crept toward the office building now less than a mile away.
Everett pulled it open and handed the black pistol to Martin. He studied it like he had never held a gun before, praying he wouldn’t have to use it on this beautiful morning.
“You don’t think they’re actually here in Denver? At the office?” Martin asked.
“It’s highly unlikely,” Everett said. “The only reason they would be is if they know about the speech you are set to deliver today. They’re attacking us where it hurts. Denver is a big hub, but not a crucial one to the organization’s overall operation. We are tightening security as best we can in offices like Chicago, L.A., and Houston—the more heavily populated locations.”
“Funny hearing all those cities listed next to Barrow, Alaska,” Everett said with a chuckle.
“Strike wanted to set up there to keep an eye on Chris. Looks like we were a little too close,” Antonio said, no humor in his voice.
They reached the office building. The windows provided a glimpse of an abandoned workspace: lights off, not a single person in sight. Their front as a marketing firm had a sign posted on the door that explained the business was closed indefinitely due to unfortunate circumstances, and to keep posted about when they would re-open.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is here,” Everett said.
“No shit, they’re not exactly going to sit on the front steps and wait for us. Let’s go in. Martin, why don’t you go for a walk? It’s almost lunch time—the sidewalks will be crowded with people in a few minutes to blend in with.”
Martin nodded and let himself out, soaking in the downtown surroundings as he had so many times in his life. Sixteenth Street Mall was three blocks south, and he thought back to the day he had roamed the mall with Sonya by his side, pockets full of money, not a thought in the universe that his new love interest was pulling him along for her job.
The nostalgia smacked him like a tree branch, enough to move him down the sidewalk where he took a whole ten steps before stopping.
A car horn honked across the street, startling Martin as if someone had tossed a bucket of water on his head. To his relief, it was Tony Jenkins and the rest of the campaign team, Tony grinning through his partly-open window. He stuck out an arm and waved Martin over.
He had to wait for a line of cars to pass before jogging across Blake Street.
“You can wait with us,” Tony said. “Let your boys do their thing and we can all head inside together.”
“Alright.”
The back door swung open, and Lila slid over to make room, Madison on her other side, and Dylan riding shotgun. Martin settled in and asked the question that had been burning since they all left the house. “Does this attack in Alaska change anything in my speech?”
“It does,” Tony said, looking into the rear view to meet Martin’s eyes. “Not much, but we decided to make some small adjustments. If anything, it makes the message we already had written more relevant, don’t you think?”
Martin nodded. “I can see that. I just worry that our organization is too on edge to even handle an election. How can we expect everyone to vote in their right mind when they’re all worried about getting killed?”
“I study the population,” Lila said from beside him, crossing her hands as she turned to face him. “We still conduct pre-election polls, and it seems this will compete for our best voter turnout. We usually turn in votes in the low 90’s, but the trends so far suggest that ninety-five percent plan to vote. The population is eager for a leader and some guidance.”
Martin wanted to ask which candidate was the front runner since he had yet to formally enter the race, but bit his lip. It didn’t matter, and he’d have an endorsement from Europe soon after his speech.
“It’s hard to predict exactly how the people will vote,” Lila continued. “But we expect you to pull out a close race.”
“Close? Everyone has made it sound like a slam dunk. Why the skepticism now?”
“These attacks do change things. Now, I haven’t had a chance yet to run numbers, but based on my general knowledge, something like this will make voters long for someone with experience. There are a lot of factors in play, but I don’t foresee it being anything that kills our chances.”
Martin nodded and looked out his window, surprised to find Antonio and Everett already standing on the front steps of the office. “They’re done?” he asked, more to himself, but getting everyone in the car to swivel their heads toward the building.
“Let’s move, people,” Tony said, wasting no time opening his door and crossing the street, the rest of them lagging behind.
Antonio had his arms crossed as he waited at the top of the steps, undisturbed.
“What’s the word?” Tony asked, huffing for air as he climbed the few steps, not used to the Denver altitude.
“Abandoned,” Everett said. “Doesn’t look like anyone has been in there for at least a week.”
“Coast is clear,” Antonio confirmed. “You can all get set up, I don’t foresee any issues today.”
“You heard the man,” Tony said, brushing by them as he barged into the office and disappeared down the long hallway as if he’d been there hundreds of times. The Road Runners tried to make each office with a similar layout, for ease of familiarity when traveling across the world.
The rest of the team rushed into the building. “We’re going live in thirty,” Lila said over her shoulder, and hearing the formal countdown begin made Martin’s stomach sink.
Antonio and Everett remained in their positions, looking like two guards again with no imminent worries, much like when Martin had first arrived to Crooked Island.
“Thank you both,” Martin said. “For everything. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised to still be alive after all that’s happened.”
“Just doing our job, and that will continue if you win this election,” Antonio said, not breaking his gaze from the street and sidewalks. “I think they need you in there, though.”
Martin nodded and entered the building, feeling like a visitor despite having been there several dozen times already. He trudged to the back and down the steps that led to the soon-to-be headquarters, should he win this thing.
When he reached the bottom landing Martin saw his campaign team hurrying through the furthest conference room door, the one where he had been examined on camera for his Warm Soul. His nerves settled, and everything came into clear focus. He heard the words of his late mother, rest her soul, urging him to do something meaningful with his life.
Martin shuffled toward the conference room, entering to his team setting up the podium and prepping a backdrop that showed the Denver city skyline
.
“We’re going to start as soon as we’re ready,” Tony explained. “We don’t want to be in this building any longer than we need.”
“But Antonio said we’ll be fine.”
“And I’m sure we will. But have you ever seen an empty Road Runner office? This place gives me the creeps. Makes it feel like we all died from a nuclear bomb or something.”
Martin hadn’t considered this, but there was an eeriness lingering in the abandoned air of the office.
“Ten minutes,” Dylan said, tapping on the microphone he had just set up on the podium. Madison sat at the table a few feet away with an earpiece and offered a thumbs up to ensure the mic was hot.
Dylan nodded before running back to a storage closet along the side wall, holding a teleprompter in each hand that he set up a few feet in front of the podium. “Let’s get a camera check!”
Lila ran to the teleprompters and connected their wires to her laptop. She rapped furiously on the keyboard. “Camera is on, stand in position.”
Dylan dashed behind the podium, standing exactly where Martin would in just a few minutes. Lila squinted at her screen as Madison inserted herself behind the camera.
“To the left,” Lila instructed. “And just a nudge downward.”
Madison moved the camera, prompting Lila to pull back the teleprompters a couple of inches to get them out of the view. “We’re all set!”
“Martin, come on over,” Tony said, starting toward the podium.
Martin followed, and Lila ran back to the closet where she returned with a dark gray suit jacket.
“Put this on,” Tony said, helping his new candidate into the blazer. Martin had on a solid black t-shirt to round out his outfit deemed “professional enough” once Tony helped button up the jacket. “How do you feel? You ready?”
Martin drew a long inhale. “Let’s do this.”
“Have we confirmed we have the feed still?” Tony barked over his shoulder.
“We have it,” Dylan replied. “We’re ready to go live.”
“Good luck, Martin,” Tony said, taking a step back. “Follow the script, but make it come out in your voice. You did great in our practice session.”
Martin slid behind the podium, dropping his hands on its smooth wooden surface, adjusting the mic to reach his mouth.
Tony settled behind the camera, crossing his arms as he watched the feed on the small monitor. “Launch the feed.”
“We’re live. Thirty seconds,” Lila said, the lights around the conference room dimming with the exception of the one on Martin and the backdrop behind him, making him appear like he was standing on a balcony somewhere with a view of the city behind him.
The teleprompter showed the countdown, and Martin imagined all of the scared Road Runners at their homes, watching their televisions countdown in anticipation of what the next wave of news might be for their organization.
“Three . . . two . . . one,” Tony said, pointing his finger to Martin.
“Good afternoon, my fellow Road Runners. My name is Martin Briar, and I’m broadcasting live from Denver, Colorado to announce my candidacy to be your next commander.”
Off and running, good pace, keep it flowing, Martin told himself.
“I want to first address the situation with Commander Strike. I understand many of you out there are upset with me, but please understand I had nothing to do with Commander Strike’s death. Chris used both her and myself as bargaining chips in his twisted game. I knew Commander Strike on a personal level—she even swore me in as a Road Runner right here in the Denver office. She was a friend and trusted confidant, and her death makes me sick. That’s why I’m entering this race.
“We’re nearing the end of this war with the Revolution, if you can believe it, and right now, things are looking bad for us. If we don’t take swift action, our entire group is at risk of going extinct. Our Council is hiding, and for good reason. No one knows who to trust. We must remain diligent and aware of our surroundings.
“I first entered the time travel world through Chris Speidel. He offered me the opportunity to go back in time to learn what happened to my daughter, who went missing in 1996 without a trace. I did what any grieving father would have done and accepted the offer, understanding I was putting myself at risk for a painful experience. I was prepared for that, but not the onslaught of constant pain I’ve had to endure.
“My payment for my Juice was to witness my mother fall victim to Alzheimer’s disease. I was expecting a broken back, perhaps, not an emotional pain that spun me back toward the depression I’ve battled my entire life. I know many of you have similar stories about Chris taking matters too far, and that’s why we’re at war with him.
“If you look back at the events of the past several years, it has consisted of Revolters killing Road Runners, and vice versa. We need unity. We’re on the same team with our unique abilities, and should be working together to make the world a better place. Unfortunately, Chris doesn’t see things that way, and only wants to further his own agenda, weaponizing those innocent lives who fall for his antics, and using them against his own people if he has to. The man—if you can bear to call him that—has no boundaries or moral compass. He’s also made the mistake of narcissism, believing he is the only person in the world who can keep the Revolution alive.
“Because of this, our mission is simple: kill Chris and the Revolution collapses into itself. And I have great news for those of you who don’t know much about me: I’m a Warm Soul. This is an extremely rare ability to resist the freezing of time. Through an international agreement made during our last peace treaty more than four decades ago, the use of freezing time during a war is prohibited, but do we really think Chris cares about our laws? He will do anything to win, including freezing time, but that will have no effect on me. With me, you’ll have a commander who can continue working no matter what Chris tries to throw our way.
“My running mate is an outstanding gentleman named Gerald Holmes. He was supposed to be here, but we had to move up the start time of this speech. I met him on my mission to the future to obtain a cure for Alzheimer’s, and working alongside Gerald showed me a man hungry for an end to the war, not to mention a brilliant strategist who grew up in the unpleasant future, surviving every day in a horrific culture where the poor and minorities are executed in the streets for fun.
“I’ve been to that future and witnessed it for myself, and that’s why I’m making this announcement today. Not only are we, as Road Runners, in grave danger – the entire world as we know it faces the same trouble, only they’re not aware of it. The Road Runners have always vowed to keep the world a safe place for both ourselves and innocent civilians, and that is exactly what I plan to do if elected.
“I have one advantage over anyone else in the world—I’ve been inside Chris’s mansion. I’ve roamed the halls, met his goons, and even sat down in his office.”
Martin paused, took a sip of water, and saw he had his closing paragraph on the teleprompter. He decided to ignore the script and end his message on his terms.
“If you’re a Road Runner—new or old—please know that I’m like you. I’ve lost everything I ever cared about in this world. With nothing further to lose, I will not stop until Chris Speidel is dismembered and dead. Two years is a short term, but it’s plenty of time to finish this fight. A vote for me is a vote for a return to peace. Thank you.”
Tony nodded to Lila, who promptly pushed a button on her computer, cutting off the live feed.
“Well done,” Tony said, stepping in front of the camera with a grin. “Was our closing not good enough?”
“It was,” Martin said. “But I wanted something a little stronger—to make the people remember me.”
“Oh, they’re going to remember you, no doubt about that. Let’s wrap this up and grab a celebratory lunch. Commander Blair is expected to release his endorsement for you later this evening, then we’ll officially be off and running to start a mini tour across the continent. T
hree weeks until election day, can you believe it?”
Martin nodded, unsure what else to say. He felt accomplished after the speech, truly ready to tackle the next three weeks and win over the hearts of his fellow Road Runners. He didn’t know what his life would look like at the end of this road, win or lose, but things would never be the same.
He watched his campaign team pack up the conference room as quickly as they had set it up, and Martin wondered if he’d ever be back in this building again. He wondered how many viewers had tuned in, and what they thought about his speech. He had started the day as a man hated by half of the organization, and could only hope he gained new supporters.
His mind raced with these thoughts until the team—Antonio and Everett included—was ready to head to lunch, blending into society during the rush where restaurants had lines of business workers out the door. Martin didn’t currently sense any danger, but knew there would be plenty coming his way, likely delivered from his old friend in Alaska.
That was here nor there, and for the rest of the day Martin and his team did exactly what Tony had suggested, celebrating a successful day and speech. The real work would begin tomorrow, setting into motion a month-long blur to the finish line.
They found a restaurant with an outdoor dining area, and Martin toasted a glass of whiskey to the rest of his team as they basked in the beautiful day.
Meanwhile, nearly 3,000 miles away, Chris Speidel sat in his office, staring at his monitor that had just shown Martin’s speech. He smirked, fists clenched and shaking with rage, and threw his head back, howling maniacal laughter.
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Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4) Page 22
