Martin entered his room to find a bed pushed into the corner next to a closet. A lone wooden desk sat below the window and faced the city. Forty years earlier the view would’ve been stunning, but with the gloom and smog, it was borderline depressing to see what had happened to Denver.
The walls were thin, as he heard Brigham whistling to himself and Gerald humming a tune. Martin pulled open the desk drawers to find nothing but some blank sheets of paper with pens and pencils. The closet also had no trace of life except for the empty hangers. He wondered if this building had been slaughtered like the one they had first visited to see Ralph, and decided he didn’t really want to know, seeing as he had to sleep in this room.
“Gentlemen!” Gerald shouted loud enough to make Martin jump. “Living room right now.”
Martin stepped out of the bedroom and met everyone around the couch where Brigham now sat up with his smile gone.
“We have a problem,” Gerald continued once they all arrived. “I just got an email from headquarters. It appears Commander Strike has been kidnapped by Chris.”
Web gasped, and Brigham shook his head in disgust.
“We don’t know any of the details, other than she had checked into a hotel in Denver the night before her return flight to Alaska, and when she never showed up to the plane, the team started their search. She only had one bag of things she had packed, but it was still in the hotel room.”
“How do we know it was Chris?” Martin asked.
“That bastard left a note. ‘I have your girl,’ was all it said, signed in his name.
“Jesus Christ,” Brigham said, a sour look stuck on his face. “What does this mean for us?”
“At the moment, nothing. They’re scrambling to figure out what to do next and deciding if they need to implement the chain of command that’s written in our bylaws. They first want to see if there’s even a chance of finding her before making that decision.”
“You don’t suppose she ran off?” Brigham asked. “Did they not check her tracker?”
“I’m sure they did, but they’re not sharing all of the details.”
“That means it’s an inside job. They are transparent with everything. If they’re hiding something, that means they don’t want it to fall on the wrong ears.”
“Let’s settle down. This is how rumors start. They may have the details and just didn’t tell me. It was more of a notice in case we happen to hear anything here in 2064.”
“Right, because they would run off to this shithole,” Brigham said, shaking his head. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Gerald snapped. “This does make our work a bit harder, more in the sense of our timeline. We’ll need to hurry instead of taking our time. Just because we have a system in place doesn’t mean this won’t have an effect. There could be a ripple all the way to this year.”
“What does that mean?” Martin asked.
“It means we need to get to work right now so we can help with whatever the Road Runners need. Let’s get our thoughts in order and meet back here in fifteen minutes to start a plan.”
“Fifteen minutes? I don’t think you understand what I do,” Web added, a tinge of anger in his voice. “I need at least an entire day to gather research on the area.”
“I know that. I said to start a plan, not an entire strategy ready to go. I know this will all take time. I’d rather get started now instead of wasting a day doing nothing.” Web stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door like a moody teenager. Brigham giggled as Gerald sighed and crossed his arms. “Anyone else have any issues they’d like to discuss?”
Brigham stared to the ceiling and Martin shook his head.
“Great then. Martin, if you don’t mind I’d like to meet in your room and go through that suitcase Ralph gave you. Knowing what’s in there should help us plan what you’ll be doing.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Martin pivoted and led the way to his bedroom. He had pushed the suitcase into the corner, and tossed it on the bed to examine its contents.
Gerald shuffled into the room and closed the door. “How are you doing?” He dropped his authoritative exterior, softening his voice and facial features as he watched Martin.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“I know this is your first mission with us, and it’s one hell of a difficult one. I’m just making sure you’re not having any regrets.”
“No regrets. I just want this medicine. I need this medicine.”
Gerald nodded. “I know. We’re gonna try to get it as quickly as possible. What do you think of our team?”
“I don’t know, everyone seems nice enough. I like Brigham, he keeps the mood light. Web stays to himself, so it’s hard to get a good read on him.”
Gerald chuckled. “Brigham is a character, that’s for sure. He’s scared shitless, that’s why he’s always saying things. He’s keeping the mood light for himself, not us. And Web is a wizard, you’ll see. He’s honestly the key to everything. He’ll get us into the hospital, or wherever we need.”
And what do you think of me? Martin wondered. That I’m in over my head? Are you wondering why you got stuck babysitting some newbie on a fool’s mission?
“So let’s see inside this bag,” Martin said, pushing his thoughts aside.
“Yes.”
Martin stepped forward and unzipped the suitcase to reveal a stuffed bag of clothes.
Gerald reached in, pulling items out and examining them. It was mostly shirts and pants, but a few accessories like earrings, chains, and rings were found in a separate pouch. Martin studied the clothes that looked no different than polo shirts and jeans. Each article of clothing had a letter P sewn into it, small like a dime, but visible nonetheless.
“What’s the P for on all of these?” Martin asked.
“Our fearless leader. Poe Enterprises is the name of his company, and they make a little bit of everything. It’s easy when you’re in charge of setting the regulations. Poe gives company stock to every single member of Congress—after he abolished all the rules against it, of course—that way he can ensure every decision made will have his company in mind.”
“How did he manage that law?”
“Again, it’s easy when your party is aligned in all three branches. Even the Supreme Court allowed it. He probably paid everyone off to get the votes. It’s one of those things where no one says, and no one asks. If anyone dares to question Poe, they might as well sign their own death certificate.”
“So these clothes are supposed to make me look like a supporter?”
“That’s the idea. His brands are so heavily advertised—for free—that it’s all anyone really buys. He damn near has a monopoly on every industry, and in the ones he doesn’t, he only allows his friends to operate their businesses. He has no competition.”
“So the law against monopolies has been erased, too?”
“The law? Try the entire SEC. There’s only one group overlooking everything in the country, and it’s the Revolters.”
Martin stood in silence, looking to the clothes scattered across the bed. “You think they have Strike alive?”
“They do. I’m also in a hurry to join you guys back in 2019. I’ll be volunteering for the mission to rescue her, and you should to.”
“I think I should see how this one goes first, don’t you think?”
“Nonsense. I’ll barge into any room for a chance to save Commander Strike, and I like my odds in most situations. But for you, it should be all about helping the Road Runners move forward. We can’t truly move forward without our leader.”
Martin remembered what he had heard about a major decision waiting after Strike’s term had ended. How could Gerald not know? Or was he too brainwashed by the Road Runners to see clearly? Gerald would take a bullet for Strike, while Martin just wanted out of this situation. If only he could’ve left Izzy in the past, he’d never have met Sonya, his mother would’ve never come down with Alzheimer’s, and he’d be happily blackou
t drunk in his apartment, dreading the day at the post office ahead.
It had been a while since he reminisced on his life before meeting Chris, and never thought he’d actually long for a return to the fuzzy days of his horrendous routine.
“This is all bigger than us. Remember that, Martin.” Gerald spoke as he looked at the clothes piled on the bed. “You should head into town in the morning and get familiar with the area. You’ll want a backstory, just in case. I think a good job to say you have is as an attorney. There are thousands of those now, and they all make ridiculous money. There are some suit jackets in the bag, throw one on. Do you know anything about lawyers?”
“Sure. I’ve gone through a divorce.”
“Perfect, play off that. Say you’re a divorce lawyer. That’s even better because no one wants to go into those details, unlike a criminal attorney.”
“What exactly am I looking for around town?”
“Since we know where the medicine is kept, I’d say to get familiar with the area around the hospitals. Learn any side doors, hidden streets, anything that can help in case we have to escape in a hurry.”
“Question. Why aren’t we planning on taking our Juice with us and drinking it as soon as we have the medicine in hand?”
“Brigham and Web will be here, and we can’t leave without them.”
“Can’t we call them when we have it and take our drinks together? It just seems like an unnecessary risk to try and escape after stealing.”
“Calling would be the risk. Privacy laws have been abolished, meaning the government listens to all phone calls that take place, read every e-mail and text message that are sent, and likely bug houses wherever they might have a suspicion. We have to pretend there is no way of communicating with each other once we leave this apartment.”
Martin thought back to his brief trip to 1919 with Sonya where they also had no means of communication. Maybe if they had, he wouldn’t have been sucked in as a Road Runner.
“In fact,” Gerald continued. “If you brought your phone, I urge you to leave it here. There’s no point in taking the risk of temptation. They might even be trying to track you. Unlikely they think you’re in this year, but you never know.”
Martin shook his head, the future becoming grimmer with every detail that was further revealed. At this point, he simply wanted to get the mission over with and return home, and that’s what he told Gerald before changing into his new clothes and preparing to explore the city as an undercover Revolter.
111
Chapter 18
Julian pushed open Commander Strike’s office door, letting it creak as it revealed the dark and abandoned space. Everything remained exactly as Strike had left it. Her desk was clear of any clutter, a lone framed picture of Strike’s former family smiling as they posed at a local park. The filing cabinet on the back wall was covered with mementos from around the world and history. She had collected coins, which were spread across the surface, mixed in with handcrafted wooden and glass figurines.
Julian stepped in, flicking on the light switch, and planting himself on the couch that faced the desk where his boss always sat and vented to him. Being the second-in-command was as awful as it sounded. While he technically had the power to make sweeping decisions, he couldn’t do so without the Commander’s approval. Everything was run through the Commander, for better or worse.
He leaned back on the couch, falling into its soft embrace, and soaked in the office ambiance. A picture hung on the wall of the seven Commanders, standing strong together with stern expressions. Julian remembered this picture because he took it on a spur-of-the-moment trip where the leaders decided to meet to establish goals for the near and distant future, most of which surrounded the capturing of Chris.
It was the only picture of its kind, the past leaders of the Road Runners never having taken a photo together despite the dozens of times they met. Strike insisted on the picture, and after seeing it printed, the organization decided it should hang in every Commander’s office around the world, and updated whenever someone new was elected into the position.
It was getting late, 9 p.m. to be exact, but Julian wouldn’t sleep, his mind flooded with excitement and angst. It wasn’t the way he imagined it, but he was now in charge of the North American Road Runners thanks to the laws for an existing Commander unable to fill their role.
Julian was sworn in earlier in the day, taking the oath to protect and serve the Road Runners will all of his might, willpower, and mental fortitude. He thought these all meant the same thing, but said “I do” just the same.
From that moment on, he was free to assume his new role as Commander. The guilt, however, had kept him out of Strike’s office at first. He could’ve spent the next week dwelling on the guilt, but that served or protected no one. As leader, decisions needed to be made quickly and with purpose. The world must go on, he thought, echoing a thought from his late grandfather.
Julian rose from the couch and crossed the office to the desk—his desk—now taking in the view from the other side. As he sat down, the cold leather chair welcomed him, screeching as he adjusted in the seat. He slung his arms on the armrests and enjoyed the private moment where he realized the weight of the world that had been gently placed on his shoulders.
Commander Strike had always told him about the pressures that came with the position. One decision could mean life or death, and while deploying Road Runners for dangerous missions was agreed upon as a necessity, it never made it easy to authorize, knowing the odds of survival in certain situations.
Even though she didn’t make the greatest of leaders for their organization, she did serve as a great mentor for Julian—he couldn’t deny that. Maybe she was the right leader at the wrong time, similar to Bill, who would make a fine Commander during a time of peace. She liked to beat around the bush when it came to the aforementioned sending of troops into danger.
Julian had to capitalize on the situation. A window would soon be opened, and he saw no reason to not take advantage of the chance to end this war once and for all.
“It’s going to happen under my watch. Even if I have to do it myself.” Julian spoke to the empty office in a calm voice, grinning as his legs bounced wildly beneath the desk. He closed his eyes and imagined the explosions, green and magnificent, glowing victorious in the silent Alaska air.
He pulled out his cell phone and sent a text message to Bill, asking him to bring Julian’s laptop from his office and meet him immediately. Bill had become the new lieutenant commander after Strike’s kidnapping, yet Julian hadn’t heard from him beyond the day the news had broken.
Bill let him know he’d be there shortly, and Julian slouched back into the chair, enjoying the comforts of his new office space. Down the hallway, the security team was split into two, one half trying to find a way to get Strike back, and the other planning their security detail for Julian as the new Commander.
Bill knocked on the door and let himself in.
“Good evening, Julian.”
“Good evening. How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I’ve been fine. Working around the clock to try and get Strike back. It’s not looking good.”
No shit it’s not looking good, Julian thought. She’s with Chris. It’ll be impossible.
“I’m sure we’ll come up with something; we always do,” Julian said.
“I don’t think that applies to this situation. This is new to all of us. People are wondering why you’re not making more of an effort to get her back.”
“Christ, I’ve only been in charge for a day. I haven’t even made a public speech yet to the organization. Besides, I’ve been toying around with another idea, and that’s why I called you here.”
“Alright, what’s going on?”
Bill approached the desk and sat down across from Julian, sliding his laptop across the polished wood.
“Right now, Strike is in the air with Chris. We’ve been following Strike’s trackin
g device. The connection has been lost, but that only means they’re too high in elevation. He’s either taking her back to his mansion, or his store in Nevada. The store has no protection compared to the mansion, so we believe they’ll be landing here in the next few hours.”
Julian sat forward and smirked, his hands clasped on top of the desk. The light reflected off his slicked hair as he stared into Bill’s soul.
“What are you getting at?” Bill finally asked.
“I know we have bombs. Lots of them.”
“Those are strictly for use in a time of crisis, only to be deployed as a final resort.”
“Is our leader being kidnapped not a time of crisis? Have we not tried shooting Chris multiple times in the head, only to see him live? I think we reached our final resort after he rose from the ground and laughed his way back into the mansion.”
“Dropping bombs never ends well. There are too many innocent people who can die.”
Julian sighed. Bill was very much cut from the same cloth as Strike. Neither of them had the balls to drop a bomb, all because of a false sense of morality.
“All I’m saying—and it should be considered— is that we take the chance since Chris is outside of his mansion. We can blow him up in the sky, or wait till he’s on his way home.”
“You want to bomb him with Strike by his side?”
“It’s not that I want to, but we need to. Strike would die happy knowing she was sacrificed to kill Chris. Besides, if we don’t have a way of getting her back, then she’s only going to spend the rest of her life in his prison. Why make her suffer through that? What do you think?”
Bill stood up, his face curled into a snarl. “I think you’ve already gone power-hungry on your second day. You need to think about what you’re saying and come up with a better idea—one that doesn’t involve killing our Commander.” He turned to storm out of the room.
“Wait,” Julian said with a hand raised. He stood to meet Bill’s eye level. “I didn’t ask for this. This isn’t how I ever imagined I’d come into this position. I was going to run a fair campaign in the next election cycle. But none of that matters. She’s not coming back, and the sooner we can accept that as an organization, the sooner we can get back to ending this war. That’s why I’m up all night plotting away, and I thought you’d like to come along for the ride.”
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 65
