Martin checked his watch to see it was already 8:30. His stomach growled for breakfast. “I’m going to eat before he gets here. Can you start waking everyone up to get ready?”
“Absolutely.”
Martin had just given his first order and loved the feeling. He had no intent on becoming a bossy asshole, but it was nice that if he needed something done, all he had to do was say so.
He grinned and nodded to Tony before heading toward the kitchen to find something to eat.
* * *
Commander Blair arrived at the office at 9:15, security surrounding him in the form of men and women dressed in black suits, guns surely concealed underneath their blazers. Tony greeted him at the entrance and the two caught up for a few minutes until Martin came out of his office.
“Commander Martin Briar,” Blair said with a wide smile. “Welcome to the club.”
“Thank you for everything,” Martin said, sticking out a hand to shake, Blair waving it away and moving in to hug Martin with a slap on the back.
“I simply provided resources. You won over the people. Shall we get started, though? It’s not good to leave a commander not sworn in for any longer than necessary.”
Martin nodded. “I believe the big conference room is set up for us.”
Everyone who had been sleeping in the bullpen had already made their way to the conference room, where a podium had been staged along with the cameras to broadcast the event for all Road Runners to see.
A handful of stragglers joined the two commanders as they walked down the hallway.
The conference room had rows of seats facing the podium, all filled with the familiar faces of those who worked to get him elected. Commander Blair swiftly made his way to the podium, stopping to hug a few people he had known in the audience.
“Mic check,” he said, the chatter in the room falling silent as all eyes looked ahead. “Cameras good?”
The camera operator gave a thumbs up.
“Mr. Briar, please join me at the front of the room. Go ahead and roll the cameras.”
The camera operator nodded and pushed a button on the device. The pre-show countdown began as Blair gripped the sides of the podium, Martin’s eyes drawn to his hairy knuckles. The light on the camera turned green and he started speaking.
“Good morning, fellow Road Runners. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Commander Blair from Europe. I’m here today to swear in North America’s newest commander.
“I want to first thank you all for voting in this special election. It’s never easy to replace someone as beloved as Commander Strike, but you all rose to the occasion with the highest voter turnout in your continent’s history. Ninety-six percent of the population voted, an astronomical number compared to prior elections.”
The small crowd offered a round of applause, giving Blair a chance to swig from the glass of water placed on the podium’s lower shelf.
“I’m joined up here with Martin Briar, last night’s winner in what was a very close race. Mr. Briar, will you please turn and face me?”
Martin obliged, feeling all eyes in the world on him.
“Thank you. Please place your left hand behind your back and raise your right hand.”
Martin did as instructed, his hand slightly quivering as the anticipation brewed a storm within.
“Do you, Martin Briar, vow to lead the North American Road Runners in times of stress and times of peace?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow to protect the organization by any means possible from all threats, internal or foreign?”
“I do.”
“Will you seek an end to the war against the Revolution, whether through force or diplomacy?”
“I will.”
“Do you vow to preserve, protect, and defend the integrity of this organization, starting on this day, and every day after?”
“I do.”
“Should you ever deem yourself unfit to hold the position of commander—whether it be mentally, emotionally, or physically—will you inform the appropriate parties to execute a peaceful transition of power to your Lieutenant Commander?”
“I will.”
Blair grinned and clasped his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen of the North American Road Runners, it is my distinct privilege to officially introduce for the first time Commander Martin Briar.”
The small crowd erupted, creating much more noise than expected for a couple dozen people. Both commanders stood behind the podium, grins wide, and hands clenched in a definitive shake. A couple of photographers started snapping pictures, capturing a photo that Martin planned to hang on his office wall for the entirety of his commandership.
“Now the fun begins,” Blair said under his breath as they held their pose for a few more seconds. “Do you have a minute to chat when this is all done? In private?”
Martin nodded, holding his grin for the cameras where they’d remain for another ten minutes.
* * *
The two commanders returned to Martin’s office that would soon undergo its transformation.
“How do you feel?” Blair asked, taking the seat across Martin’s desk.
Martin raised his eyebrows and tossed his hands. “Stunned. Like maybe I’m walking through some sort of trippy dream.”
Blair chuckled. “It’s funny how you never hear that sentiment from prominent figures in the world—they all pretend it’s a normal part of life. But we all go through that same reluctance to believe it’s all real.”
“I’m sure it’ll feel normal in time, but last night and today have just been surreal.”
“I emailed you some information—all the boring work that needs to be done right after you’re sworn in. You have to hire a staff for all sorts of roles. Gerald will also need to do most of these tasks for his direct team. As you know, the new commander doesn’t give a big speech until a week after the swearing in. You’ll need to prepare that speech—or hire some writers to do it for you.”
“So I’m just hiring a bunch of people to do stuff for me? What do I actually do?”
“Once your staff is in place, you’ll get to focus on your agenda. Aside from that, you’re sure to have a heap of decisions to make on a daily basis. Remember, you’re the commander – all requests for mission specific time-travel must come through your office.”
“Is there a reason I’d ever decline someone’s request?”
Blair scoffed at the question. “Well, yes, that’s the point. I decline about a dozen requests each day. People make requests for no good reason, or for things too ambitious. Your main considerations are keeping our members safe, and keeping our existence a secret. You need to weigh many factors with each request that’ll be outlined in each application. For example, suppose a person of color requests to go on a mission to Alabama in the early 1800’s. Not a wise choice.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“You’d be surprised. I probably get one application each week from a Jewish member requesting to go to 1940’s Germany. It’s always an emotional request. They want to go back to try and save their ancestors. So, it’s both dangerous and meaningless—an easy decline.”
“But I’ve traveled around time without ever requesting permission.”
“Anyone can travel wherever they want, at their own risk. A mission will assist the member in the forms of additional Road Runners, weaponry, and strategy. Like when you went into the future for the Alzheimer’s medicine. Having that medicine would have benefited the Road Runners, so it was accepted and you were given a whole team to travel with. People understand the risk if they travel on their own—there are too many of us to truly keep a tab on everyone’s activity, although we do try.”
“And it’s my sole decision if someone’s request is deemed worthy?”
Blair nodded. “Either you or Gerald can make those calls—no one else. I consider if the request helps the organization in any way, and I try to keep it that simple.”
“Alright, that seems reasonable
.”
“Now, you’ll have all week to worry about these things. I want to know, before I go back, what’s on your early agenda?”
“Well, I’d like to restore order and structure here. I’m going to make a call for our Council members to return to their job. And if they don’t, I’ll be replacing them with fresh blood.”
“I love it.”
“Once the Council is in place, all focus shifts to Chris and figuring out how to get rid of him. I don’t suppose there’s a way to get any support from you guys in Europe?”
“Afraid not. Since Chris has never been deemed a threat in Europe, we have no right to interfere.”
“That’s so ridiculous.”
“I agree it is, for this scenario. But our founders believed that all continents remain separate and not interfere with each other. We all have different ideas of what is dangerous, and in turn, different approaches on how to deal with threats. If Chris was in South America, he’d have been wiped off the map by now. They’re ruthless down there, but none of that is the point.”
“Well, that’s why I chose Gerald. The man is a genius. You should’ve seen the way he navigated us through the future. I can’t say that I ever truly felt in danger, even though I should have. He’ll be here this afternoon if you want to hang around.”
“Afraid I need to get going in the next few minutes—I’ve got my own continent to run.”
Blair winked across the desk as he rose to his feet.
“Understood,” Martin said. “I assume we’ll be in touch a lot more often now?”
“Certainly. Even though we can’t interfere with each other, we do talk things over and have pretty meaningful discussions. At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to keep our continents safe and prosperous. Don’t ever hesitate to give any of us a call—all of our numbers are in the email I sent.”
“Thank you. For everything. I have no doubt that none of this would’ve happened without your help.”
“I’m just glad it all worked out. That nutjob gave you quite the run for your money. Doesn’t matter – you’re the commander now, and it was well-deserved.”
With that, the men shook hands and went their separate ways, Martin ready to settle into his new role.
3
Chapter 3
Martin sat up to his neck in electronic paperwork. The email Commander Blair had sent contained three dozen password-protected links for Martin to read and review. After the sixth document that outlined a commander’s role within a war, his brain begged for a break that would never come. Little did he know the remainder of his term would follow a pattern of constant chaos, sleep coming at a premium on the rare nights he could slip away to the comforts of his own home.
Before his transformation into an office zombie, however, Martin sat behind his desk on day one of the job, spry and filled with ambition. A knock came from the door, the silhouette of a massive man filling the frosted window pane.
“Come in,” Martin said, rising and crossing to the front of his desk.
The door swung open and Gerald Holmes stepped in, muscles as ripped as ever, a suitcase dragging behind him.
“Gerald, welcome!” Martin greeted, meeting his old friend for a quick hug. “How was the trip?”
“Not bad. I’ve gotta say, the world seems a lot more laid-back compared to the future. Crazy to remember how quickly everything turns downhill in just a couple of decades.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here for—to stop that from happening. Is there anything I can get for you before we get started?”
“I saw the kitchen in the back—I’ll go take a look myself, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem, I’ll walk with you. Bring your bag and we can drop it in your office next door.”
Martin led the way, Gerald taking a quick moment in his new office to admire the space, knowing it would soon undergo construction.
“So how did you spend election night?” Martin asked once they continued toward the kitchen.
“Quiet evening at my hotel room in Chicago—thought I’d spend some time downtown before leaving. So I got an expensive room in one of the skyscrapers. Had some dinner and drinks at the bar. Then called it a night to watch the results in bed.”
“Sounds nice. The scene here was quite the opposite,” Martin said with a chuckle.
Gerald faced a wall full of bins containing every snack imaginable. He decided on a packet of beef jerky and they headed back for Martin’s office. “I could tell through the phone. All these young kids party hard, don’t they?” He nodded to the bullpen where a majority of the staff stared at their computer screens, surely hungover.
“Yes. They definitely have more energy for those matters. I had some drinks, sure, but this place looked like a frat house a few hours after the election. I can’t blame them—they worked their asses off.”
Gerald grinned as they stepped into Martin’s office and closed the door behind them. He tore open the jerky and started eating like he hadn’t seen food in several days.
Martin wanted nothing more than to talk with Gerald until dinner, but he had so many things to do. “So, shall we start discussing our plans? I know we’re already on the same page for the most part, but we’ve got to iron out details.”
Martin sat behind his desk and gestured for Gerald to take the open seat across the way. Gerald leaned back and placed a foot across his knee, shoulders slumping as he relaxed. “Are we even discussing anything besides killing Chris?”
Martin folded his hands together and held them in front of his lips. “We can, but I don’t see the point. I think you and I are in a unique position for having been to the future—”
“I live there,” Gerald added.
“Yes, of course. The point is, we know what’s in store if we don’t end this right now. Are we the last hope? I certainly hope not. But I get the sense that what we do maps out the next decade for our organization saving itself.”
“I agree. Everything gradually gets worse with each passing year. Every commander after us will have to adjust more and more toward a reactive approach. Let’s be proactive and just go for it.”
Martin nodded. “Perfect. I want nothing more than to tear that bastard’s face right off his skull. I doubt I’ll get that opportunity, but why not set the bar high?”
Gerald chuckled. “You never know what will happen.”
“You’re the expert in these matters. What can we realistically do?” Martin leaned back, turning the floor over to his number two.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about this. We need to put something into motion within the next six months. I suspect he’s going to keep attacking our buildings and won’t stop until we stop him. We’re past the point of beefing up security. He’s going to come at us hard and frequently. I studied the diagrams we have of his mansion, and I think we can destroy it from the ground up—from the underground, that is.”
Martin frowned, but nodded for Gerald to continue.
“We already know the cameras on his property can’t reach a quarter-mile out. I’m suggesting we start drilling right outside of that range and dig a tunnel all the way to the mansion.”
“No one knows what’s underneath. That could end up being a massive waste of time.”
“Possibly. We know there is the basement and surely parts of the mansion’s foundation—that’s what I want to get to. We can strap several explosives to the foundation that the house will sink into itself upon detonation. Chris won’t know what happened and will be as vulnerable as he’s ever been. Ideally, he’d be trapped under rubble, unable to help himself. Then we can take our time ending him.”
“I like it,” Martin said, sitting forward and planting his elbows on the desk. “But none of this guarantees his death. He’s still invincible.”
“I know that. But the objective here is to cripple him and the entire Revolution. We’d be wiping their headquarters off the map. And best case scenario, we take Chris prisoner. He may control time, but that do
esn’t mean he can get out of zip ties and a muzzle.”
Martin chuckled at the image, both satisfying and chilling. “I’m going to have someone tail Chris. Not something we’ve done in a long time, but we need a clear understanding on what will kill him.”
Gerald leaned forward, his chest shoulders stiff as his elbows dug into his knees. “Martin, we need to discuss the obvious. I know you don’t want to hear it, but we need to kill Sonya.”
“Under no circumstance will I authorize that.”
“But I will. I’ll even do it myself if I have to. I know you have feelings for her, but you’re not seeing the big picture. If she’s dead, it’s free game on Chris. And if we have Chris in our possession, we’d be doing the entire world a disservice by allowing Sonya to live because she tricked you into a relationship on your very first trip into the past.”
Martin smacked the top of his desk with an open hand. “Don’t you dare speak of that like you were there. You do not have my permission to go anywhere near Sonya.”
“Look, Martin, I want to have a civil discussion about this. It’s not like I’m going to look for her today. This is just a very real possibility that needs to be on your radar. And for what it’s worth, my oath was sworn to the Road Runners, not to you. I will never go behind your back with a decision, but if something arises in the heat of the moment, I will do what’s right for our organization. What do you think our members will do if they found out you had a chance to kill the man who caused them all so much pain, and didn’t go through with it?”
Martin stared at his desk, his eyes following the random patterns of the oak.
“You wanted me here to help with the strategy and these uncomfortable decisions,” Gerald continued. “That’s exactly what I’m here to do. If killing one woman saves the entire continent from its pending doom, then that’s a no-brainer. I’ll do it every single time. Maybe your person will find something out for us and we can avoid that topic altogether. But I wanted to make sure you’re clear on where I stand from day one.
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 2
