Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5)

by Andre Gonzalez

  Martin’s election, however, brought out a fresh wave of confidence for many, even those who remained furious with the organization for failing to complete any rescue mission for Strike. A split had divided the organization, members taking polarized stances on how to best handle that delicate situation of either sacrificing Martin Briar, a nobody at the time, or letting Chris carry out his twisted game with Strike.

  “You need to address these people,” Gerald said.

  They sat in Martin’s finished office, now equipped with everything from a kitchen and pantry, to a wall of monitors for varied purposes. The furniture had all been swapped out, too, replaced with a new oak desk, two couches, and a glass coffee table in the massive space. They had knocked down walls to two adjoining rooms to make way for the commander’s office, essentially converting it into a second home.

  His favorite feature—at least for today—was the soundproofed walls. He didn’t understand how any of it worked, but once his door closed the office became engulfed in pure, glorious silence.

  Currently, on the other side of his door were about fifty Road Runners, at least thirty of them members who did not work in Denver. The entire organization had watched in shock as news broadcasts from around the country showed a Las Vegas hotel oozing flames and debris before eventually collapsing into itself. They spared none of the gore or disturbing imagery of frightened people jumping from shattered windows.

  The country mourned the loss of so many innocent lives—close to 4,000 based on early reporting, and certain to climb. But the Road Runners absorbed another devastating blow, losing 400 of their members who either worked or lived within the hotel, their biggest official structure in the world.

  Martin hadn’t known its role in the Road Runners until he went on the campaign trail. He had given a speech in one of the hotel’s smaller ballrooms, jam-packed with every Road Runner who lived in the area. They had been a warm audience, happy to host him and showering him with hospitality. They had even offered him and the campaign team the presidential suite for the night, but they had to decline to move on to the next city.

  Good lives were lost, and he was sorry that he hadn’t known them better. The members, however, didn’t want an apology. They wanted action. Immediately.

  The Road Runners who had barged into the Denver office, demanding a word with Commander Briar, all had connections to the Las Vegas hotel. Some had lost friends and family. Others were simply shaken up that the Revolters were capable of such terrorism. The hope Martin had originally sparked now mixed with outrage, and the result was a fed up membership directing their disgust toward their new leader.

  It had first started with a group of three women wandering into the office, informing Martin that they each had husbands on official Road Runner business in the hotel. With no survivors reported, they came demanding a statement from Martin, urging him to commit to a plan of retaliation.

  Martin consoled the women, offering his deepest sympathy, and assuring them he was already hard at work with Gerald in finding a way to bring Chris to justice. They had nodded quietly and sat in silence for a few more seconds before one of the women started shouting at Martin, crying that he should have been sacrificed for Commander Strike.

  Gerald had to escort the women out of Martin’s office, but let them remain in the building, Martin willing to converse as long as it remained civil. Little did he know how distant civility was at the moment for the entire organization, never mind these particular three individuals. Within an hour, more people had arrived, and Martin didn’t know if the women had called them in for backup, or if they showed up on their own. But they all demanded a word with their new commander.

  Those who worked in the office were trying to continue their daily tasks, but the distractions became too much when the crowd of angry members started chants of “Remove Briar!” and “Recall the vote!”

  The rage grew palpable within the office, but no one was violent, one thing they had all been grateful for. Gerald volunteered to calm down the scene, believing his mere presence would intimidate the riled up membership. While he managed to stop the chants, these particular members buckled in for the long haul, making themselves at home in the kitchen and lounge area, conversing with each other, and not afraid if their heated discussions were overheard by the rest of the office.

  “Can we set up a stream to show in just this building?” Martin asked Gerald. “I don’t exactly want to let these people into my office—who knows how they’ll act once face-to-face with me?”

  Gerald nodded. “I don’t see why not. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to address the entire organization, though? If not, I imagine more people will be showing up to speak with you.”

  Martin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, you’re probably right. Can you bring in one of the people who were chanting for a recall vote?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerald left the office. If these people would listen, they’d understand that Martin and Gerald were taking this seriously and working on a plan. This wasn’t a matter of attacking Chris on a whim—that method had been tried over and over to no avail. Chris was always prepared, never caught off guard.

  Gerald returned with a man who appeared to be in his thirties, with spiky blond hair and a pair of sunglasses over his reddened face, clearly back from a recent vacation in the sun. Martin had looked the same way while living in the Caribbean.

  “Good afternoon,” Martin greeted, standing to shake the man’s hand before sitting back down. “What is your name, sir?”

  “Troy Percival,” he replied flatly.

  Martin felt Troy’s eyes burning through those sunglasses, scanning him like a calculating hawk. “What brings you into the office today?”

  Troy crossed his arms as his brows furrowed. “Are you serious? You don’t know why any of us are in the office?”

  “Of course I do. I asked what brought you in specifically. Did you have a relative in Vegas?”

  Troy shook his head. “No, fortunately I didn’t lose anyone in the attacks. I’m just a Road Runner who has had enough of the incompetent leadership. I didn’t like Strike, but I really didn’t like how we just let her die . . . for you.” Troy looked Martin up and down like he was shit on the sidewalk. “Everything used to feel so secure. Even when we knew the dangers of Chris, life never felt threatened. But ever since the scandal with Strike and her team killing each other, things have just spiraled out of control.”

  “I get it,” Martin interjected. “Everything is uncertain right now. We’re working on it. But I need to know why and how many people are already discussing a recall vote. I’ve hardly had time to learn the ropes. Hell, this office was just finished two days ago—I’ve been working out of conference rooms.”

  Troy nodded. “Look, Commander, I’m sure you’re a good man with good intentions. Believe it or not, none of this is personal despite the hateful comments you’re hearing. For many of us, the election was too close. Half of our organization voted for Templeton—we really do want to disappear and pretend none of this ever happened. We begged for a recount, but were assured the technology made no errors. We accepted that, but still strongly believe you’re the absolutely wrong person for the job. In times like this, we need a familiar face, someone with a lifetime of experience dealing with Chris and this sort of conflict. Someone intimidating and threatening. No one has a reason to trust you, and between the Strike debacle and the tight election, conspiracy theories are starting to swirl. And now people are dying in multiple attacks all over the country. Road Runners are scared to step foot outside, and we have no backbone to turn to.”

  Martin raised a hand for Troy to stop. “I really appreciate you having this conversation with me in such a civil manner—this has not been the approach others have taken so far. Let me level with you, Troy. I have no idea why they wanted me to run for this position. I promise you that I was just as confused every step of the way. It didn’t make sense when they first asked, or when
I started trending upward in early polling, or even on the night I won. I’d be lying if I told you I completely know what I’m doing.

  “But I will tell you that Chris murdered my mother. And not in the way where he plays mind games. No, he broke into my home and slaughtered my mother. I am hell-bent on killing him. That alone may not qualify me for this job, but you can rest assured my goals are bringing justice to Chris and peace for the rest of us. I’ve surrounded myself with the best talent. Gerald here is one of the smartest and most fearless people I know. He’s also a brilliant strategist—he helped me get in and out of the future unharmed. We’re working around the clock to get a plan in place and executed within the next three months. I’m not trying to drag this out for my whole term. I want peace and quiet tomorrow.”

  “Wow,” Troy said. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother—I can’t imagine. I feel somewhat better after hearing all of this. Gerald is absolutely known in the community, and we’re glad he’s by your side—we just wish that it was someone like him in your position. It would create that trust.”

  “I have a lot to restore,” Martin said. “I wish Chris was my only problem, but we have no Council. As fun as it might be, I’m not interested in being the sole decision-maker for the entire organization. We need our checks and balances, or else we’re no different from the Revolution.”

  “I completely agree.”

  “You never answered my question, Troy. How serious is the push for a recall vote? Do you have the signatures?”

  For a recall to be considered, at least two-thirds of the Road Runner population would have to sign a petition pledging their support for the measure. This would then move the matter to the Council for a final decision on holding a formal recall vote or not.

  “We’ve only surveyed a handful of regions so far, but the trends suggest we do have the numbers.” Troy lowered his head, avoiding eye contact with the new commander.

  “Jesus Christ,” Martin muttered, rubbing his forehead. “How am I supposed to get anything done under the cloud of a recall vote?” He turned to Gerald who only shook his head.

  “You may be okay,” Gerald said. “Even if they get the signatures, there is no Council, no one to review the decision.”

  “But there will be,” Martin said. “At some point. Even still, what does it say to my ability to get anything done if half the membership wants me gone? Basically anything I do will be hated, no matter how good it is.”

  “Will you excuse us, Troy?” Gerald asked, nodding to the exit. Troy nodded and left the room without another word, his damage done. When the door closed behind him, Gerald spoke again. “Martin, you have nothing to worry about. You get to choose the replacement Council members. Just pick people who believe in you.”

  “I know that—it just seems like a cop-out. I shouldn’t have to stack the deck in my favor. If the people really want me gone, then maybe I should just resign.”

  Gerald let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Ignore these fools. They lost the election and can’t bear the thought of it. Don’t forget that you received the majority of the votes. More people want you in this role than don’t. The negative ones are just being louder right now. Keep your focus, and let’s get shit done.”

  Martin nodded. “Okay. Have they started drilling at all in Alaska?”

  “Not yet. We’ve run into some complications. Chris knows his mansion is safe, so there are always people on his team going in and out of the house, wandering the grounds. Our team is looking for a new, farther out location to start drilling. It may add a couple of days, but I believe we can still reach our target within a couple of weeks.”

  “Perfect, keep me updated on that. And let’s see if we can’t stop all this buzz about the recall. Maybe launch a campaign against it.”

  “I’ll see what we can do.”

  “Thanks, Gerald. I’m really glad you’re here. I can’t imagine doing all of this on my own.”

  “Anything you need, Martin. I’ll always have your back.”

  Gerald returned to his office, leaving Martin alone with his thoughts, dreading how long the next two weeks would take to pass.

  9

  Chapter 9

  Sonya Griffiths was trapped in 2064 where she lived in downtown Denver, no more Juice to transport her to other eras of time—a virtual prisoner in the future, forced to hide from the organization she had once loved. She had always known it was a matter of time before someone within the Road Runners connected the dots and tried to take her life. Hell, she didn’t blame them one bit. If the roles had been reversed, she would have done the same thing.

  It had been an emotional roller coaster watching her friends become enemies. Commander Strike was one of her closest confidants, two strong women running the world, kicking ass and taking names. But it was Strike who had ordered the hit on Sonya, and sent Martin Briar to carry it out.

  She didn’t enjoy hearing the news of Strike’s death, but did think of it as a sort of poetic justice. Strike had found herself in quite the mess, and she’d probably still be alive had she not tried to tango with Chris. But that’s not something any commander would ever do. Each new one seemed to push the envelope a bit further, and she could only hope Martin had more sense than to go down that same path.

  While she rarely spoke with her father, Chris knew the importance of keeping her alive, letting her live in his downtown Denver residence, a penthouse overlooking the city and mountains, the electric walls keeping all of the lower-class society on the outskirts.

  She knew it was wrong, but nonetheless basked in 24/7 security, a driver, a chef, and a maid. Chris even provided a personal concierge. If she needed anything at all, a simple phone call obtained it.

  She had utilized this when asking for the Alzheimer’s medicine for Martin during his visit into the future. At the time, it was a no-questions-asked policy. And the concierge never did ask a question. But they also kept a log of every request, something that her father had access to and liked to pore over on occasion.

  The day after she had given the medicine to Martin, she received a furious phone call from her father. He threatened to kick her out to the streets if she ever helped a Road Runner again, especially Martin. He’d even see to it that she get a one-way trip into the past where it wasn’t so easy for her to hide from those hunting her.

  She understood loud and clear, but didn’t realize that her father would never let this go. That was until the knock on her door from her own security officer, Steve Scott.

  “Hey, Steve, is everything okay?” she asked. There had never been any sort of threat to reach the 53rd floor, but she noticed a grave look spread on his typically cheerful face.

  Steve was sixty-three years old, a longtime friend to Chris who still had plenty of bounce in his legs. He lived in the same building, and Sonya often saw him working out in the gym during his time off. He lowered his shiny bald head as he reached into the inside flap of his suit jacket.

  His green eyes watched her for a moment before he raised a finger over his lips, encouraging Sonya to remain quiet. Her face scrunched in confusion as he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to her.

  She unfolded the paper and read:

  Your father is coming for you, wants to use you to get Briar. Need to run and hide now.

  It took her a moment to comprehend the message, but once she did, she looked to Steve with panic swimming in her eyes. He kept his finger held to his lips and gestured for her to hand the paper back over with his other hand. She passed it back before grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter and leaving the apartment without a word. Clearly Steve had a plan, and she was glad to have him on her side. Sonya had always grown close with her father’s trusted friends, many of them like family.

  It paid off now as Steve wanted to help her instead of being loyal to Chris. She closed the door behind her as they entered the elevator lobby where Steve had already pushed the call button. Sonya fought off the bubbling panic as Steve remained completely s
ilent. It could sometimes take a whole two minutes for the elevator to arrive to the penthouse, but the doors parted with a chime after a few seconds.

  They entered and Sonya watched as Steve slipped the note back into his jacket, quickly putting his finger back on his lips once they locked eyes. The tension hung over them like a black rain cloud, the silence a knife jammed into Sonya’s sanity. She just wanted an explanation. Was Chris on his way right now? Was she in physical danger? Or was this another of his endless mind games? Anyone close to Chris could attest that they didn’t truly know his feelings toward them, let alone his motives.

  Steve held his key card to the elevator’s panel and held down the “1” button, ensuring them a direct ride without any stops. When the doors parted a minute later and revealed the building’s lobby, Steve scanned the area before waving Sonya to follow him toward the exit. They moved at a pace just below a jog until they stepped outside.

  “Okay,” Steve said.

  “What the hell is going on?!” Sonya demanded.

  Steve raised his hands as they kept walking away from the building, heading into the bustle of downtown on a weekday. “We’re fine—you’re fine. Your dad is sending a crew to come take you to Alaska in 2020. They were going to tell you some bullshit story about why he needed to see you, only his intent is to hold you hostage to try and lure Briar to his mansion.”

  “They’re coming here now?” Sonya gasped. “How much time do we have?”

  “We have time. He sent a crew from Alaska—his finest soldiers. I wanted to get you a head start, and I’ll go back to the apartment and play dumb. I’ll tell them you went out shopping and that I have no idea when you’ll return.”

  “Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have any Juice.”