Once all the others stood up, Martin returned to his office to check on the status of that same investigation.
13
Chapter 13
Later that week, just before everyone was set to break for the weekend, Gerald’s team of investigators returned with the smoking gun they needed. They had traveled into the past and tailed Councilwoman Murray. There were plenty of instances of her meeting with leadership from the Liberation, either by telephone or in person, but she always seemed to be talking in code with them, like she knew she was being watched.
But she left one hint behind that tied it all together, and it wasn’t even her fault. During a breakfast meeting with Thaddeus Hamilton, she had passed over two small slips of paper. One showed the daily schedule for the Council in their New York chambers, and the other was an internal map of the chambers with highlights on particular exits. Thaddeus had slipped the papers under his napkin while they finished breakfast and forgot to take them when they left.
It was such a sloppy blunder that many on the investigating team wondered if the Liberation leader had done it on purpose as a way to eventually out his mole and remove her from the picture.
Whatever the reason, the team swept the restaurant after the two had left, recovering the paper and finding it as the ultimate piece of evidence that tied it all together. There was no diplomatic reason for Murray to have given Thaddeus that specific bit of information. The highlighting of exits further suggested an attack was planned with hopes of not allowing anyone to escape.
The report was written up and sent to Gerald last night, who now briefed Martin on the situation in his office. Martin wanted to bang his head on his desk and wish for it to all end. Has any commander in history had to deal with so much bullshit during their entire term? Let alone their first month on the job?
“What do we do?” Martin asked. “I’m not even familiar with this process. Do we have to get a warrant to arrest her? Where do we keep Road Runners in jail?”
Gerald chuckled. “No, this isn’t the American justice system. We have clear evidence from a reliable source of investigators. No warrant is needed. You can authorize one of the guards to arrest Councilwoman Murray. We don’t have any locations dedicated as jails or prisons—our crime rate within the organization is essentially non-existent. In the past, we’ve simply converted a room in one of our offices to serve as a confined space until the trial begins. The trial is done by the Council.”
Martin snorted at this. “So you’re telling me everything we need to do this is all right here?”
“It appears so. The Council runs the trial and delivers the verdict. I serve as a tiebreaking vote if needed, since they will only have six voting members with Murray on the stand. You can authorize this arrest at any time.”
Martin checked his watch. It was already 1:30 on Friday afternoon. “Will the Council work over the weekend for this? Maybe I should just wait until Monday. Do we even have an open room to convert to a holding cell?”
“I’m already on the room conversion—just a matter of switching the locks and knobs so it locks from the outside only. The Council normally takes weekends off, but they are confined to this building and this is a pretty severe case. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Uribe decides to start tomorrow, or even tonight, depending on their workload.”
“Is this the right call, having a brand new Council take this on? Uribe will be the only experienced one up there.”
Gerald shrugged. “The timing’s unfortunate, but we picked the right people for the job. They just need to be jurors, and Uribe will preside as the judge.”
“Okay. Let’s do it now.” Martin’s guts twisted at the thought of having a trial for one of his own Councilors on charges of corruption and conspiracy.
“Just need you to put the request in writing and I can deliver it to someone on the security team.”
Martin obliged, pulling out a sheet of paper with his name, title, and contact information printed on the Road Runner letterhead. He scribbled a quick note like a doctor writing a prescription and slid it across the desk where Gerald snatched it up and left the office. “Thanks, Boss,” he said, nodding to Martin before closing the door behind him.
A guard always remained outside Martin’s office door, but Gerald didn’t want to pull that one away, heading toward the main entrance instead, where one man and one woman stood on watch. They rotated quite frequently to ensure fresh, rested minds were available for such a critical job in these dangerous times.
“Devin, Randall, how are you two today?” Gerald greeted them.
They both showed wide grins.
“Good, Lieutenant, how are you?” Devin asked. She stood tall with her tattooed arms crossed in front of her, studying Gerald with curious brown eyes.
“Good, but have had better days. Found out some really disturbing news over this last week, and it’s led to this.” He handed the paper over to Devin who immediately started reading, Randall perusing over her shoulder as he leaned in.
“No,” she said. “Is this for real?”
Randall frowned as he read, eyes dashing to Gerald once he finished.
“I’m afraid so. We were tipped off by a reliable source, and that prompted an investigation. They kept digging and digging and this is what was found.”
“Holy shit,” Randall finally said, his spiked black hair swaying as he shook his head. “This is a major scandal. Do we need to ramp up more security around the building?”
“Not needed,” Gerald said. “The trial won’t be open to in-person attendees, but it will be broadcast for everyone to watch.”
Normally, anyone could wander into the Council’s chambers to view a rare trial, but under the circumstances of the chambers sharing the same building as all of the Road Runner leadership, the Council passed one of many rules to keep the public out of the building.
“Conference room six should be ready for a holding cell, if you can make the arrest now.”
They both nodded, Randall reaching to the back of his utility belt for a pair of handcuffs. “Let’s do this.”
“You want us to go into the chambers while they’re in session?” Devin asked.
“I’m afraid she remains a major threat as long as she is free to roam. We need her in that holding cell as soon as possible. Councilman Uribe should know what’s going on, so don’t feel bad about letting yourself in.”
All three started down the long hallway toward the end where the big conference room waited. Their boots stomped on the concrete ground, clopping like a group of horses. Several eyes from the bullpen followed them, as this was certainly not part of the daily routine. Gerald heard whispering, speculation.
The door into the chambers was closed, the muffled sound of voices audible as they approached. Randall didn’t hesitate and opened the door, the roomful of Councilors falling silent as all heads turned to him. The new members watched in amazement, but Uribe nodded with a small smirk.
“Councilwoman Murray,” Randall said in an authoritative voice. “You are under arrest for corruption, treason, and conspiracy against the Road Runners. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”
Murray’s eyes bulged as she watched Randall and Devin approach, the glimmer of handcuffs catching her attention. She turned to Uribe on her left. “You son of a bitch! What have you done?”
Uribe held his gaze forward, ignoring his long-time colleague and former friend. Jaws hung around the table as it finally registered with the new Councilors what was unfolding.
“I should have eliminated you sooner, you old bastard!” Murray ranted as Randall smacked the cuffs around her wrists, forcing her to her feet. “If you think this is over, you’re wrong. I’ll see to it. You better watch your back if you ever take your old ass out of this building. Coward!”
Uribe laughed through his nose at this comment as the two guards started toward the door with Murray between them, disappearing back down the hallway.
The silence in th
e chambers could have been cut with a plastic spoon. Gerald remained behind and shuffled toward Uribe, addressing the group. “There will be a trial. It’s up to you all to decide the start time and terms. Please report to me when everything is in place so I can coordinate with the appropriate parties.”
“I know this is a difficult time,” Uribe said. “Welcome to the Council. Trials are never easy or fun. I’m sure this one will have some added weight since it’s one of our own. I have known Councilwoman Murray for almost two decades, and as right as I know this was to do, believe me that it was a dagger in the heart to watch what just happened. Let’s take a thirty-minute break and meet back here to discuss how we want to proceed. Plan on clearing your schedules for at least the next week.”
Uribe stood and met Gerald behind him, no one else moving yet. Uribe spoke in a hushed voice. “So it’s all confirmed?”
Gerald nodded. “I’m afraid so. They found a rock-solid piece of evidence to tie it all together. Should be a pretty straightforward trial.”
Uribe shook his head, disappointment drooped on his face. “I was hoping so much that I was wrong, but here we are. What did Commander Briar think?”
“He was just as shocked as everyone else. I feel for the guy—what a start to his term.”
“I know it, but if we can actually pin all of this on Murray and put her away, it will only look good for him. Sweeping out corruption from under the rug has never been a bad thing for any leader.”
“I suppose, but right now he’s seeing it as another negative on his image.”
“None of this is his fault. He literally had nothing to do with this. Tell him I said to relax.”
Gerald grinned. “Will do, sir.”
“Okay, well I’m gonna step out for a minute and clear my head. It’s going to be a grueling trial, especially if she keeps yelling at me like I’m the guilty one.”
Uribe nodded to Gerald before turning to leave the chambers where the silence would soon give way to the chaos of a heated trial. Gerald left to inform Martin that all had been taken care of.
14
Chapter 14
While the drama in 2020 unfolded, Arielle Lucila crouched behind a bush in the year 1988, having followed the last thirty years of Chris Speidel’s life. Not thirty consecutive years—no one would ever order that—but rather jumping through his past to eventful days in his life. Even as the Keeper of Time, Chris had plenty of days where he never left his house. With his phones bugged, Arielle listened to his morning briefing calls and could usually decide if a day was worth her time.
This particular position of hiding behind shrubbery had become normal since she started following Chris around every waking moment of his past. She had a routine of tailing the old man all day and night on the eventful days, and when he turned in for the evening, she returned to the year 2000 that she had designated as her safe space to jot down notes for the day. She had accumulated a thick binder, tracking all information on Chris since his days before time travel.
Having so many notes suggested an interesting life for young Chris Speidel, but Arielle found those particular years extremely boring – that was until the night she followed him as he carried his dead wife out of the house and tossed her into the trunk of his car like a sack of groceries.
She referred to this as his ‘turning point’, his first evil deed of many to come. He had lived a rather vanilla life up until this tragedy, but afterwards was when matters snowballed out of control. Within a week of rolling the body down a mountain and into a river, Chris had officially joined the Revolution as an active member.
She watched him evolve from a reserved, minds-his-own-business member to the monster he was now known as. He started doing small jobs for the Revolution, trips into the past to tail people—much like she was doing—returning with information on the subjects in question.
These trips into the past eventually took a dark turn, and she couldn’t figure out why. Needing to keep a safe distance, she couldn’t always get close enough to hear his conversations with other Revolters. Once he started taking trips into both the past and future, where she typically had to scramble to keep up, and returning with souvenirs from his slashed victims, she began to see the demon being groomed.
She had bugged his phone, hoping to learn who was ordering Chris to do such evil tasks, or at least find out why, but his phone calls only consisted of information regarding his upcoming missions. It was the burning question that kept her up at night. Knowing the reasoning behind what made someone tick was the most valuable piece of information. You could essentially control a person if you understood what motivated them.
She accepted that this answer remained behind one of many closed door meetings that Chris had with Revolution leadership. Her focus was better spent pursuing a means to his death. She had followed him through his rise to the highest honor in all of time travel, the Keeper of Time. The move was stunning, yet somehow fitting. Chris had certainly paid his dues, working tirelessly around the clock for the Revolution, jumping at whatever they needed help with. Leadership noticed and nominated him for the position before eventually choosing him.
Arielle noted, at this time, that the Revolution was still a rather innocent group of time travelers. Sure, they had authorized some missions that looked bad on the surface, like murdering a well-respected middle school teacher for no apparent reason. But that same murder was done to prevent a future where that same teacher would sexually traumatize ten students in one school year.
The work was dirty, but done with the right intentions. The Revolution remained this way for a couple of years under Chris’s new leadership, gradually drifting from meaningful work and toward a massive recruitment force. In his early public addresses, Chris cited the never-ending Vietnam War as a reason for needing a bigger population of Revolters. War could strike at any time, and they needed to be prepared as much as anyone to counter potential attacks.
What Arielle found throughout Chris’s life was an obsession with not just war, but the suffering that followed it. He enjoyed entrenching himself in the communities most effected, not to offer the support of his resourceful organization, but simply to observe. This proved true for any and all tragedy. He was drawn to pain and suffering like a moth to light.
Arielle had knowledge in just about every meaningful subject, including psychology. Observing Chris for so long led her to conclusions about him that perhaps no one had drawn before. Before the murder of his wife, he had never shown an interest in tragedy. After that event is when the obsession gradually grew. She concluded that his own tragedy shook him to the point of a mental breakdown. Not only did he lose his wife, but he lost his daughter in the process. Sure, she might have lived with him during her adolescent years, but she was very much checked out from the relationship and wanted nothing to do with her father.
He lost everything in exchange for a new life full of promise and wealth. Arielle supposed he grew this attraction to tragedy as a coping mechanism. Watching other people suffer made him feel better about his own questionable life choices. Perhaps he felt like he had no control, bullied by the Revolution to join and commit atrocious acts. Many of the innocent lives lost in wars also had no choice, victims of their circumstances and nothing more.
Arielle believed this could be used against him, but exactly how was the troubling question. She presumed he had escalated tensions with those who didn’t agree with the Revolution, causing the split that became known as the Road Runners, and promptly taking them to war. He had engulfed himself in so much war, that she had to believe he knew exactly what he was doing, orchestrating every move, intentionally sacrificing lives of his own people for a greater purpose. They were at war with a mastermind general and never realized it. He had always managed a facade as a lunatic with no plan, but Arielle was realizing for the first time that he was guiding the Revolution to be the greatest threat to all of society. Chris really could rule the world in due time, a project he had been working on since the beginni
ng of his reign.
“We have to get the Keeper status away from the Revolution,” she said to herself many times as she fell asleep each night. The thought of Chris wielding the ultimate powers now frightened her. The world wasn’t safe as long as he lived. He had to be killed by any means possible and have his powers stripped and deferred to someone without evil intentions. But who would that be? That amount of power was sure to corrupt even Mother Teresa.
She’d leave that sort of decision for the commanders to bicker over. For now, the main priority needed to be killing Chris. Sonya was the obvious route and should be immediately tracked down. Chris wasn’t going anywhere until she was removed from the equation.
Tonight, Arielle was ready to call it a day and head back to her safety zone. She had been hiding behind this bush for two hours, waiting to see if Chris emerged from his house one hundred yards away. He had made no phone calls and only the glow of light from a TV flashed from the visible window. His day was over, but the urgency never died for Arielle. She had debated all day about calling off her mission and returning to Commander Briar with what she had gathered so far. The amount of information should suffice for what they had set her out to do. The longer she stayed near Chris, the more likely she’d be captured, rendering all of this research useless.
I’m going back to 2000 to update my notes, and will call the Commander in the morning. He can decide if I need to stay longer, but I’ll urge him to call this off. We have what we need, and I can help on the new mission to kill this monster.
She talked herself into it and pulled her flask of Juice from her back pocket. The Road Runners had been able to reproduce her Juice, giving her a copious amount in the form of twenty bottles once she had become known as their best field agent. She took the necessary sip and thought of the year 2000 where safety awaited.
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 9
