Instead of worrying in his office all day, Martin and Gerald decided to watch the trial in the Council’s chambers. Uribe predicted a swift trial, taking no more than Monday morning, after reviewing the initial evidence presented to him by the investigation team. The Road Runner justice system had no attorneys to try and spin the truth and weasel their way out of obvious guilt. Evidence was presented and the defendant had the right to explain themselves. Uribe suggested there was nothing Murray could say to plant so much as a grain of doubt in their minds. The longest part of the trial would likely be the Council’s closed-door discussion regarding her sentencing. They refused the death penalty, the severest punishment likely Murray being exiled to one of their remote islands reserved for such criminals.
The Road Runners owned many uncharted islands in the Caribbean, Antarctica, and Polynesia. A handful were used to store military supplies, but many remained abandoned, their purpose to hold prisoners of either the Road Runners or the Revolution.
Murray was led into the chambers, hands cuffed in front of her, promptly at 8 A.M. Around the clock news coverage had slowly resumed over the last week for the Road Runners’ internal streaming channel, and they vowed to air every minute of the trial. A couple of news anchors and their camera operators were the only other attendees in the chambers aside from Martin and Gerald.
The room had been rearranged for the trial. Gone was the oval table the Council normally sat at, replaced by a straight one facing two smaller tables where Murray sat opposite the lead investigator who had busted her.
The Council filed into the room dressed in long black cloaks that were only worn during a formal trial, as they now served as the jury and judges.
“Our trial is in session,” Uribe announced in a booming voice, taking his place in the middle seat. Everyone had notebooks they opened across the table once they were seated, pens clicking as they prepared for the trial ahead. “Everything I say after the words ‘Our trial is in session’ will be on the record until I deem the trial in recess or complete. I ask for you media folks to respect that and not record anything if we are formally off the record. That’s not to say you can’t speculate and report the happenings during that down time, but no camera footage or audio should be broadcast. Are we clear?”
The two reporters nodded.
“Perfect. You may also hear me say things that sound out of place, but I’ll just be speaking particulars that need to be recorded, as our official record is audio only. I may need to describe the happenings around the chambers to ensure a clear picture for our records.
“Now, our trial is in session. Councilwoman Jill Murray, please stand for the reading of your official charges.”
Murray stood and rolled her eyes. Apparently her bitterness toward Uribe hadn’t worn off since Friday.
“Councilwoman Murray, you are being charged with conspiracy against the Road Runners for colluding with a known enemy group called the Liberation. You are being charged with corruption and abuse of your role as a Councilor, endangering the lives of your fellow Councilors, and threatening the well-being of our membership. You are being charged with treason. All three of these charges will carry their own verdict and sentencing. Do you understand your charges?”
Murray grinned, but did not speak.
“I’ll take your smile as confirmation. Please be seated.”
Murray sat, a smirk stuck on her face.
“Our trials are very straightforward. We will hear first from the lead investigator who worked this case, then from Councilwoman Murray. After both sides have spoken, the Council will convene in private to discuss a potential verdict and sentencing, or if we’d like to hear more information. Any member of the Council can ask a question at any time. I also want to take this moment to address the fact that, beside myself, our entire Council is filled with new members within the last month. Rest assured, I spent time individually with each member over the weekend to ensure they are up to speed with our trial process and that they are comfortable with their role. I am confident we are a team ready to make unbiased judgments in this trial, despite the defendant being a Council member. Mr. Jay Godwin served as the lead investigator for this particular case. The floor is yours.”
Jay Godwin, a 45-year-old Black man, rose from his seat, buttoning his pinstriped suit before flipping through an open binder on his table. “Thank you, Chief Councilman.” He slid on a pair of glasses and looked down to his notes, the bright lights of the chambers glaring off his bald head. “This case came across my desk last week and my team immediately jumped on it. We tailed Councilwoman Murray for a timeframe dating back exactly one year to make sure we didn’t miss any potential evidence. In December of 2019, we discovered the Councilwoman starting to have an increase in phone calls to a particular number that we were able to trace to Thaddeus Hamilton, the leader of the Liberation. Due to laws in place, we were unable to listen to the calls of a Councilor, but we do have records showing these calls were placed.
“After we discovered these calls, we sent out more agents to tail Mr. Hamilton. We were able to get one of our own to join the Liberation as an undercover spy. They have fairly lax qualifications to join their group, and we had our insider planted a week after the discovery of the first phone call. During this time, the Liberation’s only topic of discussion was regarding the extermination of the Road Runners’ Council and chambers. This obviously raised some red flags, as we understood a member of our own Council was in daily contact with the man planning this attack.
“The phone calls continued for two months, and eventually led to an in-person meeting between Mr. Hamilton and Councilwoman Murray at a diner in New York City called the Railway Diner. We watched from afar, with agents both outside and inside trying to hear the conversation. We had no luck in gaining information this way, but when the two left, we swept their table and found this.”
Jay held up the infamous sheet of paper that was a map of the Council’s New York chambers.
“This is a map of the chambers with all exits highlighted. On the backside were handwritten notes of the Council’s daily schedule. We compared the handwriting to Councilwoman Murray’s. Our forensics team determined the two as an exact match. I have the forensics report available for you to review.
“This one piece of evidence made it very clear what was going on. After sitting down and combining all of the evidence we had gathered, we arrived to the conclusion that the phone calls between Councilwoman Murray and Mr. Hamilton were part of a grand scheme to remove all Councilors from the Road Runners. With the Councilwoman knowing the attacks were coming, she would have survived and been the only remaining member, automatically becoming the next Chief Councilor. As we know, the Council members from that night of the planned attacks all survived, but decided to remain in hiding for fear of their lives. The chambers were still burned down and sent a ripple through our society that caused a continent-wide shutdown of our operations. That concludes our report of the investigation – thank you.”
Jay returned to his seat while all Councilors finished jotting notes.
“Councilwoman Murray,” Uribe said. “You may stand and state your defense.”
Murray rose, her expression bored. “I’m afraid I can’t offer much in response. Even if I stood here and said this is all a lie, none of you would believe me. What I really want to know is who was the rat that sparked this investigation. Was it you?”
She fired her question directly to Uribe who started shaking his head. “Councilwoman, this is inappropriate for your defense, and completely irrelevant.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’ve been in a holding cell for the last three days—I demand to know who is responsible.”
“Suggested by the evidence, you are responsible, Councilwoman. Now do you have any actual defense for these actions? Something concrete for us to consider.”
“Yes, I think it’s irresponsible for the investigators to jump to conclusions about my meetings with Mr. Hamilton. There is no actual proof that
shows me involved with the attacks the Liberation carried out that night. There’s not even so much as hearsay, just a leap of faith that connects me to a map. If this is all it takes to send a Road Runner official to prison, then the organization has a corrupt future ahead.”
“Then what was the purpose of the map? Please do share.”
“Mr. Hamilton was inquiring about building his own chambers for his newly formed Liberation. He wanted an idea of our layout. The schedule on the back was shared to give him an idea of what we do on a daily basis.”
“And it’s a coincidence that this same man arrived to our chambers less than a week after this meeting? With hundreds of his followers ready to burn the place down with everyone inside. I may be old, Councilwoman, but my memory is still sharp as a tack. I remember that particular night. You kept pressing us to stay, told us there was nothing to worry about regarding the hundreds of people gathering in our parking lot at the most random time of day.”
“There was nothing to worry about. You all overreacted. I don’t know what those people were there for.”
“They burned our building to the ground, in case you forgot. That’s what they were there for, and you wanted us inside while it happened.”
“My point exactly: you’re drawing your own conclusions.”
“I think we’ve heard enough, Councilwoman. The writing is on the wall. An innocent person would offer facts and not their own speculation. And they certainly wouldn’t try to spin the story in a different direction. This trial will now be in recess as the Council discusses a verdict and possible sentencing, if found guilty. Everyone please leave the chambers until I call for your return. Thank you.”
Uribe clasped his hands in front of him and waited for the chambers to clear, Murray burning her gaze into him while two guards escorted her from the room.
17
Chapter 17
Sonya had been on the run for the last week, driving until she no longer could. She had arrived in Washington, D.C. three days ago and had already secured a new apartment on the outskirts of town. She wore tattered clothes in an attempt to blend in with her new surroundings. Surely Chris wouldn’t check any of the rundown neighborhoods, seeing as Sonya had millions in her bank account. Because of that, she had the luxury of staying inside of her apartment all day, only leaving to buy a moderate amount of groceries.
Her neighbors shouted at each other all day and night, and a chorus of gunshots kept her awake well past midnight more often than not. Her world, as she knew it, was over. Gone were the days of strolling through downtown, designer purse slung over one shoulder, shopping bags over the other. No more fine dining in the city, no more penthouse suite overlooking the Rockies.
Her life had been reduced to one of simplicity: cook, clean, read, and sleep. She was off the grid, refusing a cable or internet bill, paying for rent and utilities with cash. For being outside her comfort zone, Sonya felt safe for the first time since Steve had informed her people were coming to take her back to Chris in Alaska. She had always known it was a matter of time before Chris made this request. She often thought back to the day that changed her life, when her father had his own blood injected into her body for this archaic ritual deemed necessary for the Keeper of Time. It put her through some depressing years knowing that she was keeping such an evil man alive, but the situation was out of her control.
Her new apartment reminded her of college: living in a dorm on campus, ordering pizza every night, and washing it down with all the beer she could find. Those nights had also consisted of cutting her wrists in hope of letting some of her father’s blood out of her body. She had thought doing it enough might clear her system and one of the attacks on Chris’s life could finally work.
Yet here she was, living in a place she would have never chosen under her own circumstances, cowering away from public gatherings, settling into her new life of isolation.
“The sun will come up again,” she had told herself dozens of times during her cross-country journey, and she said it again every night before falling asleep. She had plenty of time to reflect on her life and wondered how things might have played out had she never joined the Road Runners. If she had stayed by her father’s side instead of joining his biggest enemy, she may very well be in a position of power within the Revolution today. She could have become a rich snob like the rest of the upper echelon she often watched her father mingle with. They were all sick, selfish people who wouldn’t hesitate to step on your throat if it meant elevating their status, especially in front of Chris.
She had always kept her distance after witnessing her mother’s death, but during her teenage years Chris had started attending, and sometimes hosted, these particular gatherings of the Revolution’s high class. All the people dressed in fancy suits and sparkly gowns—this was also when Chris started to wear his signature all-black suit. They drank champagne, showed off their flashy jewelry, and bragged about their financial portfolios. Fancy foods were served on silver platters, and it wasn’t quite until Sonya reached tenth grade that she realized her dad was living the high life.
He had her wear a dress, although none of hers sparkled like the ones the other women wore at these events. Her father always put on a fake smile and let out fake laughs she had never heard before. He had promised her a life where she could have anything she wanted, and now that it had arrived, all she wanted was to get away from him.
Chris had changed from a loving father to a man who only cared about himself and what others thought about him. Public perception dictated how he acted and dressed, and even how he treated Sonya. During these gatherings he liked to send Sonya to grab beers for his friends, despite having a full staff of waiters available. She was his obedient little puppy, and how they laughed each time she returned hugging six bottles of beer in her embrace, balancing so as to not spill a drop.
Sonya quickly learned that hate was not an emotion, but rather a formed decision. She hated Chris. He had ruined her life, shredded her teenage years to pieces, and laughed his way to the top of his bullshit organization. She hated that his life was tied to hers. The thought of suicide popped into her mind on occasion, just for the satisfaction of knowing what it meant for her father.
The Road Runners had provided her a home, all of the members having their lives somehow ruined by Chris. She connected with them, understood their struggles perhaps better than anyone else. They were reluctant at first, but eventually welcomed her with open arms. Gone were the days of being a social outcast. She made new friends and formed new memories, even working her way to the top of the Road Runners, becoming Commander Strike’s most trusted recruiter.
She often wondered what life would be like had Strike never made the decision to try and take Sonya’s life. She was still shocked that they would turn on one of their best members, but understood why. The secret had stayed locked up long enough, but it was only a matter of time before someone tried to use the connection between Sonya and Chris to end the madman’s life.
It all led to her in this run-down neighborhood in D.C. today, surviving one day at a time. Somewhere in the world Chris was on the hunt for her, as was her old friend and former lover, Martin Briar. She couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like had she taken up Martin on his offer to run away together. Instead, she was trapped in 2064 by her own fault.
“How stupid was I?” she asked as she lay on her living room couch, staring to the ceiling fan than spun in a hypnotic trance. She had plenty of decisions to dwell on from her storied past, but none of it mattered or contributed to her survival. She now lived day to day, staying off the radar as she tried to brainstorm a plan for a new life.
All of her resources were gone. Chris controlled everything the Revolution could offer and she wouldn’t dare endanger any of the friends she had, much like Steve had voluntarily done by getting her out of Denver as quickly as possible. The Road Runners might offer her support, especially with Martin in charge, but she could never fully trust them again. There woul
d always be an underlying chance that they’d turn on her.
She didn’t fear for her life, but only worried about being picked up from either party trying to further their agenda. All communication to the outside was cut off, leaving her with screaming neighbors to potentially converse with. Maybe they were nice people just struggling to get by.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, rolling onto her side for a glimpse out the window. Her apartment was on the second floor, facing west, and she only opened her blinds when the sun shone directly through after three o’clock until sunset. The world looked so massive through that window, Sonya a mere speckle of dust in the vast universe. And when the neighbors weren’t yelling or throwing dishes against the shared wall, she listened to the stillness and silence the world had to offer. Even in her rather remote lifestyle in the big city, Sonya had never stopped for a moment to realize just how chaotic life was.
She lounged in her new dwelling, not in fear, but in appreciation for taking a step back and having a second to catch her breath. Surely the hunt for her would resume at some point in the future, but she’d be rested and ready.
18
Chapter 18
Everyone filed back into the Council’s chambers at 2 P.M. Uribe had announced the resumption time at noon, citing a decision had been made, but wanted to give everyone a couple hours for a lunch break.
Martin ordered pizzas for the entire office and encouraged everyone who wasn’t already, to watch the delivery of the verdict for this critical time in Road Runner history. Martin used the extended break to make phone calls to potential replacement candidates for the Council. The information was still fresh from his last round of interviews and he already had particular folks in mind.
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 11
