It was impossible to replace Murray’s almost two decades of experience, and with the Council already leaning overwhelmingly in Martin’s favor, he decided on a gentleman by the name of Yohan Templeton, his opponent in the election for commander.
Templeton had drastically different views compared to the rest of the Council, and Martin hoped it would bring some balance and perspective during their many discussions on the state of the organization. This was, of course, all contingent on Murray being found guilty and removed from her position, and if Templeton would even accept such an offer.
It was a crazy move on Martin’s part, but one that just might win over the segment of members who still seemed to hate him. What better way to move forward from this ugly moment in their history than with the support of the entire membership?
He settled into his seat with Gerald by his side, the room falling silent as Murray entered, the Council following behind.
Uribe was either drawing out the tension to drive Murray mad, or actually needed to sift through the same stack of papers a dozen different times. Eventually he called the trial back into session.
“Councilwoman Murray, please stand for the delivery of your verdict.”
Murray stood. She no longer had a smart-ass smirk plastered on her face, instead appearing reflective and a bit scared. Perhaps the reality of the situation had finally sunk in over the break. She had no way out of this, and only a long future ahead to look back on her decisions with regret.
“Councilwoman, do you have any last words to offer the Council before I read your verdict?”
“I only wish to know the name of my accuser,” she said in as flat of a tone as she could muster.
“Thank you, Councilwoman. The Council has met with its six available members to determine a verdict in this case. For the charge of conspiracy against the Road Runners, the Council voted six to zero in favor of guilty. For the charge of corruption, the Council voted six to zero in favor of guilty. For the charge of treason, the Council voted six to zero in favor of guilty. This was a unanimous decision across the board due to the evidence presented and your rebuttal. As for punishment, the Council voted five to one in favor of lifetime exile.
“You will be sent to one of our remote locations where you will live on the island by yourself. You will be given a survival kit of shelter, clothing, and hunting gear for food. A team will check on you once a year until you are found dead, but will not offer any support. You are free to attempt to swim off the island, but please know the next closest island is over fifty miles away. Should you somehow manage to make your way back into society and are discovered, you will be immediately sent back to a different island. You are hereby relieved of your duties as a Councilor and shall be stripped of your title. Your flight leaves tonight and you’ll arrive at your island within the next twenty-four hours. Prepare for a long trip in the airplane’s undercarriage to eliminate any chance of you knowing where you’re going. All of your property and possessions will be turned over to the Road Runners for redistribution to the membership, or destruction, depending on necessity. Consider your life as you know it, over. Do you have any questions regarding these terms?”
Murray stood like a statue, tears streaming down her face.
“Very well, then,” Uribe continued. “Please see Miss Murray out of the chambers and to her holding cell.”
Everyone watched as the two guards led her out, Uribe waiting until the door closed behind them.
“This concludes our trial. I want to say thank you to the Council for their hard work on this matter, and I hope they never have to deal with such a crime again. Commander Briar has informed me that he’d like to address the membership, and since we already have the cameras rolling in here, I will offer him my seat for his speech. The trial is now adjourned.”
Uribe stood and left the chambers without another word, not bothering to wait around to see what Martin had to say. This had been a grueling process for him, and sentencing someone he considered a friend to a life in exile was surely taking its toll.
All eyes in the room turned to Martin making his way to Uribe’s central seat. The rest of the Council remained in position, gawking at the organization’s leader as he sat down among them and folded his hands on the table.
“We have had rough times these past few weeks,” Martin said to the cameras. “I want to first thank Chief Councilman Uribe for leading a swift trial, and the rest of the Council for stepping up when we most needed it. This was a horrific event to learn about, and I’m glad we were able to deliver justice before Ms. Murray caused any further damage to our institutions.
“I want to take this moment as an opportunity to encourage you all to remain active with your local chapters. What we witnessed was the power of just one person able to shut down our entire organization for months. Do not fear stepping out of your house. We were suffering in the night, but the sun has risen. Return to your lives, celebrate with family and friends, and most importantly, remember to be kind to each other. We will be looking into further measures we can take to prevent something like this from happening again. Our Council members are carefully vetted, yet we have no way of predicting how a position of power will change a person. Ms. Murray served on the Council for seventeen years, and while her reputation is rightfully tarnished, let us rejoice in the fact that she had once worked tirelessly to improve the lives of Roads Runners across the continent. May her legacy be a grim reminder of the drastic swings a person can experience.
“We’re at a tipping point as an organization. Tensions are high after the Las Vegas attack, but rest assured that we are close to something big. Something that will change the course of our future forever. Return to your lives, stay diligent, and keep an eye on your neighbors. Until next time, keep safe. Thank you.”
Martin nodded to the cameras to cut the feed and they promptly did so, turning to the reporters by their side who immediately started their recaps of the day’s events.
“Good speech,” Gerald said when Martin returned from shaking hands with all of the Councilors.
“Thanks. Are we for sure ready for tomorrow?”
“I spoke with the team this morning. They said it’ll be ready. Some additional digging is being completed tonight, then they’ll plant the bombs. They have made a request, though.”
“For what?”
“One missile to launch.”
“A missile for what?”
“Under our original plans they believed they had a way of funneling some explosives higher in the mansion’s structure, but that was part of the complications they ran into. Everything is blocked solid and requires drilling that would surely be heard by anyone living in the mansion.”
“Jesus Christ, they’re requesting this at the last second? What happens if I say no?”
“Then the plan is off. Understand they were working off the blueprints we were able to obtain. There were some additions underneath that weren’t part of the initial drawings, things we would have never seen until getting this close in person. We can still detonate the explosives where they’ll be, but it will merely rattle the house and possibly make it sink a bit inward. If we can strike a missile in coordination with the explosion, the mansion will vanish in a matter of seconds. And it guarantees harm to anyone on the second floor, where we know Chris spends most of his time.”
“Okay, let’s do it,” Martin said begrudgingly. He understood that plans could change without notice, but the constant flow of shit he seemed to be dealing with was straining his sanity.
“I’ll call it in. I’m thinking one round for a bazooka will be the best bet – we don’t need anything much bigger than that and it will be easier for the team to lug around.”
“I fully trust your decision… whatever you think will make this happen. I just want Chris out of that mansion by tomorrow night.”
“He will be, and then the chase is on.”
“Well, the tailing is on. I want to capture his friends first. Were you able to find
anything on Sonya.”
Gerald shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“You don’t suppose she came across more Juice somehow?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility, but it’s highly unlikely. Her only sources of additional Juice are Chris and the Road Runners. If she was in contact with either we’d know about it.”
“Dammit, we really need her. Can you imagine if we had everyone close to Chris in our possession? Checkmate. He’d have no choice but to do whatever we ask.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Nothing is predictable with that man. Even if that scenario played out, I’m sure he’d have another trick up his sleeve. There’s a reason this war has gone on this long, and why he’s never been captured. That’s also why you’re reluctant to approach him after we send his mansion into the sky.”
“I will never intentionally sacrifice the life of a Road Runner. They’re not toy soldiers; they are real people who contribute to the well-being of our organization. I know you’re a military expert, but please understand this is what I believe. Sending anyone toward that mansion immediately after the explosion is reckless. Now, if we find an opportunity, I’m happy to take it – I’m just not going to bet my money on Chris hanging around.”
“Fair enough. I’ve requested a live feed of the attacks tomorrow, something that can only be streamed to your office. We can get some popcorn and enjoy the show.”
Martin smirked. “Sounds good. Tomorrow is a new chapter in our history.”
And it would be, one way or another.
19
Chapter 19
Martin grew antsy over Monday afternoon. Upon deeper thought, he didn’t want the Alaska mansion to explode without at least one of Chris’s henchmen in his possession. They already had an available holding cell in the Denver office – might as well put it to use. After a brief discussion with Gerald, and a quick phone call to Commander Blair in London, Martin boarded his private jet at 6 P.M., bound for Fort Myers, Florida.
It wasn’t difficult to find Duane Betts, seeing as he had booked a flight to Florida through a regular airline. A quick search connected his mother to the retirement city and they were able to pinpoint an address, kicking into motion an easy mission for Martin to grab Duane and drag him back to Denver.
As much as he would have preferred support with him during the trip, there was nothing anyone could offer, with the exception of Chris Speidel. Once time was frozen, Martin would be on his own.
The jet touched down at eleven o’clock, the night completely abandoned by the retired folks living in Fort Myers. There wasn’t exactly a nightlife scene like Miami, especially on a Monday night. If all went well, Martin would be back on the jet within an hour, Duane by his side en route to Denver.
“All set, Commander Briar?” the pilot asked as the door opened to a flight of stairs. An idle town car waited below.
Martin patted around his body, checking for his cell phone and fully-automatic pistol. Time would be frozen, so he had no intent on using the gun, but it was better to be protected seeing as he was the new leader of the Road Runners.
“I’m ready. I’ll see you in a little bit. Keep the engines ready to takeoff.”
“Yes, sir.” The pilot nodded to Martin as he descended the stairs.
The town car’s driver exited the vehicle, leaving the door propped open for Martin. He stood tall in a fine black suit, white gloves on his hands, with a wide, welcoming grin. “Commander Briar, it’s an honor. My name is Gregory White. Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you around? It’s no issue at all.”
No one aside from Gerald and Commander Blair knew that time was about to be frozen, nor did it matter. Once it was, everyone else in the world simply froze, their minds unable to process what was happening, resuming as soon as Blair unfroze it.
“It’s really okay, young man,” Martin said. “They haven’t let me drive a car since I became Commander, can you believe that? I do own a Colorado driver’s license last time I checked.”
Gregory chuckled. “Just make sure you don’t run over any of these old-timers. I heard some like to drag race in their wheelchairs around this hour.”
Martin let out a hearty laugh as he sat down behind the wheel. “That’s a good one. I only need the car for a couple minutes. I’ll be right back.”
“Suit yourself, Commander, I’ll be here.”
Martin closed the door and whipped out his cell phone to immediately call Commander Blair. He answered after two rings.
“Let’s do it,” Martin said.
“Everything is in place?”
“I’ve triple-checked, it’s just a matter of Duane being in the house once I get there.”
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be—he’s actually out there to take care of his mother. We pulled some more records and found out that she’s suffering from late-stage cancer. She doesn’t have much time to live.”
Hearing this struck a particular nerve within Martin. He, too, had been caring for his mother, even went as far as risking his life to get her medicine from the year 2064. But while he was gone on that mission, Chris decided to swoop in and slaughter Marilyn like a useless farm animal.
The tinge of guilt didn’t last long. Duane would have known Martin’s mother was sick and didn’t stand up to Chris about his actions. Now Duane would have to suffer the same torment of helplessness that Martin had, an unfortunate bonus in his eyes.
“That’s too bad,” Martin said. “I’ll be sure to leave the mother alone—I’m not a monster, like some people. I’ll go in, grab Duane, and be on my way. Will call you when I’m ready.”
“Sounds like a plan. Remember, emergency plan in case I don’t hear from you in one hour, I’ll unfreeze time.”
“This should take ten minutes. The GPS says I’m only five from his house.”
“Perfect. I’m going to disconnect the call so I can focus and freeze time. Give me about fifteen seconds.”
“Thanks, Commander.”
Martin hung up the phone and rolled down his window where the driver waited. “Excuse me, Gregory, can you do me a quick favor?”
“Anything, Commander.” The kid’s eyes bulged at the prospect of doing a personal favor for the commander.
“Can you start clapping your hands for me?”
Gregory put his hands together, an eyebrow raised.
“Just clap like you’re watching a sports game. Who do you guys like down here? The Dolphins?”
“Nobody likes the Dolphins, Commander. A lot of golf is watched in this town, but personally I try to get to a Heat game on occasion.”
“Well, pretend you just watched Jimmy Butler sink a game-winning shot in the Finals. Start clapping like that.”
The driver raised his hands in front of his chest and separated them, a puzzled smirk on his face. His hands never clapped, but remained frozen apart, eyes staring blankly at Martin.
“That’s all I needed, thank you,” Martin said, Gregory still not moving. He drove off, the GPS frozen, but he had already studied the route during the flight.
He whistled as he turned out of the hangar and onto the road, the street lamps splashing their soft yellow glow on the smooth pavement below. There wasn’t another car in sight.
The drive was just over a mile to the final destination, and even with no chance of a car accident, Martin drove the speed limit, reciting the directions in his head as he made left turns and right turns, then a quick dash down a main road before he entered the neighborhood of Hideaway Hills.
It definitely had the appearance of a Florida retirement community. All of the lawns were green and perfectly manicured, and American flags hung from the front porch of nearly every house. Porch lights were left on to intimidate potential intruders, and nearly each home had a couple of rocking chairs or swinging benches out front.
Daytime would likely reveal a community of elderly neighbors keeping each other company, stopping at each other’s houses as part of their morning strolls t
hrough the neighborhood, sharing updates about their grandchildren back in whatever cold state they had abandoned. Life was simple and innocent, and Martin intended to keep it that way.
Surely they might speculate on where Duane had gone in the middle of the night, but a story like that wasn’t exactly drama compared to one of the residents finally receiving their call to the big man upstairs. Perhaps Martin would even do the right thing and let Duane call one of his mother’s neighbors to let them know an emergency arose at home and he needed to leave. It wasn’t fair to his mother to wake up without her son and no explanation.
A tear ran down Martin’s cheek as he thought of his own mother, napping innocently at home when Chris and his chums barged in to take her life. He only hoped she had felt no pain.
Martin turned onto Dutchess Park Road, and his heart immediately started drumming in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Perhaps because it was his first time out on his own since becoming Commander. Hell, since the campaign, for that matter. He had a team with him everywhere he went during his travels around the continent, happy to have left them behind at the jet for this journey.
The houses on this block appeared to be little ranch-style homes, all piled on top of each other, not more than ten feet separating the properties. He pulled up to the Betts residence and killed the engine, rolling down the window to ensure that time was indeed still frozen. No crickets chirped; no distant white noise of traffic emanated from the main road.
Coast is clear, he thought as he craned his neck for a view through the front window. There appeared to be a dim glow of a TV, but he’d need to get closer to confirm. He stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly, the silence thick.
He patted the pistol in his waistband and started up the path to the front door, plastic flamingos standing out in their flamboyant pink under the night sky. Who the hell would actually decorate their lawn with this shit? he wondered, shaking his head in disappointment. He’d be doing Duane the favor of never having to see those horrendous fake birds again.
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 12
