“Unless time was frozen,” Martin said with a smirk. “Can we land a bit further away where they couldn’t see us?”
“It’s an open desert,” the pilot said. “We can land anywhere, and I can drive you as close as you’d like to try,” he replied without breaking his stare from the windshield.
“We should have just planned it to be safe, but let me call Blair and see if he can help us.”
Martin left the cockpit and picked up the phone installed on the jet, one that had direct service to the other commanders and all Lead Runners across the continent. The phone rang four times and Martin grew antsy. It would have been late evening in England, not quite bedtime, not that commanders bothered going to sleep.
He picked up on the seventh ring.
“Commander Blair, it’s Martin, how are you?”
“Good. Is everything okay?”
“It can be, with your help. We are flying above northern Nevada right now, had plans to swipe another one of Chris’s goons. It’s a remote location and all of our intelligence suggested he lived in this place alone. But now that we’re close, we see he has some company. Would you be able to freeze time in a few minutes so we can go in and get our guy?”
“Jesus Christ, Martin, this isn’t how this works. Research has to be done before we do this, and we like to inform the other Warm Souls that we have contact with, so they know to expect it. I’m not comfortable doing this.”
Martin squeezed the phone in his grip, frustrated, but understanding the concerns. “I get it, but we’re in a bind here. We bombed the mansion successfully, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I spoke with Chris earlier—it’s not going to be pretty. I don’t know what he’s planning, but he’s going to retaliate in a big way. And if we can’t have at least two of his sidekicks, then I’m not sure we have any leverage. We need him to feel alone so we can try to negotiate him out of harming any more Road Runners.”
“Dammit, Martin, this is your war. You decided to escalate matters to this point. You couldn’t have just waited one more day to blow things up, made sure you had all the people you wanted first, then fire off the bombs? You fucked up. You made a bad call and now innocent Road Runners will probably pay for it.”
“With all due respect, Commander Blair, we have already paid our fair share of dues in this war. I’m glad that things are much more peaceful where you live, but we don’t have that luxury. You get our reports, but you just don’t understand what it’s like here. People live in fear every day. Everyone was in hiding during our election. Our own fucking Council went MIA, and five of them still haven’t said a damn word to me about their intent to return. Can you even grasp what this would be like? Are you able to pretend for one moment what it would be like for you to manage this for all of Europe?”
“I’m afraid I’ll never truly understand,” Blair said softly.
“I know. All throughout history, countries have helped other countries who were taken over by dictators. Chris is no different, it’s just within our own population where he’s causing the damage. I don’t understand why we can’t help each other. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t hesitate to send help your way.”
“Our Bylaws were written very specifically. We don’t want to get tangled up in world wars like the rest of civilization. Our focus is on peace for our communities.”
“Well, fuck the Bylaws. I’m asking you, man to man, to do the right thing—the ethical thing—and help out a struggling people. I’m not even asking you to send over your best soldiers. I just want you to freeze time for thirty minutes, and then unfreeze it, so that we can put ourselves in better position to get rid of Chris and live the life of peace that you’re so proud of.”
Sweat had formed around Martin’s forehead as his body temperature raised with the boiling rage inside. Silence poured from the phone, and Martin wondered if Blair had hung up during his rant, ready to rip the cords out of the wall if so.
“Sorry, Commander Briar, I can’t do it this time,” Blair finally said. “Let me know with some advance notice the next time you need my help.”
Now Blair hung up, and Martin placed the receiver back on its hook with a wide, deranged grin.
Gerald had stood in the cockpit doorway with his jaw hanging.
“Goddammit, turn the plane around!” Martin cried, returning to the cockpit. “We’re not getting any help on this.”
“You got it, Commander.” The pilot flicked some switches on his panel and asked Martin and Gerald to step outside and buckle up while he navigated toward the opposite direction.
Martin stared out the window the whole time, fuming.
25
Chapter 25
Chris wasted no time in changing his mind about Sonya. He wanted her in his house tonight. Once they touched down in Twin Falls, Chris told the pilot to refuel the jet and prepare for a cross-country flight to D.C. He’d be back in a couple of hours for the trip.
Chris sat in the back seat of a town car, livid from his phone call with Martin for the entire hour drive to his new residence in Three Creek. The driver didn’t say a single word, surely sensing the palpable rage lingering in the car.
All he needed to do at his new house was greet the crew who had been living there and relieve them of their duties. With the house being smaller, everyone who would stay there had to be carefully chosen. Besides, these particular crews—glorified house sitters—understood the terms of their jobs and that it would end should Chris ever need to move in.
Chris thanked them and checked on the room that served as his office, a lone desk in the corner with a monitor and keyboard visible. The office had two small windows with obstructed views outside, both cut off by a thick piece of shrubbery that needed trimming. One thing Chris hated was an ugly exterior, no matter how remote of a location he lived. He needed his Revolters to know that he was a man of great power, but more importantly he wanted the Road Runners to know they were trying to mess with a king among kings.
A god, Chris reminded himself as he scanned his dismal new office. You have always been, and always will be a god.
He had accrued a list of potential soldiers to protect the new home after a phone call to Mario Webster. Security couldn’t wait, and a team needed to be assembled and bound for Idaho immediately. Mario assured him that a full squad would be there before sundown. At the time, Chris didn’t know he’d be in D.C. during their arrival, but that didn’t matter. They could all settle in and get acclimated with each other and the new house.
Disgusted by the downgrade in his lifestyle, Chris left the house and sat for another boring drive back to Twin Falls. “You must want to blast your brains out making this drive over and over,” Chris said to the driver, who only responded with a light chuckle and a “Yes, sir.”
While downtime was rare for Chris, he’d typically spend it reflecting on his past. He liked to trace back the timeline of events all the way back to when he was just a hard-working father and husband, grinding away at the factories to collect a measly check that kept food on the table. But not this time. All he could picture was Martin Briar’s dead body, Chris standing over it with blood dripping from his mouth after having just taken a bite out of his old friend’s throat. Like mother, like son.
Chris grinned at the thought, and would work to make it a reality after bringing Sonya back home to safety. His violent fantasies helped pass the time on the drive back to the jet, and they had arrived much faster than anticipated. He boarded the plane, where he’d spend the next three hours brewing more dark thoughts about Martin.
* * *
Chris immediately jumped forward to the year 2064 once they landed in D.C. He made the switch and had his driver take him straight to the apartment complex where they had found Sonya. During the tail end of the flight, Chris had managed to push Martin out of his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. He wanted to ensure Sonya’s safety for his own sake, but would also be willing to dangle her in front of the Road Runners like bait.
It had
been quite a while since he visited the nation’s capital, especially this far into the future. Seeing the Capitol building in the distance, having been remodeled with pure gold, put a smirk of satisfaction on his face. The Revolution’s work had always been a gradual process, quietly taking over local governments as they worked their way to the big stage.
When President Poe was sworn in, the Revolution held many private parties around the country, knowing they had achieved their ultimate goal of ruling the United States. Canada would be next, followed by Mexico and the rest of central America. Once the Revolution had complete political influence over the entire continent, it would only be a matter of time before they started ruling the rest of the world.
As long as everything continued on the path he had already carved, that beautiful future awaited. And to ensure that, he needed to bring Sonya home where the Road Runners had no chance of killing her.
They drove the half-hour trip from Ronald Reagan to College Park, where the university had been closed down in the early 2040’s and moved within the downtown city limits, inside the confines of the electric fence that kept the poor and the Road Runners out. The old college town was nothing more than the new slums that had become widely normal across the country.
They arrived as the sun started to set, an orange glow cast over the brick building with barred windows and graffiti. A Pepsi vending machine flickered next to the main entrance, a band of pigeons standing guard on top.
“Quite the fall from the penthouse,” Chris said. “There should be a black van parked around the back of the building.”
The driver obliged and pulled around where the van faced away from the apartment complex, parking right next to it. Chris let himself out and rapped a fist on the van’s rear doors.
The double doors swung open and revealed the two Liberators who had been staking out the property for the last few days.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Chris said with a wide grin. “And what are your names?”
“I’m Mark,” said the man on the left side of Chris. He had wavy red hair and freckles covering every inch of his body. “And this is Hank.”
“Mark and Hank? Those are your real names?”
“Why would we make our names up?” the man named Hank asked, his tired eyes complementing his gray hair.
“Just like to be sure. There’s nothing to fear. You boys have done great work, and I owe you. I’ll be taking it from here, though.”
Disappointment spread across both of their faces.
“Did Thaddeus not tell you?” Chris asked, an eyebrow cocked.
They looked at each other and shrugged. “He mentioned a few days ago that you might want to get the girl yourself, but we haven’t heard from him since.”
Chris shook his head. “I’m sorry that was not properly communicated to you guys. Please understand it’s not that I just needed you to do the hard work. My daughter is dangerous and wouldn’t hesitate to kill you both on the spot. Not the case with me. She can’t kill me.”
“Understood, sir,” Hank said. “Is there anything we can help you with?”
“Just let me know the apartment number she’s in and be ready to drive when I come out with her. You boys up for a trip to the airport?” Chris would rather use the van to conceal Sonya.
“Yes, sir,” Mark said. “And she’s that apartment.” He pointed to the second floor, center window. “Number 212.”
“Perfect, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right out.”
Chris marched away as they slammed the van doors shut. He whistled as he entered the building, a strong whiff of ammonia flooding his senses and making his eyes water. The rear entryway had a lobby that housed a wall of small silver mailboxes for the residents. More graffiti covered the boxes, some of them cracked and split open. From the lobby, a hallway ran toward the front entrance, chips in the white walls that had long eroded to a more yellowish color. A few craters were visible in the drywall, perhaps where a fist or skull had landed. An ugly maroon carpet covered the floor, the edges frayed and peeling away from the walls.
It’s a good thing we keep these people out of the cities. No wonder our downtowns are so clean now.
Chris stepped out of the lobby and into the hallway, a crooked sign hanging above that directed him to the stairwell. He cracked open the door, expecting a raccoon or rat to dash out, but was surprised to find the stairwell rather tame compared to the rest of the place. A couple of gang tags were scribbled on the walls, but the stairs were otherwise in pretty good shape.
He climbed the steps, still whistling his tune up to the second floor where he pulled open the door to find a similar hallway, only less trashed compared to the main level. He wanted to call out for Sonya, maybe bang on the walls as he walked down the hallway, like Jack Torrance in The Shining, until barging into her apartment.
Room 212 was in the middle of the hallway and Chris took soft steps toward the door, chipped and scratched wood that looked as welcoming as the rest of the building. He pressed his ear against it, but heard nothing from inside. The neighbor next door, however, had a screeching TV loud enough for the rest of the floor to hear.
Chris rapped his knuckles on Sonya’s door and stepped back. It had no peephole, so his eyes dropped to the sliver of light splashing from underneath the door, waiting to see her shadow. After a few seconds, it never came, and he knocked once more.
“Sonya, darling, open up,” he called in a normal tone, not expecting to be heard. He wondered if she had an exit plan for this exact scenario. The only way out, while keeping the door closed, would be through the window two levels high. A jump from that height wouldn’t kill her, but would likely shatter her ankles or knees, deeming her useless if her goal was to run away.
Unless she has a rope to let herself down, Chris thought. The van out back would certainly catch her, if that was the case.
He knocked again, and this time shouted loud enough to be heard over the obnoxious TV next door. “Sonya, open the door. Daddy’s home!”
He stepped back and crossed his arms, shaking his head. She wasn’t going to open the door. Her shadow never appeared, and she was probably hiding in the bathtub waiting for him to leave. Her loud neighbor likely made it impossible to make out the voice calling her name from the hallway. Hell, maybe she wore earplugs if this was the norm for a random weekday afternoon, and never heard the knocking.
He reached out and jiggled the doorknob, finding it loose, but very much locked. He looked around the hallway, still not having seen anyone emerge from their glorious fortress, and decided a gunshot in the middle of the day was exactly what this place needed to cap off the ambiance. He rarely carried a gun, seeing as he was never in true danger, but brought his along on this trip just in case he needed to fend off a group of attackers. His guards normally took care of those matters, but they were all buried under his mansion in Alaska—the good ones, at least.
He couldn’t recall the last time he had even fired a gun, and smirked at the fact that he was only using it because he didn’t have a screwdriver to take down the doorknob. He cocked the pistol and fired a round into the doorknob. It dropped in an instant and opened a hole for Chris to look through.
Rather than peeking and risking a slug in his eyeball (it would be painless, but a hassle), he kicked the door, watching as it ripped a chain lock out of the wall while it swung all the way open.
Sonya stood in the corner of her living room furthest from the door, a shotgun aimed right at Chris.
“Goddammit!” she shrieked. “Why?!”
“Good to see you, too, darling. Can we have a word?”
Chris entered the apartment and closed the busted door behind him.
26
Chapter 26
Once Chris was inside, Sonya tossed her gun back on the kitchen table. No point in wasting rounds on him, she thought.
“How did you find me?” she asked, crossing her arms, knowing her whole plan was officially done.
“Angelina, dear, you weren
’t that hard to track down.”
“Don’t you ever fucking call me that!” Sonya screamed through clenched teeth, spit flying from her lips as her arms trembled.
“Brings back some memories, doesn’t it, Sonya?” Chris replied with an evil grin. “Like I said, you weren’t hard to follow considering you’re stuck in this year. And to think being trapped in 2064 seemed like the safest way to continue your life away from those salty Road Runners. But, my God, aren’t they persistent? To a fault, you could say. I understand you got word that my team was coming to get you?”
Sonya nodded. “You could have called me yourself to tell me, but like always, you hide like a chickenshit behind your drones.”
“Drones, dear? Those are human beings, many who helped me raise you after your mother died.”
“Murdered. She didn’t die, she was murdered. By you.”
“We can’t dwell on the fine details of the past, Sonya. Do you really think your mother would serve any useful purpose in this world today? Can you imagine her staying by my side once I became the Keeper?”
“None of that should matter. You could have let us both live without you. If you wanted to leave, then you should have just done that. No reason to destroy the entire family.”
“Look, we can fight about this again, and probably will for the rest of our lives—which will be a long time. But I didn’t come here for that.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You’re here to finish the job your sorry-ass robots couldn’t and bring me home to hold in prison.”
“I would never hold you prisoner. You’re my daughter. My beautiful, strong-willed daughter.”
“If I’m not your prisoner, then leave. Let me be.”
Chris looked around the apartment. “Leave you in this place? Even if everything was fine in the world, I wouldn’t let you do that.”
“Beats living in your golden palace and pretending that life is fun. You know money and glory don’t mean a damn thing to me. You pretend like giving me shopping sprees and dinners out with a nearby table full of guards is fun. It’s a bullshit way to live. I haven’t once felt in danger in this place, and it’s swarming with Road Runners.”
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 16
