Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6)
Page 1
Andre Gonzalez
Time of Fate
First published by M4L Publishing 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Andre Gonzalez
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Andre Gonzalez asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-951762-14-8
Editing by Stephanie Cohen-Perez
Cover art by ebooklaunch.com
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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For Felix. See something through its end, and you’ll be surprised how much you’ve achieved.
“Time is a drug. Too much of it kills you.”
-Terry Pratchett
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
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Acknowledgements
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Also by Andre Gonzalez
About the Author
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Connecting with readers is the best part of this job. Releasing a book into the world is a truly frightening moment every time it happens! Hearing your feedback, whether good or bad, goes a long in shaping future projects and helping me grow as a writer. I also like to take readers behind the scenes on occasion and share what is happening in my wild world of writing. If you’re interested, please consider joining my mailing list. If you do so, I’ll send you the following as a thank you:
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Chapter 1
Martin Briar leaned back on the couch, a glass of moonshine resting on the coffee table in front of him. He and his team had spent the last two weeks living in the same apartment building as Sonya Griffiths, plotting to either capture or kill her, ready to advance to the final stages of ending Chris Speidel’s life. He had admitted to his team, in the early days of their arrival, that his decision to fly out to 1933 Chicago was a knee-jerk reaction.
In a matter of weeks as the newly elected commander, Martin had endured the attacks on their Las Vegas hotel, treason from Councilwoman Murray, and the death of his lieutenant commander, Gerald Holmes. All orchestrated by Chris and the Revolution, and their sister organization of disgruntled Road Runners, the Liberation.
Yes, the goal had always been to capture Chris, but the urgency intensified once Gerald was murdered on Chris’s Idaho property.
“I can’t believe tomorrow is the big day,” Martin said, leaning forward to take a sip from his glass. The planning was done, and hardly any of it focused on their actual attempt to break into Sonya’s apartment. That part was straightforward: knock on her door with hopes of baiting her with a peaceful discussion, or if not, kicking the door down and barging in to take her. Either way, Martin was getting into that apartment. The plans they had formulated centered on what to do if Sonya decided to run. She had a new bottle of Juice and could slip away to a different era with a quick swig. The Road Runners had teams planted all throughout time at this specific location, ready for Sonya to appear.
Extensive research went into this matter, analyzing the trends of where Sonya liked to time travel, eliminating anything before the 1400s and after the year 2100. Seven hundred years was plenty of territory to cover, but they only required two Road Runners per year. While Sonya could travel to a specific date of her choosing, they presumed—and hoped—that she would rush her decision and request only a specific year, prompting the rules of time travel to transport her to the same exact day and time in a different year.
“We’re ready for whatever happens,” said the new lieutenant commander, Alina Herrera. “All possible outcomes are accounted for—we just need to execute and react.” Alina had spent every day in her new role plotting the eventual death of Chris Speidel, but had joined the crew in Chicago two days ago to review their plans and look for any vulnerabilities. Alina had been a Road Runner for over a decade, running missions in Central America to stop violence from the same drug cartels that had taken her father’s life in front her own eyes as a six-year-old girl.
She sat in one of two lounge chairs across from Martin, the other occupied by their top agent, Arielle Lucila. Between Arielle and Alina, Martin had two of the most talented minds and agents that the organization had to offer. Alina would stay back while Martin encountered Sonya, needing to remain safe in case Martin died, but Arielle planned to wait directly outside Sonya’s apartment.
They both had pistols lying on the coffee table. Alina smoked a cigarette in place of a drink, while Arielle opted to chew gum to settle her nerves.
“I want to thank you both,” Martin said. “Arielle, you whipped together this team so fast and have shown how forward-thinking you are with all of this planning. Your attention to detail is unlike anything I’ve seen before. And Alina, I know that if everything works out we’ll have a clear, simple path to finally getting rid of Chris. Cheers to you both.”
Martin raised his drink before gulping down its remains and slamming the glass on the table.
“We’re honored to just be working on this mission,” Arielle said with a grin, brushing back her honey-brown hair. “In our line of work, even with how dangerous it is, so many of the missions can feel repetitive. Our days sort of blend together: fight the bad guys, save the innocents, you know? But this has breathed new life into me. I don’t think I’ve been this excited to be a Road Runner since I first joined.”
Alina nodded in agreement. “It’s true, Commander. There are so many of us working hard every day, knowing it’s for the greater good. I never dreamt in a million years that I would one day serve as lieutenant commander.”
Martin shrugged. “I don’t know what to say—I was elected into a job I didn’t really want or know how to do. All I wanted was to surround myself with the best talent, and that has led to you two, which has led to your teams that are here with us. My only goal is to kill Chris. Once that’s done, we can return to the days of doing meaningful missions—all of us. I want everyone in
this organization to feel empowered to do their best work and move their lives in the directions they want. And that starts from the top down. If this is successful, you can both do whatever you want, as far as I’m concerned. Arielle, if you want to be a Lead Runner, just tell me where. Alina, you’re stuck with me for a couple years, but after that, you’ll have my full endorsement for the commandership, should you like.”
Alina smiled. “I appreciate that, Commander, but let’s worry about one thing at a time and get Sonya tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Martin said. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t thinking about my own death—it’s certainly more than possible tomorrow. That’s why I wanted to thank you both, just in case.”
“And that’s where we’re different, Commander,” Arielle said. “You see, we don’t have that mentality. We’re aware that death is possible every mission, but we don’t dwell on it. We are the better team in this battle, and you must always remember that.”
Martin nodded. “Thank you for that.”
“We should probably call it a night,” Arielle said, checking her watch. The evening had crept past nine o’clock, a potential long night of tossing and turning ahead. Arielle and Alina both stood, prompting Martin to follow suit. They shared an apartment unit four doors down the hallway. The entire team was spread all over the complex, able to snag units for dirt cheap, considering they were in the Great Depression.
Sonya lived on the third floor, an advantage for the Road Runners, as they could jam the stairwells should she try to flee her apartment. She wouldn’t make it off her floor before a flock of Road Runners swarmed her.
“Sleep well, Commander,” Alina said. “I’m gonna look everything over one final time before going to bed—can never be too sure.”
“And I’ll try to fall asleep and fail miserably,” Arielle said. “Been that way my whole life—I’m a night owl at heart. Must be why it’s so hard for me to get out of bed in the mornings.”
Martin chuckled. “Learning what makes you two tick these last couple weeks has been really interesting. I’ll be asleep in two minutes—the moonshine has that effect.”
“I could go into the science of why that stuff is absolutely horrible for you, but I know you won’t actually care,” Arielle said, letting out a light giggle.
“I’ve been drinking alcohol my whole life,” Martin said. “This stuff may not taste the best, but it serves its purpose. Now, you ladies have a good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Commander,” Arielle said, leading the way out.
Martin closed the door, falling back into the silence of isolation. He poured one more glass of moonshine to polish off before calling it a day. The stress had mounted to unprecedented levels. Aside from this two-week mission, he still had daily responsibilities to tend to: putting out small fires around the continent, approving and denying special mission requests, and attempting to remain a transparent and accessible commander for the organization.
The silence was nothing but a double-edged sword. He enjoyed the time to himself to unwind and not constantly live in the bustle, but it also prompted his mind to churn out wild thoughts and scenarios. Maybe Sonya would want to run away with him forever, disappearing into the sunset where they’d build new lives together. The future tormented him.
Martin returned to the couch with his full glass, sinking into it as he pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to the old, tattered photo he kept of his late daughter, Izzy. He ran a thumb over its plastic covering, her adolescent grin wide and cheerful. “I don’t know if this all happened because of you. Maybe I’ve just been telling myself that to keep my heart in it. Worst-case scenario, I’ll be seeing you soon. Best case, I’m a hero.”
Martin turned on the radio, still not quite used to having that as the only means of in-home entertainment, and listened to a jazz station while he finished off his nightcap, eventually falling into a deep sleep on the couch for his final night in 1933.
Chapter 2
Duane and Chris sat in Wealth of Time’s back office in the northern Nevada desert. Beautiful, unincorporated territory, as Chris liked to refer to it.
Chris had listened to Duane spew for the past hour about the pending doom awaiting the Revolution. A natural optimist toward his beloved Revolters, Chris dismissed Duane’s warnings. Duane also admitted that he’d been pondering the relevance of the Revolution ever since his mother’s final days had ended in such turmoil.
He referred to it as a true eye-opening experience in his life, his very own coming-to-Jesus moment. Chris balked, calling Duane soft and emotional. The Revolution had long been carved out for unchecked masculinity, and Chris tolerated nothing less.
“I have nothing but respect for you, Chris,” Duane said, eyes gloomy as they locked on the Keeper of Time. “And that’s why I’m telling you—just like when my mom got sick—that my heart isn’t in this right now. Out of my love to the Revolution, I owe it to inform you of this. We need a strong, synchronized leadership, and I can’t commit to that right now.”
Chris had sensed the doom, but would never admit it. The pillars of the Revolution had cracked and collapsed one at a time, Duane’s departure perhaps the final, fatal blow.
“I can’t say I recall the sensation of having such human feelings,” Chris said. “But if I may, you sound like you only want to quit because of our predicament. You’re jumping ship.”
“No. It’s the classic tale of ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ I want the Road Runners executed—I just can’t be a part of that moment. If my head’s not in it, then my heart’s not in it, and that’s just as destructive.”
“I’ve been betrayed so many times during my reign,” Chris said. “Every bone in my body knows I can trust you with anything, but there’s a chance this is a ploy. It’s always a shock, and never from someone I’d expect. I suppose those most loyal to you have the most to gain from witnessing—or enabling—your downfall.”
“You know better than that,” Duane said in his usual calm tone. “I love this organization and would never betray it.”
Chris leaned back and nodded. “I’m not in a position to find a new number two right now, especially because you want to go dancing on the beach somewhere—it’s not a good reason.”
“My reason doesn’t matter—I’m being upfront and honest with you. I can’t commit to the organization right now. That’s not to say I’m leaving forever – I guess you could call this an indefinite leave of absence.”
Chris shook his head. “I can’t do this without you. You think of the things I don’t, make the detailed plans for so many things on a daily basis.”
“You’ve never needed me. Anyone can do the things I do, except for presenting you with different perspectives. But that’s also why I feel like now is the time for me to step away—there are no more decisions to make. All roads point to a showdown between you and Martin, and nothing is going to change that fate. You can plan all the attacks you want on the Road Runners; it’s only going to speed up that process. You should be throwing everything to the wind and focusing solely on how you plan to counter Martin when he shows up for you.”
“Oh, please, I’m not afraid of Martin Briar. He has a mere fraction of my abilities, a dance with him only ends in his death.”
“We both know that’s a lie. You may not be afraid, per se, but you’re worried. No attacks have been authorized, recruiting efforts have been ramped up. You’re playing defense, and I know that, but that doesn’t mean the Road Runners do.”
“The war doesn’t feel like it’s moving toward an end. No one has attacked in two weeks. What do you suppose that means?” He knew Duane was leaving tonight, and needed to milk the last bits of information he could from his lifelong confidant.
“They’re plotting. We watch their newsfeed. They used to have a weekly segment where the commander addresses the organization and fields questions—that hasn’t happened in two weeks. The regular news broadcast usually discusses the
happenings of the leadership team once or twice a day—that hasn’t happened in two weeks, either. They’re planning something, and will come out swinging.”
“I fear no man, but I’ll admit I regret recruiting Briar. We don’t look into the future for all of our recruits, but maybe we should. Briar inspired a movement with his zero to hero story, and that’s my fault for ever letting it reach this point. We should have stayed in his house after killing his mom, and taken him. They would have picked an established Road Runner to run for commander, and all would be the same today.”
“It’s impossible to do a thorough deep-dive into all recruits. Less than one percent of new recruits come through your office; it’s all so widespread. We grew without ever implementing a consistent recruitment process or standards.”
Duane had mentioned this several times, but Chris didn’t care. He just wanted as many bodies in his organization as possible, happy to deal with any troublemakers along the way.
“There’s something else you should know before I leave,” Duane said.
“That you were kidding, right? This is a big joke?”
“No, Chris, this is serious, and I had held off on telling you with hopes of the news fizzling away. You don’t have time to deal with this, but I suppose no one else can.”
“Spit it out.”
“I’m in many meetings and hear lots of things. It’s been mentioned that the Liberation is making plans of their own to overthrow you.”
Chris threw his head back and laughed. “That’s precious—they have no means of pulling off such a feat. I like Thaddeus, and he likes me. I think he’d be the natural fit to replace you.”
Duane shook his head harshly. “Under no circumstances should you do that. It’s time to cut your ties with the Liberation and consider them an enemy just as dangerous as the Road Runners.”
“But they hate the Road Runners.”
“Well, they hate you too.”