“I’ve recently spent my time looking ahead instead of back, trying to see what lies ahead on my map of life. I don’t see a moment where my life can return to normal. I will always be on the run, always worried about someone trying to shoot me. My life has been reduced to that of a caged animal, but I have no one to blame but myself. Mental awareness will keep you out of unwanted situations, but too many factors play with our emotions to let us see straight.”
Tears flooded from her eyes, the lower half of her face glistening from the moisture. She wiped her nose and lowered the shotgun, not quite letting it go.
Martin still refused to make a movement, not understanding what was happening. “Sonya?”
Her head had dropped toward the floor, tears splashing onto her lap. It was a silent cry, no heaving, not even a tremble in her shoulders. She raised her head, watery eyes falling on Martin. “I’ve seen the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’ve been left no choice. I hope you can forgive me, Martin, but you and I both need to do the right thing. Go take care of business. I love you.”
Sonya flipped the shotgun back up, inserting the muzzle into her mouth.
“NOOOOOO!” Martin jumped from his chair, lunging across the table, the moment coming to a momentary standstill just before Sonya pulled the trigger, her blood and brains decorating the refrigerator and kitchen walls behind her. The shotgun slid in slow motion from her hands, clattering on the floor.
Martin landed on the table, causing it to collapse under his weight, as he crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, his flailing hands brushing Sonya’s dead legs on the way down. He rolled to the side, bumped into the trash can, and hurried to his knees to vomit inside of it.
After hurling his breakfast for a minute, Martin brought himself up on his trembling legs, the room spinning around him as he fought the urge to faint. His radio crackled something inaudible, surely someone on the team having heard the gunshot and demanding an explanation.
He stared across the kitchen to Sonya, her body still seated in the chair, head cocked all the way back as blood oozed from her mouth, more of it pooling beneath the hole on the back of her head. His entire body shook, reminding him of the way the world shook after drinking the Juice and bracing to travel through time.
Rapid, panicked knocking came from the front door, but Martin could only manage a step before he collapsed to the floor, crying.
Chapter 7
Martin didn’t follow the protocol of paging the team if he managed to kill Sonya. Then again, he didn’t kill Sonya.
“Commander Briar!” Arielle’s voice cried from the other side of the door. She had remained hidden on the third floor, keeping the closest eye on Sonya’s apartment door, ready to pounce if she bolted out. “Commander, is everything okay?!”
Her voice, despite being muffled through the wooden door, sounded desperate and worried. Martin crawled toward the living room couch, leaning back against it as he entered a state of shock. Sonya’s sacrifice had not been on the list of possibilities, leaving Martin flustered with regard of what to do.
Go take care of business, he thought, reminiscing on her finals words. It was no accident. She had made a calculated decision to pull that trigger and set in motion the hunt for Chris. As much as he needed to hurry to ensure everything fell into place with their plans, Martin needed the moment to process what he had just witnessed.
“Commander, I’m breaking down this door!” Arielle cried.
The banging from outside fell momentarily silent, followed by a sharp bang! that saw the door swing open, Arielle standing on one leg while the other remained elevated from kicking.
Martin rolled his head to look at her, watching her eyes bounce from him to Sonya, then to the shotgun that lay on the floor at her feet.
“Commander?” Arielle asked, inching into the apartment with the caution of a burglar.
Martin felt the puffiness in his eyes, knowing they were surely red from the ten minutes he had just spent crying. “She shot herself,” he said, the words stiff out of his lips. “I didn’t even see it coming—I thought she was going to shoot me.” His lips quivered as he fought off another wave of tears, mind still catching up to the fact that his life had been spared. Martin had survived plenty of trauma throughout his life, but this encounter had been the most intense thanks to its rapid progression. Even the loss of Izzy had been a gradual process of acceptance as the days passed, creating a different kind of shock.
Arielle wasted no time in grabbing her radio and speaking into it. “Everyone stand down, stay in your positions. Lieutenant Commander, please come to Sonya’s apartment, it is now safe.”
Martin flailed for the couch to help him stand, eventually doing so with the struggle of a toddler just learning to pull themselves up. Once on his feet, Martin forced his legs to walk away from the scene in the kitchen and meet Arielle in the doorway. “Come inside and close the door—we can’t afford to have a neighbor wander this way.”
He knew this wasn’t necessarily a worry considering the year—suicides were quite commonplace during the Depression, plenty of reports eventually leaking that neighbors, and even family members, would hear gunshots from around the way, knowing what had happened but not bothering to confirm—but they still couldn’t afford the gamble of leaving the door wide open.
Arielle obliged, closing the door and pressing her back against it now that the latch didn’t work thanks to her well-placed kick. “Commander, I know this a lot for you right now, but once the lieutenant gets here, we need to move fast. Remember, we projected six to eight hours until Chris realizes he’s mortal again. At that point, we have no idea what exactly he will do.”
“I know. We can start.” Martin’s chest felt drained, void of all emotion. His brain understood exactly what needed to happen next, even insisted on it, but his heart wasn’t in it. Not yet. Gone was the anger that had driven him to this point, a hate sparked by the death of his mother, then elevated by learning that Sonya had killed Gerald outside of Chris’s Idaho home. All that remained, for the moment, were the raw emotions of losing a loved one. A future together was no longer an option, leaving Martin truly alone.
A knock came from the door and Arielle stepped aside to pull it open and let Alina enter. Her jaw dropped at the horrific scene. Martin gave the abbreviated story of what had happened, able to make it through this second telling with a bit more composure.
“It’s time, Commander,” Alina said. “Regardless of how this played out, this is what we came for. Chris Speidel is now a mortal human being, and we have to act before he tries to change that fact.”
Martin nodded. “Inform the appropriate teams. We can begin phase one, just make sure no one is around to relay the events to Chris.”
“Arielle, can you please hop into the future and make that call?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Arielle replied, promptly leaving the apartment to head outside where she’d jump forward in time to place a phone call to the team waiting to tail Chris.
Once they were alone, Alina moved toward Martin and placed an arm over his shoulder. “We all know this was going to be hard for you, Commander. But look at where we are now. This war will be done by tonight and we can start our road to recovery and peace.”
“I don’t feel so hopeful,” Martin said, giving into Alina’s embrace as his legs still weren’t quite ready to support the rest of him. Sonya had done a number on his mind by planting a seed of doubt regarding his role with the Road Runners. While it all seemed a stretch, nothing in her theory could be deemed as impossible. Could the Council have orchestrated this whole ordeal? Or another commander from a different continent? Possible, but not likely. As commander, Martin had access to too much information, not to mention the teams that worked under him all around North America. If this had been the grand scheme, then everyone would have been carefully chosen to work directly with Martin—yet he was the one who picked Alina Herrera to replace Gerald. And had picked Gerald in the first place. For now, he needed to focus and w
ould worry about piecing together this puzzle later.
“The hope is there, and it’s our little secret. I made the decision that we will not be relaying any information back to the Council as originally planned. Only those who have roles in critical missions will be informed when it is their time to act. The less people who know what is happening, the better off we’ll be.”
Martin scrunched his face, stepping out of Alina’s embrace to face her straight on. “I don’t understand.”
“Look, we know Chris has always been able to hack into our network and systems. And after the debacle with Councilwoman Murray, I’ve concluded we can’t take any chances at this point. We can’t come this far to let a potential slip-up beyond our control derail this entire mission. If any mistakes are made, they’d better be from you or me.”
Alina spoke with such conviction that Martin had no choice but to trust her. It also eased his mind about her being planted in his life. If she wanted to keep the Council out of the loop—something that would shortly send them and the entire Road Runner membership into a frenzy—then she was, without a doubt, solely focused on killing Chris. In this moment, Martin witnessed the height of Alina’s character, and knew she would one day serve as a fine commander.
“How much time does that buy us before the Council comes looking?”
“The Council won’t find us—I’ve already given strict instruction to our team to not answer any calls from the Council, or to reach out to anyone besides me. You and I need to work on this eight-hour deadline and get the job done.”
Martin grinned for the first time since arriving to this apartment, but remained void of actual emotion. “I’m glad to have you here. I know Gerald would have done great in this role, but I feel such a different kind of calm with you around.”
“I appreciate that, Commander. Gerald was a hero and legend within our organization, especially in my line of work. I had the pleasure of doing a couple missions with him. Now, I want you to gather yourself. We don’t have to step out of this room until you feel more together, but that needs to happen soon. I’ll wait in the hallway and will have someone call a team to clean up this apartment. Do you have any preference what we should do with Sonya’s body?”
Martin hadn’t considered the question before, not realizing the decision would ultimately be left to him as the commander. Surely it had been planned to some degree by his team and they wanted to leave the thought out of his mind.
“Arrange to have her buried next to my daughter. Larkwood Cemetery. Take her back to 2020 and bury her there.”
“As you wish, Commander. Any other requests for her burial?”
“That will be all, thank you.”
Alina nodded and left the apartment, Martin looking to Sonya for the final time, his heart tearing apart at the seams.
“I love you,” he said. “You were a star in my night, my only beacon of hope. I don’t know if we would have ever gotten the timing right, but I’ll always remember our time together. It didn’t have to end this way, and I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to figure out why you felt it did. I’ll think about your hugs, your lips, your scent. The way you’d giggle sometimes in your sleep. All I wanted was the chance to love you and help you heal from the wounds of your past. I suppose all I can do now is honor your life by completing this mission. Thank you for trying to save my mom—that’s all I needed to know about your true character. I’ll never forget you.”
Martin blew a kiss across the room before he turned and left, wiping the tears away to move to the next phase of this ultimate mission.
Chapter 8
Chris didn’t know he was mortal, and he still wouldn’t for a few more hours. He was too occupied to notice the grumbling in his stomach, or even the yawns that escaped his mouth for the first time in decades.
Instead, he was focused on abolishing the Liberation, just as he had done to all the other pathetic organizations that had tried to rise up in the past—except for the Road Runners, of course. He had called Duane, seeking advice from his longtime confidant, but he didn’t answer on three different attempts, adding an extra layer of frustration for the Keeper of Time.
Sure, he could barge into Thad’s home and shoot him, but alone he wouldn’t be able to withstand the guaranteed retaliation of doing such a thing. Even with his assumed invincibility, he had no chance of outrunning a mob of pissed off time travelers.
He had a small team now, all made up of his brainwashed soldiers, and they would have to suffice through the remainder of this war. He also had a team at Wealth of Time, but they weren’t equipped to fight, focusing more on recruitment efforts around the continent. Chris had called for a temporary pause in recruiting, not wanting to further expand their operation until he had help running the organization.
After plenty of contemplation, Chris decided that he’d be the one to remove Thaddeus Hamilton from the world. “We’ve been pushed around enough these last few weeks,” Chris said to his houseful of soldiers, ready to do as he commanded. “Our task is a simple one. We’ll let ourselves into his house, maybe even position it as a peaceful meeting—I’ll need to chat with him first and get a feel for the mood. I don’t believe he knows that I know his absurd goals for trying to overthrow me as the Keeper of Time. Your task will be to eliminate anyone else in the house, and capture Thaddeus—leave him for me.”
These words echoed on the early morning flight to central Iowa, the soldiers getting amped up for the busy day ahead. Chris had called to find Thaddeus was indeed in high spirits, welcoming the unexpected visit from Chris and his soldiers on the grounds of discussing possible options for the capture of Martin Briar.
It didn’t take much to excite the eager Liberation, and Chris played to their leader’s ambitious emotions. There was no plan for getting Martin, and if there was, it certainly wouldn’t be shared with Thaddy at this point in time.
“An easy blindside mission, boys,” Chris said when they had arrived and departed the jet. An organization as small and young as the Liberation would have no way of surviving the assassination of its leader so early in their existence. They likely had no plans in place for such an event, and would scramble for a few weeks before eventually fizzling into the void of failed organizations.
All guns were loaded and ready—Chris just needing to give the signal once they arrived to Thad’s home in Ames, Iowa. He had moved from his prior San Francisco residence where Chris had first encountered him at the beginning of their relationship. The Liberation had originally formed in Iowa, a majority of its members having lived in the state. It became an unofficial headquarters despite not having a building to call home.
Thaddeus hosted many events each month from his house, primarily ones that required their small leadership team to make plans for the future. Thad took the liberty of inviting a handful of these leaders for the occasion of Chris’s visit.
Chris drooled when Thad mentioned this on the phone, knowing the bloodbath that awaited. By the time they arrived to Thad’s house in two separate vans, Chris and his team had a perfect understanding of how the morning was supposed to play out. The beauty of being the Keeper of Time was that no one questioned when Chris arrived to a destination with his dozen of guards surrounding him, guns in hand.
“What a beautiful house, don’t you think?” Chris asked his team as they unloaded from the vans and started up the flagstone pathway that split the front yard into two halves. Yellow and orange leaves sprinkled the lawn from the massive oak tree that shaded the garage to their right.
Chris saw through the front window a group of four men laughing in the living room, standing around with drinks in hand. He rang the doorbell and took a step back. These boys like to party early.
Thaddeus opened the door, a tipsy grin plastered across his face. “Chris Speidel! You should have just come home with me after our meeting in Wyoming—would have saved the extra trip.”
“No worries at all,” Chris said as he led his team into the house. “I had busine
ss to tend to back in Idaho—I don’t mind the time on the jet, gives me a moment to unplug from the chaos.”
Thaddeus chuckled as he held the door open for all twelve soldiers. “Well, I hope we can help take some of the workload off your shoulders. We’ve already been talking things over about how to get Briar.”
“Oh really? I can’t wait to hear. Where should I have the team mingle? I’m sorry for traveling so heavy, but times are dangerous right now.”
“No problem at all,” Thaddeus said, turning to the men crowded into the foyer and living room. “Gentlemen, I have plenty of space in the backyard or basement. Make yourselves at home and let me know if you need anything.”
The lead soldier nodded and made his way down the only visible hallway, all others following him.
“Thank you,” Chris said.
“Can I get you anything? Beer? Water?”
“I’m okay, thank you. I run on a tight schedule, as you might imagine, so I’d love to jump into business if that works for you fine gentlemen.”
“Absolutely. Let me introduce you to the gang.” Thaddeus pivoted and strolled to the three other men who had waited in the opposite corner of the living room, sofas and lounge chairs set up around the perimeter, a coffee table moved in front of the fireplace to open the space up. “We’ve broken our organization into four different regions to start. I lead what we call Liberation Midwest. And here we have Joe Hicks, leader of our West Coast and Rocky Mountain branch.”
A tall man stepped forward, his face long and droopy, black hair matted down in a way that reminded Chris of Frankenstein’s monster. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said in a deep voice that greatly complemented his appearance.
“And Morgan Kuzma, leader of our Northeast branch,” Thaddeus said, moving to the next man, a more sophisticated appearance with his glasses and sweater vest, a perfectly-trimmed goatee framing his welcoming grin. Chris shook hands with him and offered a smile. “And last, but not least, Donny Spencer, leader of our Southern region.”
Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) Page 5