Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6)

by Andre Gonzalez

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation,” she said, approaching the Council’s table, but staying back a couple feet.

  “We already know what’s brewing upstairs,” Uribe said, hoping that Devin’s announcement wasn’t anything more than that.

  “No, sir. It’s that, but there’s more. Similar gatherings are happening all around the continent right now. I’ve received calls from Mexico City, Atlanta, Vancouver, and lots more.”

  “Shit,” Uribe said. “I need to address the organization. Can we arrange a video call upstairs? I’d like to show us interacting with one of these crowds so they don’t think we’re just cowering.”

  Commander Briar had implemented a stronger push for transparency between leadership and the members, but not a total barrage of information. For example, Uribe could share that the commander was currently working on a secret mission, but not give any details. No one pushed back against this initiative as many believed it would alleviate random visits to the office from members, and hopefully cut down on their email inboxes. Both of those wishes had gone out the window today, more emails and members piling up.

  “Head up in ten minutes,” Devin said, and bolted out of the room.

  “I would like to tell our members that their commander is indeed okay,” Uribe said, returning his attention to the Council. “Keep making those calls—try every name we have listed on the mission sheet until someone answers. We need an answer in the next ten minutes.”

  “Do you think we need to authorize any special protections?” Councilwoman Dawson asked.

  “I think that may be premature.”

  “I disagree,” Councilwoman Barns chimed in. “When have you ever heard of this sort of thing happen across the continent? We’re a few minutes away from a potential point of no return. We need to mitigate any threats or violence immediately.”

  “Our people don’t do stuff like that,” Uribe said.

  “With all due respect, sir, times have changed since you last mingled with the general public,” Barns said, all six heads snapping around to look at Uribe’s reaction.

  He stared blankly at his Council, unsure of what exactly to say. He wanted to argue the point, but he had certainly paid attention to the ever-changing dynamic of the organization. New members came in less concerned about building wealth, and more focused on how to use their unique talents to make the world a better place. And that required pushback against the norm. It hadn’t blindsided Uribe, per se, but he never realized that the former minority had now become the majority within the Road Runners, pressing forward with their cause, demanding accountability from the organization.

  “We’re at a crossroads,” he said. “And it seems like we have been at a new one every week for the past three months. It’s apparent that we are headed in a different direction as an organization—the landscape has shifted so much since I first joined. Maybe I’ve overstayed my welcome on this Council, maybe my vision for the Road Runners is too archaic for where we’re headed. But I’ve got to see us make it through these growing pains. I appreciate you putting me in my place, Barns—that took a lot of guts. That’s exactly what it takes to rise to my seat in these chambers, and quite frankly, to have a long successful career as a Councilor. Don’t ever stop standing up for what you believe in, and always speak your mind. I’m going to head upstairs and face the music. Hopefully I can resolve this, but some issues are starting to appear too big for us to reel in. No matter how ugly it gets out there, remember we have each other in these chambers.”

  Uribe stood from the head of the table and left the room in a stunned silence. He knew his days were counting down until retirement from the Council—he probably would have done it already had former Councilwoman Murray not committed treason. He had to leave the next generation of councilors with the best example he could—that was his sole responsibility at this point in time.

  Uribe stomped through the office, turning a few curious heads, but was mostly ignored as he worked his way toward the stairs that led up to the marketing office. He went for quiet walks outside during the middle of the downtown lunch rush on weekdays, his preferred moments of alone time, despite having a guard ahead and trailing him every step. This trip upstairs, however, added extra weight on his shoulders, his feet dragging through the mud of anticipation.

  When he reached the upper level and the private manager’s office, he was greeted by Devin, her tattooed arms crossed as she paced around the room.

  “Everything ready for me?” Uribe asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “We’ve set up the podium, cameras, and created a perimeter to keep the crowd at a safe distance. We also locked the building doors in case anyone passing by notices the crowd and tries to walk in.”

  “How many are inside?”

  Devin shrugged. “We counted about fifty, but more kept coming in.”

  “Aren’t there rules about how many can be in here at once?”

  “Not up here. As far as going downstairs, no one is allowed any more without an appointment. Upstairs has become a sort of waiting room for Road Runners wanting to talk to leadership.”

  “I see, well let’s get started.”

  Devin nodded and opened the office door, a flood of white noise from the crowd blasting into the room. She led Uribe down a short hallway, passing a couple other office doors until they reached the main bullpen and lobby where at least 100 people stood jammed behind a roped-off area. Devin continued forward, standing ten feet in front of the podium where she would face the crowd during Uribe’s speech.

  Uribe stepped up to the microphone, took a sip from the glass of water on the podium’s top shelf, and tapped the mic. “Good afternoon, Road Runners,” he said, pausing to let the noise quiet down, all eyes in the room piercing into his soul.

  “Where is Commander Briar?” a voice shouted from the crowd, followed by a steady murmur from others.

  Uribe raised his hands. “Thank you all for coming out here today. I understand similar movements are happening around the continent, so I wanted to take the opportunity to come talk to not just this room, but all Road Runners watching on TV.

  “First off, Commander Briar is currently on a mission. Before you ask, we cannot offer any details. Last our team heard this morning, everything is going as planned and the Commander is doing well.”

  “Is it a mission to get Sonya?” someone asked.

  “Like I said, we cannot give any details regarding the mission. He is our commander, and that information must remain confidential. Now, I can assure you the mission does involve potential steps to end the war with the Revolution. While we appreciate everyone’s eagerness to get things done, I need you to understand this is a process. Commander Briar has been working since day one to end this war, and the pieces have gradually been falling into place. This current mission is another step in the right direction.”

  “We’re done waiting!” a man in the front shouted. “We’ll go get Chris and Sonya ourselves. We’ve had enough sitting around in fear, waiting for you all to get something done.”

  This earned a raucous roar from the crowd, many fists pumping in the air to mix with the commotion of whistles and shouting. The man turned to face the crowd, his back to Uribe. “We don’t need permission, and we certainly don’t need any help. Let’s end this war ourselves. Once and for all!”

  The room howled as Uribe banged the podium, but his call for attention was drowned out by the mob.

  “Everybody calm down!” Uribe boomed into the mic, but he had lost all control over the room. Several of the other guards in the building had gathered around, forming a line at the rope barrier separating the visitors from Uribe.

  “On my lead!” the man shouted, people parting to clear a path as he marched toward the exit.

  “Cut the feed!” Uribe howled to Devin. “Cut it now!”

  Devin obliged, but it was too late. Uribe wanted to prevent the rest of the continent from seeing the situation unfold.

  “
Oh God,” Uribe whispered to himself as the crowd filed out of the building, chanting and hollering as they marched through downtown Denver, not caring if anyone from the general public saw them. “This is bad.”

  Uribe left the podium and started back for the chambers downstairs, needing to place an urgent call to the commander, but unable to because no one had yet to hear from him.

  Chapter 11

  When Uribe entered the chambers he found each Councilor on their cell phone, some remaining at the table, others tucked into corners of the room for added privacy. Devin walked with him, on a call of her own as reports spilled in from around the continent following the scene in Denver.

  Councilwoman Dawson had remained at the table and hung up her phone. “We’re calling everyone on the mission sheet—no one’s answering. We’re about to start calling them back a second time.”

  “Do we think they’re in any danger?” Uribe asked.

  “We don’t have any tips that suggest they’re in trouble, but the fact that we can’t get ahold of anyone is troubling.”

  “Do we have any eyes on Chris Speidel?”

  “We do not, no one has seen him since the Hamilton murder.”

  “Okay, keep calling, and I’m gonna see what’s happening in the rest of the world.”

  Dawson wasted no time and dialed another number.

  “What’s the word?” Uribe asked Devin, who had remained by his side with urgency on her face.

  “It’s bad, sir. Similar marches ensued right after the one here. We’re following the progress of twenty different marches through the tracking software. I’m worried this is the end of the road for our secret. There’s no way the general public won’t inquire what’s going on.”

  “You’d be surprised. There have been plenty of instances in the past like this, and people just drive by. Or they’ll check the news, see no headlines about the crowds, and just continue with their lives.”

  “But never this widespread, right?”

  Uribe sighed. “Correct, and that’s what worries me. They’re not going to government buildings are they? That would be the end of our secret.”

  “As of now, no reports of activity near any government buildings. The crowd here is just marching down the Sixteenth Street Mall. They’re turning heads, but no one understands what’s going. We suspect the same is happening around the continent.”

  “Okay, let’s keep it that way. Wherever we have the resources, create a barrier to prevent any of these groups from getting too close to government buildings or media outlets. If we can do that, we’ll be fine. Does your team have any insight regarding our commander’s whereabouts?”

  “I’m afraid nothing different than you have. We see him on the tracking software and know he’s still in Chicago, and his heart is beating—same for everyone with him.”

  “Has there been any movement?”

  “Yes, they’ve been moving around the building, but we’re not able to really judge what any of it means. It’s a multilevel complex and our tracking software can’t decipher between different floors.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep calling until someone picks up—they have to be leaving that era soon.”

  Devin put up a finger as her phone rang again and answered it. Uribe took the opportunity to try Martin himself, hoping that seeing his name on the caller ID might alert him of the urgency.

  “Sir, we have a problem,” Devin said, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. “I want to see for myself. Can we turn on your TV?”

  She nodded at the TV hanging on the back wall the chambers, rarely used by the Council.

  “Be my guest,” Uribe said, following Devin as she dashed across the room and turned on the TV. He watched as she flipped through the channels and turned up the volume, landing on a local news station.

  An aerial view of the Sixteenth Street Mall showed the mob of people marching down it, chanting “The war ends tonight!” A man’s deep voice spoke over the footage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to have a protest of some sort happening downtown right now. Officials are unsure what war the angry mob is yelling about, and calls for police have been made to maintain the peace. No violence or riots have been reported. This is a developing story.”

  The screen showed the crowd had already grown in size, at least 200 people following the crazed man who had just barged out of the marketing office. Devin flipped through all the local news stations, finding them each covering the mysterious march taking place down the block.

  “We’re fucked,” Uribe said. “Tell your teams to leave any weapons behind. If we show up with guns, this will spiral even more out of control. Have them hold that perimeter, but don’t interfere with any local law enforcement—that’s a sure way to derail everything. Do we know if coverage has started in other parts of the continent?”

  “Haven’t received word on that yet, but I’m sure it’s a matter of time. Some of these crowds are over 300 people strong.”

  “Okay, let’s make arrangements for a blackout across the continent, and I’ll convene the Council right now to get a formal vote on the matter. I hope it’s not necessary, but I don’t want to take any chances since both of our leaders are missing.”

  “Yes, sir.” Devin nodded and left the chambers, phone already to her ear as she fielded yet another call.

  “Order in the chambers!” Uribe yelled, demanding silence from everyone. They hung up their phones and returned to the table where their chief had already settled back into his seat. “Do we have any updates?”

  They all looked around blankly, silent.

  “First off, I want none of you to panic. We have procedures in place for just about any situation you can think of, even this one. It is up to myself as the Chief Councilor to declare a state of emergency in the absence of both the commander and their lieutenant. The Bylaws state if reasonable attempts to make contact with leadership have failed, the Council will act on a temporary basis until they are heard from. I’d say we’ve reached that point, so I’m calling to vote a blackout for the Road Runner organization.”

  “That seems drastic,” Councilman Bolt said.

  Uribe raised a hand. “It is, but we can’t sit on our hands. Unfortunately, this matter is too widespread for us to contain through regional means. We need to take control over the entire continent, and this will be a short, three-hour blackout—in which time we better hear something back from Chicago.”

  “Can you remind me what exactly a blackout entails?” Councilman Roth asked. “I’m familiar with the gist of it, but not all the details.”

  “Yes. A blackout calls for the shutdown and closure of all Road Runner offices around the continent. The doors will be locked and the power will be cut off for the duration of the blackout. This prevents anyone from entering or exiting our buildings thanks to our electronic locks. We offer a twenty-minute notice to all offices in case anyone needs to be outside, but we strongly encourage they remain inside for safety concerns. A blackout also cuts the feed for our network. All communication will be handled via direct text messages to our members. It also calls for all Road Runners who live outside of an office to remain inside their homes and urge any friends or family to do the same. All of this is done to allow our security teams the freedom to focus on the unraveling issue without having to worry about potential threats to our offices and members. It doubles our number of guards to help contain the situations brewing across the land as we speak. I will put up the three-hour blackout for a vote. It must be voted on and approved each time we wish to extend it, should it come to that. The commander reserves the right to call off the blackout, but we must inform him of the situation first. Please cast your votes and place in the box.”

  Uribe gestured to their ballot box sitting on the table and waited as everyone scribbled their vote on small slips of paper.

  Once all votes were cast, he pulled in the box and immediately started opening the papers and keeping a tally. “Reminder, we only need a majority vote to pas
s any emergency actions.”

  His eyes bounced from the papers to his notepad where he drew a tally mark of each vote, passing the slips over to Councilman Bolt for confirmation.

  “I count five votes to two in favor of the blackout,” Uribe declared.

  “Confirmed,” Bolt said in a monotone.

  “Perfect. I’ll arrange a call to all Lead Runners in North America to inform them of this decision. Plan for the blackout to commence in twenty minutes. During that time, take the moment to gather any snacks and drinks you may need for the evening. Our role during all of this is to make preparations in the event neither of our leaders return.”

  Councilwoman Penny gasped at the opposite end of the table. “We’re on CNN and Fox News.” She held up her cell phone and scrolled between the front pages of both sites speculating what this random cult was doing around America.

  “Close that and stop worrying. Our actions now will help us contain this. We are in recess until I return.”

  Uribe stood and left the chambers, returning to his office where he’d send out a blast email to all Road Runner offices around the continent. He asked all regions to send text messages to their local populations informing of the blackout. Uribe believed that members reacted better when having news delivered by their local leader instead of someone from the top of the organization.

  It only took him a couple minutes to outline the details and hit send, prompting him to lean back in his office chair and draw a deep breath. Something in his gut told him that Commander Briar was indeed in danger.

  Chapter 12

  They boarded the jet in Chicago, not jumping back into the present day of 2020 until all were accounted for and seated. The mood was mixed, some people clearly ready to celebrate a successful mission, while those closest to Martin refrained from showing too much joy, knowing their leader was experiencing dark times of his own.

  “I don’t want anyone to worry about me,” Martin told Alina. “I’ll be fine, just like I’ve always been. Dealing with loss is the only constant in my life.”