Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6)

by Andre Gonzalez

  After having a feel for the many trees in the forest of Angle Inlet, Martin opened his email inbox to find over 700 unread messages, a number that was sure to exceed four digits by the time he returned to Denver and could sit behind his desk to sift through them all. Mission briefs, budget requests, and dozens of interview invitations from the media filled the top of his inbox, but one message stood out with its subject written in capital letters: RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.

  His eyes followed the line to see the sender as Chief Councilman Uribe, and he clicked on it to expand the full email:

  Commander Briar,

  I must inquire why you and your team have cut off communication from the entire organization. I have to believe this is the work of your Lieutenant Commander, as I have already reached out to those who knew her best in Central America. They told me it was common for her to go completely off the grid while on important missions. And while I can appreciate that from a high-ranking soldier, you both need to understand that you are in leadership positions now. Our members are very much aware that you have both vanished without a word. We’re starting to receive messages demanding answers, and as you may have seen, people are taking to the streets. I feel this is your fault: perhaps if our members had seen their leader, they wouldn’t have felt the need to be marching all around the continent and get news coverage from every major network around the world.

  Our team is working on containing and controlling these protests, but things could be done much quicker and easier with a quick message letting us know you’re alright. Can you imagine if the president of the United States hadn’t been heard from in two weeks? It would cause mass hysteria, and that’s what we’re seeing now.

  It is wrong on your part to relay communication back to headquarters every day of the mission until the actual day of you kidnapping Sonya, then stop. Did you get her? Is she dead? The suspense you have left us in is mind-blowing, and not in a good way. Our organization is currently under a blackout, and it won’t be lifted until you make an appearance. I urge you to reconsider your actions and make life easier for the entire membership. One day has passed, and a second will start to spread further unrest within the Road Runners. The blackout was implemented to allow us to arrest and detain those who are protesting, but if it spills into a second day, we expect matters to snowball even further out of control.

  We see you are alive and well, thanks to your tracking device. As I write this email it appears you are in Nevada at Wealth of Time. I unfortunately have no additional resources to send to check on you, thanks to the protests, but I assume you are safe since you are traveling with the best crew available. All I can do is trust that the mission is going successfully, and will stay out of your way. I’m giving you two more days. If we don’t hear from you by then, we’ll be forced to lift the blackout and make preparations for a new leadership team. Some Lead Runners around the continent have already reached out to throw in their names for consideration.

  I wish you well, and hope to see you soon with a dead Chris Speidel. Godspeed.

  -Chief

  Martin rotated his laptop and let Alina read the message. She took a minute to skim it over before letting out a soft chuckle. “I’m impressed the Council tracked down my friends in Central America so quickly. I wonder who they reached out to.”

  “We need to do something, Alina. They’re already talking about starting a new election. This is irresponsible.”

  “It will be fine. This email is all a ploy to get a response from you,” Alina replied, handing the laptop back. “If they were serious, do you think he’d give you two days? He knows the mission is working and is leaving you time to finish it.”

  “Then why bother sending this to me?”

  “He just wants the response. Even if you replied with one word, it would be something he could share with the organization to prove that you’re alive. That’s all this is—people worried you’re dead because of what happened to Strike.”

  “The tracking devices are open for plenty of people to see—”

  “The members don’t care. Strike’s tracking device was ripped out of her arm and dropped in the middle of a field. Until the people hear from you directly, they’ll assume anything else that suggests you’re alive is just a coverup. Keep in mind, our bunch has become very paranoid since Strike. Trust is broken, and while this precise moment doesn’t help, things will get better once we finish this mission. Tensions are high, but a broken Revolution will relieve all of that tension.”

  Martin nodded. “I don’t see the harm in sending an email back. He acknowledged he knows where we are—”

  Alina shook her head viciously. “You need to read between the lines. If he knows where we are and isn’t sending anyone to check on us, then he’s deliberately staying out of our way. You’re the Commander—there is no valid excuse to not even take two soldiers off the streets and send them our way.”

  “You really do this all the time, don’t you?”

  Aline smirked. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve received an email like this, and I know it won’t be the last.”

  “So we just sit on our hands for all of tomorrow and hope things don’t spin out of control?”

  Alina shrugged. “How do you think wars end? I’ve settled a few local wars with the cartels all over Central America, and every single one is complete chaos on both sides until the final bell is rung. I know we’ve been taking a beating for years from these guys, but I can assure you this is all very normal. I’d actually be surprised if people were just going about their business as usual, pretending nothing is happening.”

  “But they don’t even know we’re on this mission. They should be going about their days as usual.”

  “People have an extra sense that can read scenarios, even when they don’t realize it. It consumes them, overtakes all their reason and logic—it’s almost like a poison. The fact that you and I haven’t been heard from in two weeks probably started as a bit of anxiety and worry for our members. But as the days passed, that stress turned into hope and speculation. ‘Are they really doing it?’ people ask, first in their private homes, but eventually in larger group settings. That’s what feeds the rumor mill. They piece together their theories and eventually land on the right answer. The protests are just a result of the impatience everyone has waiting for the outcome of this mission.”

  “And you think sending a reply to Uribe will unravel all of that hope? I guess I still don’t see how it’s a bad thing.”

  “Not at all. Sending the email isn’t about the members. If they hear from you, but still don’t see you, it will only throw more gasoline onto the fire. I just don’t want you to send an email because we are so close. We’re off the grid, as far as Chris knows, and emailing will only give him an opportunity to figure out what we’re up to. He could have us hacked, for all we know. Not likely, but why risk it? We’re only 125 miles away from him, and less than twenty-fours until you make your move. It’s best to let outside factors handle themselves. If there are any problems, they’ll still be there when you get back.”

  “Or they won’t,” Martin said with a grin, suggesting that Chris’s death was indeed a magic wand that could heal all matters.

  Alina returned a nod. “Now you’re getting it.”

  “You’re good. I see every day why I picked the right person.”

  “Stop the flattery, Commander. It makes you look weak,” she said with a wink, standing up from her seat. “I’m gonna grab a glass of wine and hope it puts me to sleep. You need another drink to cap off the night?”

  Martin raised his glass, still half full. “I’m good, Lieutenant. Thanks anyway.”

  “Have a good night, and make sure to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be the longest day of your life, so brace yourself.”

  She walked off, stopping to chat with a few team members as she crossed the cabin toward the back bar.

  Martin closed his laptop, having enough drama from the few minutes he had it open, and l
eaned back in his chair to finish his drink. As sleep crept closer, the weight of his destiny ballooned in his mind. When the sun rose in the morning there would be no looking back. Plans were being formed and would be put in place, Martin the only one on the continent able to execute them.

  Do it for Izzy.

  Chapter 18

  Chris had slipped into bed wondering if his body would actually fall asleep. With his blood now swimming in Colin’s body, it was possible his return to an immortal man would make a gradual comeback, but it could take a day or two.

  He fell asleep around eleven o’clock and woke up in a panic at four in the morning, jumping out of bed, paranoid that someone had broken into his cabin. The door remained locked, the air still and silent. Even before his powers as the Keeper of Time, Chris had a unique sense of the world around him, feeling eyes watching him or someone hiding in the corner of a room. No such alarms went off in his head at the moment, but his gut wrenched in a way that suggested danger was lurking.

  “That’s the point,” Chris said to his empty cabin.

  It was a small space, roughly 150 square feet with a twin bed tucked along one wall, a gas stove in the opposite corner, and his stockpile of non-perishable cans of food and bottles of water in the other. The cabin had no electricity or running water, a truly simple way of life he had hoped to avoid. Outside behind the cabin were a dozen propane tanks for the stove and several bundles of firewood should he need to build a campfire.

  Chris didn’t actually know how to cook food. He never did it when he was married, always ate out during his early days as a Revolter, and no longer had a need for food once becoming Keeper. He understood that canned food could be eaten directly, but might taste better after being heated up. The thought of turning on the stove didn’t interest him, at least not this early in the day. For breakfast he grabbed a can of green beans, popped off the lid and started drinking the juice and vegetables straight from the can.

  Chris gagged at first, the flavor bitter and earthy. He needed to head into town today to place a phone call, and considered stopping by the grocery store for eggs and bread, maybe even a box of cereal. He couldn’t possibly start every day like this, and hoped the injection into Colin would kick in and make this all a moot point. The bottles of water had never looked so appealing, so he grabbed one from the mountain of cases and chugged it to rid the green bean flavor from his mouth. A huge belch worked its way up from his rumbling stomach, and Chris let it out with a satisfied grin, one of his favorite bodily functions that had vanished over the years.

  For the first time since waking up after the accidental nap in his Idaho office, he had finally satisfied his hunger and was ready for the morning ahead. While he dozed last night, Chris thought about how to best approach the next two weeks and decided it was in his best interest to create as much chaos as possible around the continent. The more distractions the Road Runners had to tend to, the more likely he’d remain undisturbed in his hideout. However, he still expected a fight at some point. His eyes dashed to the duffel bag he had left near the front door, temporarily worried that it had somehow walked out during the night. All the guns and ammunition he needed were in that bag, plenty to fend off an attack. He had small slots installed around the cabin walls, spaced about two feet apart, and only three inches wide. They were meant to provide just enough room for him to stick his pistol through and shoot at chest level to whoever might be outside. The cabin had only two windows with the drapes currently drawn, but he’d open those as soon as danger arrived, ready to blast any poor soul who dared approach his property.

  Chris grabbed his cell phone from the stovetop, the battery at 80% thanks to having charged it during the flight to Angle Inlet. He’d head into town, make his calls, then power off the phone for two weeks until he decided it was safe to step outside and walk back to town for an update on the situation. Fortunately, he only needed to place one call to authorize what was known as Mission Lifesaver, setting in place a chain of calls to all the Revolution chapter leaders across North America. It was a mission buried in the back of the massive Revolution handbooks that were stored in each office, but the instructions were rather straightforward.

  He had fallen asleep in his all-black suit, but now took it off and reached under the bed where a rotation of different outfits waited for him to choose. They were tailored to fit in with his surroundings: jeans, sweatpants, sweaters, thick hoodies, and a heavy winter jacket. If he had walked into town wearing a suit, the locals would surely question the strange old man with frosty hair. Some might even follow him back to the cabin, which would only lead to their death and an investigation by the lone sheriff who worked in Angle Inlet.

  Time no longer mattered to Chris, the next two weeks set to be strictly inside the cabin with the occasional trip outside for fresh air, alone in the wilderness. Seeing that it was only 5 A.M. didn’t matter, so he finished getting dressed, slipped into the winter jacket, and stepped outside into a brisk ten degrees.

  His body shivered as he kicked patches of snow, glancing around the woods, the silence maddening. A breeze whistled through the trees, and Chris remembered from the summer he had spent at the cabin how the woods tended to make sounds of their own. The slightest of sounds would echo, much like a cave. When the wind howled, the echo dragged the sound out longer, sometimes mimicking a pack of hyenas.

  “Hello!” Chris barked, his voice bouncing in every direction before coming back to him like a boomerang. He stared around in amazement, mouth agape with a slight grin. His one word had turned into at least thirty words by the time the echo faded away. “Too fun,” he whispered.

  The cold bothered him, his joints tightening as he started through the woods, following the signs he could see more clearly thanks to dawn casting a soft orange glow across the sky. The carvings were faint, obvious only to Chris. Every other tree was numbered to point him in the right direction, the cabin being zero. Odd numbers signified a path to the north toward the airport, even numbers leading south toward town. A walk in either direction was roughly twenty minutes from the cabin, depending on the conditions. Last night had taken much longer from the airport thanks to the darkness of night.

  Chris rounded the cabin and started south, the air biting his lungs with each breath. “Gonna be a long trip,” he muttered under his breath, wondering why it was taking so long for his abilities to return. Alaska had been an easy choice for his previous headquarters because he had been immune to the cold weather, never having to worry about stepping outside with a jacket regardless of the temperature.

  It’s just two weeks, he thought. Two weeks until getting back into the swing of things, having a full return of my abilities, and squashing the Road Runners like the miserable bugs they are.

  He giggled at the thought, shaking his head in disbelief that he had actually fallen this far, still not able to quite grasp the reality of it all. The Road Runners were supposed to be long gone by now, and he wondered where he had gone wrong. Strike’s death created the divide he needed within their horrendous organization, but he never could land the final blow. Their structure had too many checks and balances in place, the failed mission of killing all their Council perhaps the critical turning point. If that had been accomplished as planned, they would have had no one to turn to, no rulebook to check and see who must take power. Anarchy would have swept through the Road Runners, leaving every single member vulnerable without the protection of the organization behind them.

  “Keep moving,” he told himself, pushing through the only uphill portion of the route. “You can still make it happen, just make the phone call.”

  Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket, just to see if it had caught any signal. It hadn’t, and he hobbled faster through the never-ending stand of trees, ignoring the sharp pains that gnawed on his leg.

  After gaining another hundred feet on the ground, he froze and spun around, convinced he heard footsteps behind him. At least forty tall, lanky trees stared back, the soft echo of his ow
n footsteps still bouncing around. He stood there for an entire minute, scanning left to right and back again. “Hello?” he called out, not for fun this time, but because his paranoia was getting the best of him. He didn’t feel eyes watching him, but he did sense a presence in the area.

  His voice ricocheted around the trees like a pinball, and when it died down, left him back in the deafening silence.

  Gain your composure, man, he told himself. No one knows you’re here, and even if they did, they’d have no way of finding you. That’s the point—always has been for this little shack in the woods.

  Chris nodded before pivoting back around and continuing toward the town. “Don’t lose your mind,” he whispered to himself, weary of having his voice continue to swirl around him as he trudged through the trees. “This is not the time.”

  The sounds of footsteps continued, but he brushed them aside as his own echoes. He stole a glance over his shoulders every few steps, but never saw anyone. Once his invincibility kicked back in, he’d have nothing to fear and could go for a simple stroll through the woods without worry. “What’s taking so long?”

  He started to wonder if something had indeed happened to Colin. The plane could have actually crashed into the surrounding lakes and no one would ever know. And until Chris felt a sense of normalcy, he had to assume his life was still in danger. The trip to town needed to be quick, as any additional time spent away from the cabin increased the chances of the situation spiraling out of control. But the call needed to be placed, plus an attempt to hear from Colin and know that he was okay.

  Twenty minutes passed and he finally reached the edge of the trees where a lone three-block road, Main Street, stretched with every store and service available in town. At such an early hour, only the coffee shop appeared to have its lights on, a half-dozen people inside enjoying their boost to start the day. Chris remembered that simplicity of life, having done the same thing each morning before heading to the factories, getting familiar with those same faces across the shop, a sense of community.