Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4)
Page 1
Andre Gonzalez
Keeper of Time
First published by M4L Publishing 2020
Copyright © 2020 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: 978-1-951762-08-7
Cover art by ebooklaunch.com
Editing by Stephanie Cohen
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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For Natasha
“Sometimes it’s not the people who change, it’s the mask that falls off.”
Contents
Preface
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I. THE JOURNEY OF MARTIN BRIAR
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
II. THE RISE OF CHRIS SPEIDEL
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
III. THE NEW CANDIDATE
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
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Acknowledgments
Enjoy this book?
Also by Andre Gonzalez
About the Author
Preface
Thank you for joining me in the fourth book of the Wealth of Time series. Before you jump in, I wanted to let you know of a change that has been made to the storyline from the prior books. Keep in mind, this only applies if you read the prior books before March of 2020. It’s not an easy decision to go back and adjust things to a book that is already published, but the data forced my hand. As much as us authors love to ask for reviews (we really don’t enjoy the asking!), reviews are not actually a good indicator for us as to how well received a book is. The number of readers that move on to the next book in a series is the ultimate indicator.
What I found was that virtually no one was reading beyond book two, Warm Souls. This was a big warning flag that suggested something was turning readers off in the book, especially considering so many had continued beyond the first book.
After some consulting with readers familiar with the series, and going back to re-read it once more, it became apparent that the original storyline of having Sonya be emotionless is what turned people off. It killed the romantic subplot, and with it, everyone’s interest in continuing to book three, Bad Faith.
Fortunately, this wasn’t too messy of a matter to go back and fix, so I did, and have already seen a huge jump in readers going deeper into the series.
As far as the actual plot line, nothing has changed. You can jump right into this book and have zero confusion as to what is going on. The only thing that has changed is the fact that Sonya now has her emotions, and has expressed feelings for Martin, albeit none that she can act upon due to being Chris’s daughter and needing to be on the run from the Road Runners.
I just wanted to share this tidbit with you. While this book has a heavy focus on Chris, and less on Martin and his romance, the storyline with Sonya will absolutely be back in full force in book five and beyond. Again, this message will only apply if you read the prior books before March of 2020.
Thank you again for reading this far, I’m honored to have you along on the ride!
Andre
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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:
A free copy of Revolution, a prequel story that goes back in time before Chris Speidel ever knew about the mysterious world of time travel.
A free copy of Road Runners, a prequel story that visits the origination of the Road Runners organization.
You can get your content for free, by signing up HERE.
https://www.andregonzalez.net/Wealth-Of-Time-Bonus
I
The Journey of Martin Briar
1
Chapter 1
Chris Speidel paced back and forth in his office, a coy grin plastered to his face, mind and body consumed by a pulsing urge for revenge. Duane Betts, his longtime right-hand man, sat in the chair facing Chris’s desk, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a pen in the other as a clipboard rested across his lap.
Chris had been rambling off the names of each location he could think of where the Road Runners housed one of their underground offices, the list stretching across forty different cities.
It had been a whole week since the Road Runners attempted to bomb the mansion in Barrow, Alaska, and so much had happened since then. Commander Strike was now in the basement, the lone prisoner, as they had freed everyone in exchange for her.
The mission to kill Martin’s mother Marilyn had been executed flawlessly, the only disappointment being that Chris wasn’t there to see the look on that ungrateful bastard’s face when he arrived home. Speaking of Martin, the sly snake who had managed to slither out of this very mansion, he was missing. No one had a tail on him, although Chris presumed someone within the Road Runners did, as rumors had spread that he fled the country that same night after finding his murdered mother.
No matter what Chris had to focus on—authorizing torture against Commander Strike, or recruiting new members for the Revolution, among many other daily tasks—Martin remained stuck on his mind, like a fungus that refused to leave.
“Anywhere else, sir?” Duane asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Duane’s voice sounded distant to Chris, his brain again occupied with the never-ending TV show that was Martin Briar. Sure, he had made plenty of mistakes in his life, both as a man and the Keeper of Time, but nothing paled in comparison to the blunder of trusting Martin. To be fair, the mistake entirely belonged to Chris and no one else. He had acted on emotion—a forbidden choice—and actually felt sympathy for Martin when they had all arrived at the mansion. Chris had rescued him from the trap being laid out by the Road Runners, dragging the poor guy through different modes of transportation and
different eras of time to dodge the group of madmen chasing after them. He had no reason to think Martin was anything less than grateful for the help.
Briar had always been a curious fellow, asking a ridiculous amount of questions, so Chris thought nothing of it when Martin asked if he could roam the grounds around the mansion. He figured it would be one less list of questions to personally answer, saving him an unnecessary headache.
“That’s all I can think of, Duane,” Chris said, returning to the chair behind his desk. “If you wouldn’t mind researching these locations and finding out which are the easiest to access, furthest away from the regular population, and which ones house the most Road Runners.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ever since the bombs had dropped on the mansion, everyone around Chris seemed to have grown more obedient, Duane included, something that made Chris uneasy as he typically relied on Duane to challenge his ideas, playing devil’s advocate in search of any flaws. But the bombs had sparked tension for those within the mansion. They had felt the rumbling of the building they called home, and many confronted their own mortality for the first time in years. Only Chris was immune to death; even if the bombs broke through the steel barrier and shattered his body, it would eventually form back together like a puzzle, returning him to normal.
“I want to move quickly on this,” Chris said. “And I want to force their dirty hands to make a choice between their own buildings and Ms. Strike downstairs. We need to place calls to every fort we have bombs stored. It’s a long list, so I’ll help out. I’m thinking we can have something ready to execute in about three days. Does that sound feasible?”
Duane nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“When this is all said and done,” Chris continued, “I don’t want the Road Runners to know up from down, let alone know who their leader is, or what their plans are to move forward. Whichever buildings we decide to blow out, I don’t want a single life remaining. Blast them to the fucking moon. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any other responses besides ‘yes, sir’?” Chris had grown more irritated with each passing day since the attempted bombing. Even after killing Mama Briar, he still felt unfulfilled. Now, any little thing seemed to set him off.
“What do you mean?” Duane asked in his calm, flat monotone, unfazed by no one.
“You’ve just sat here the last couple of days, agreeing with everything I say.”
Duane gazed into Chris’s eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t had anything to disagree with. This is a pretty straightforward matter. They bombed us, and we need to retaliate.”
Chris frowned. “I agree, but I’m confused. You always try to force us to take the higher ground. Why the sudden love for revenge? Is something bothering you? You seem distant.”
Duane’s eyes welled with tears, his lips quivering uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, Chris.” His words came out shaky and nearly inaudible. “I know this is probably the most crucial time for the Revolution, but I need to go home.”
“Home?!” Chris gasped. Duane was from Clearwater, Florida, a whole 5,000 miles away from Barrow.
“My mom’s been diagnosed with terminal cancer . . . six weeks to live. Five, since I received the news last week.”
“Duane, I’m sorry to hear this, but you do know I have access to the cure for cancer. All I have to do is make a phone call and we can have it by tomorrow.”
Duane shook his head violently. “That’s not the point. This whole thing has got me thinking. It’s karma, for all the bad shit we’ve done.”
“Karma? You don’t expect me to believe such a thing. I virtually run the world.”
“You don’t,” Duane said sharply, regaining full control over his stern voice. “Someone who rules the world doesn’t get bombed. If you truly ruled the world, then you would know everything that’s happening.”
“No, that’s like assuming the CEO of a company knows the janitor’s schedule. The person at the top can’t possibly know everything that’s going on inside the building.”
“Chris, you’re not understanding. Me and those men out there who are willing to sacrifice their lives for you,” Duane said, pointing toward the hallway where guards roamed, “We don’t see you as a CEO, or even a leader. We see you as God.”
The word tickled Chris. He’d never been called God before, but dammit, he certainly felt like it on plenty of occasions. Toying with lives like a puppeteer pulling strings. Making things go boom in the night, causing people to drop dead, exposing the ugliness that lay dormant within innocent souls, and turning that same horridness into a weapon of war.
“God?”
Duane nodded in silence. “It’s wrong to think of anyone like that.”
“Are you having some sort of come-to-Jesus moment?”
“I don’t know what’s going on with me, honestly. I haven’t felt like myself since I received this phone call. It’s like I’m living in a dream. A nightmare.”
“Is ‘karma’ really the reason you don’t want to save your mother?”
“All Martin Briar was trying to do was save his mother. Then we killed her. And now this has happened to me.”
“The world doesn’t work like that. Your mother would have come down with her cancer regardless of what we did to Briar’s mom.”
“We don’t know that.” Duane spoke with the most authority that Chris had seen in years.
“Do you have a problem with me?”
“No, of course not. I don’t have a problem with you, I have a problem with the things we’ve done—the things I’ve done. You forget that you’re the one in the unique position. You have nothing to lose. You killed your wife for this life. Your daughter hates you. Your actions no longer have an emotional effect on you, if they ever did to begin with.”
“So now you think you’re better than me?”
“That is not what I said. Our situations are just . . . different.”
“You haven’t had a single thought like this the entire time we’ve worked together. And that’s been fifty years, in real time.”
“I have. I just buried it all. This has brought these feelings to the surface, and now I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve killed with my own hands, authorized mass executions and have been by your side for every decision you’ve made in leading this organization. All to kill people that have done me no harm. People who were just trying to live their lives before this war ever started.”
“THESE PEOPLE SPEND EVERY DAY PLOTTING MY DEATH!” Chris snarled, spittle flying from his lips like a spray bottle. “They’ve killed us, we’ve killed them, it’s a war, for fuck’s sake! Are you a Road Runner sympathizer now? Is Strike brainwashing you down in the basement?”
“Of course not. I just need some time away – my mind is too occupied to focus on the things we need to do. I want to step away for the Revolution. They deserve me at my best, and that’s just not something I can give right now.”
Chris crossed his arms that had been trembling with hot rage, brows furrowing as his eyes bore into Duane across the desk. They sat in silence for what might have been an entire minute, Duane keeping his gaze to the floor.
“Fine,” Chris said. “Go home, take all the time you need. Come back refreshed when you feel ready.”
Duane raised his head and met Chris’s gaze with a cocked eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I thought for sure you’d throw me in the basement, or maybe even shoot me right here in the office. At the very least, deny my request.”
“Am I really seen as that big of a monster?” Chris asked.
“You’re ruthless,” Duane replied, matter-of-fact.
Chris frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t bring this up to me sooner. You are my closest confidant, and your loyalty has never wavered. A lot of our success is thanks to your hard work behind the scenes. I can’t deny you a simple request like this. I thin
k you’ve taken one vacation since we started working together. Though the timing is unfortunate, and it puts a lot more on my plate—I don’t trust another soul with the work you do. If this is what you need to do, then you must.”
Duane stood up, his face pinched into confusion. “Thank you, Chris. I don’t know what to say.”
Chris raised his bony, fragile hand. “You don’t need to say anything. We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back. Just promise me you’ll stay in touch.”
“Absolutely. And if I’m feeling up to it, I might see about doing some work while I’m out there.”
“I can see you sipping piña coladas on the beach, plotting how to deploy these bombs.”
This drew a soft laugh from Duane, who stuck out his hand to Chris. “Maybe you’ll come join me.”
“I’ve never been one for sunshine. Why do you think I chose this place for my mansion?”
“Fair enough.”
“Take our jet, relax on your flight, and please get your mind cleared. We’ll all be thinking of you.”
“Thanks again, Chris, really. This is so generous.”
“Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Duane grinned and nodded to Chris before turning to leave the office, closing the door behind him.
Chris stared at the ceiling and let out a long exhale, completely overwhelmed for the road ahead.
2
Chapter 2
Martin walked through the sand, a cold Mai Tai in hand, the ocean water rushing in miniature waves up to his ankles before falling away. He was on the northern shore of Crooked Island, a small Bahamian paradise an hour flight south from Nassau.
He had arrived four days ago, having fled Denver immediately after finding his mother slaughtered in their home. He had caught a flight to Miami, the furthest destination available when he arrived at the airport. After spending a couple of days in Miami, dragging his depression up and down the crowded beaches, he decided a small island would make his trip more enjoyable.