Stephen stared at Frazier, trying his best to get a read on him. Everything the man said seemed honest. He really wanted to go to Alaska, and Stephen couldn’t think of a valid reason to not send someone willing to go on a virtual suicide mission.
“Remind me what you’ve been training for?” Stephen asked the leech of a man who wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Survival and combat.”
Who the hell assigned him those two fields, if he’s not even supposed to be going on the trip?
Stephen was cornered and didn’t see a way out of this jam now. “Do you know someone?” he asked. “I just don’t understand how you got assigned to those two training programs to begin with.”
“I only know Darnell. He brought me here for the first time, and I can’t get enough.”
Darnell was a longtime member of the Road Runners and had participated in this coalition since its formation. Stephen didn’t know Darnell on a personal level too well, but had witnessed his strong advocacy for saving Strike.
“Stephen,” Frazier continued. “You have no reason to hold me back. I have the skills you need. I can shoot, I can lift impossibly heavy weights, I can kill a man with my bare hands. Not to mention, I can survive weeks without food and water, know how to build a fire in the wild, and can hold my breath for just under three minutes. But most importantly, I have the balls to walk right up to that mansion and knock on the front door. I don’t give a shit about Chris—he can’t hurt me any more than I’ve already been hurt in the past.”
Frazier spoke with such conviction that Stephen felt himself lured into his story, now intently curious as to what this man had gone through that led him to this precise moment in life. Every Road Runner had a heartbreaking story of how they were sucked into the world of time travel—often tricked by Chris—followed by the breaking point of learning it was Chris who had turned their worlds upside down for his own gain. But something about the murkiness with which Frazier spoke made Stephen suspect his past had taken some seriously dark turns.
He studied Frazier’s brown eyes, a buried rage swimming beneath them, trapped like a caged predator ready to pounce on its prey.
“Okay,” Stephen said. “I’ll give you a shot.”
“Really?!” Frazier’s eyes shifted from focus to gleeful in the matter of one second. “I promise you I won’t let you down. I’ve been dreaming about this moment since my first day here. I’ll admit, the rules you had mentioned sucked the life out of me, but I knew if I just worked hard it would pay off.”
Frazier spoke like a chatty teenager at a thousand words per minute, but Stephen held up a hand to silence him.
“Look, you can’t say a word to anyone about this. If they find out I’m bending the rules, then everyone will want a rule bent for them. Just go about your business and act like you’ve been part of the plans all along.”
“Don’t you worry, I won’t say a word,” Frazier replied, giddy and radiating an energy that was too much for Stephen to handle at the moment.
Frazier had a wide grin but held up his index finger to his lips to show his lips were sealed regarding the matter.
This guy gives me the creeps, Stephen thought.
“Glad to have you on the team,” he said, sticking out a hand to shake. “I really do need to step away for a second before this announcement comes. Pardon me.”
“Thank you, I look forward to helping.”
Stephen nodded and stepped past Frazier, immediately wondering if he made the wrong decision.
10
Chapter 10
Martin sat at the bar, having knocked back a couple shots of some island specialty that was fruity in his mouth, but tingly on the way down. Two empty beer steins stood in front of him as the gentle sounds of island music poured out of the speakers.
He had managed to completely unplug from society. Getting away wasn’t enough. He left his cell phone powered off—except for the call he placed to his brother—didn’t use the internet, and refused to turn on the TV in his rental property. Instead, he lazed around, reading books, playing solitaire, and drinking alcohol until the world spun and the emotional pain was numbed just enough for him to make it through the days.
Crooked Island welcomed random waves of tourists, and this particular night was a busy one, the bar crowded with at least forty patrons, mostly Americans, drinking booze, puffing cigars, dancing in the sand, and not having a single care in the world.
Martin envied them, watching them from a distance, wishing he could let go of all the issues weighing on his mind, but they would never truly leave him. While on the island, the shock of everything had finally worn off, leaving ugly bouts of grief.
His mother was gone. During a brief trip into the future—where only ten minutes passed in real time—Chris had managed to slip into his new house and turn his world on its head. Martin had mentally prepared to die on the dangerous mission, leaving his mother to succumb to the deadly grasp of Alzheimer’s in her final days. But never did he expect the scene he arrived back home to.
He wanted a rage so overwhelming that it forced him onto the next flight to Alaska where he could end Chris once and for all, but that emotion hadn’t settled in. Not yet. The starvation for revenge would come soon enough, but for now he had to adjust to life without the woman who raised him. The woman he had dinner with multiple times a week.
The woman who led you into that thrift store.
He didn’t blame his mom; she was simply doing what she enjoyed by wandering into a store with intent on buying something she probably didn’t need. He had followed her into thousands of stores throughout his lifetime, leaving him no reason to reflect on this particular trip as something he could have changed.
Martin asked for another mystery shot and slammed it back without hesitation.
“Mr. Martin, what is the occasion?” the bartender asked. Martin had spent enough time at the bar to befriend the young man, Javon, who served alcohol to pay his way through college in Nassau.
“Drinking for my mother,” Martin said. “She passed away recently, and it’s been a hard time. That’s actually the reason I came out here.”
Javon had never asked, likely assuming the older American was out here for a getaway vacation like anyone else. But Martin trusted the kid, especially with the amount of alcohol flowing throughout his body.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Martin,” Javon said, pulling out a clean shot glass and pouring from his unmarked bottle. “Here, on the house. For your mother.”
Martin pursed his lips as he stared at the shot glass, nodding as he picked it up. “You’re a good kid. Thank you.”
He raised the glass to Javon before tipping it back.
Javon grinned and left to tend to some other customers, and Martin felt the liquor swirling in his stomach. He hadn’t stood up in two hours and was now afraid to do so, the shift in balance a guarantee to feel exactly how much alcohol had been consumed.
He thought back to the old days in his Larkwood apartment, and wondered how he was still living. His liver had taken a twelve-round beating every single night. His lungs absorbed packs of cigarettes. And his stomach handled the pills to give him just a bit of a high to feel like he could float right off his balcony like Peter Pan. How his body survived that decade of constant abuse was beyond him, but here he was, healthy and strong despite being emotionally wrecked.
Martin had no clue of the ultimatum Chris had delivered to the Road Runners, the vote, or the pending chaos surrounding the announcement. One of the guards wandered into the bar and sat in the open stool next to Martin, dressed in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt to fit in with the rest of the tourists.
He had met the two men briefly before taking off from Denver, and they promised to stay so hidden in the background that he’d forget they were even there. Which they did, as Martin rarely sensed their presence, barring a couple of late night walks on the beach under the glowing moonlight. He remembered their names were Antonio and Everett, but coul
dn’t remember who was who.
Martin shifted in his seat at the sight of the guard, a sudden panic settling over him as his mind kicked into high paranoia.
The guard looked to be in his fifties, like Martin, judging by the gray stubble forming around his jaw.
“I need to have a word,” the guard said. “In private.”
Martin’s stomach sunk and he hoped whatever he was about to hear wouldn’t sober him up in an instant.
“Where?” Martin asked.
“Just outside of here. It’s too noisy.”
The guard stood up and left, and Martin trailed behind, pushing through the drunken crowd of adults acting like children. Even though the bar itself was outside on the beach, they had to pass through the indoor dining room to exit the building. They stepped out to the soothing sounds of distant ocean waves, the setting sun glimmering off the water’s surface in the distance.
“What’s going on?” Martin asked, his mind definitely sobering up as adrenaline started to fill his veins. The guard still felt very much a stranger despite being on the island with Martin the entire time. They hadn’t said a word to each other after the Denver airport, and Martin could only assume this man wanted to talk with him because of something important.
“Mr. Briar, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have some information you might be interested in hearing.”
Please don’t tell me my mom’s ashes are missing, Martin thought, unsure what else could be so pressing that they had to pull him out of the bar.
“Back in the States, Chris has offered to release Commander Strike.”
“That’s fantastic news,” Martin replied, a wave of relief sweeping over him. “What made him want to do that?”
Sober Martin would question everything about this news, but drunk Martin was just glad to hear, not suspecting anything sinister from Chris.
“Well, Mr. Briar, that’s what we need to discuss. Chris said he’ll release the commander if we turn you over to him. If we don’t, he’s going to kill her on a live broadcast.”
The guard paused and let these words settle. He surely knew Martin was drunk and would need a few more seconds to process the words coming out of his mouth.
Martin’s expression shifted from pensive to terrified as the realization came to fruition. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, unsure what to say.
“There’s a vote taking place,” the guard continued. “And they are expected to announce the decision tonight.”
“A vote by who?”
“The whole organization. Chris made his announcement on our network, so the whole world saw. The Council gathered to make the decision, but decided it was best to leave it to the people.”
“So he’s trying to make it a contest between me and Strike?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“Well, who did you vote for?” Martin asked, knowing damn well it wasn’t polite to ask such a question, but his emotions and common sense were shattered beyond recognition at this particular moment.
“I voted for you, sir. We don’t negotiate with lunatics.”
“Do you have any idea what the voters are deciding?”
“No. Only the Council knows how the votes have trickled in. None of that information is shared until the polls are officially closed at seven o’clock.”
“Okay. So what does this mean for me exactly?”
“We figured, at the very least, that you should know. Our leadership team back home urged us to not tell you, in case the results come back in favor of Strike. They didn’t want you running off. But I couldn’t do that. It didn’t feel right. So Everett and I made the call to tell you.”
Martin had thought this man was Antonio, but hadn’t been sure, grateful for the unintended confirmation.
“We think you should stay close to us,” Antonio continued. “Regardless of the outcome. If the votes come back to send you to Chris, we’re ready to do our best to hide you. Do you already have the tracking device in your arm?”
Martin nodded.
“Everett knows how to cut those out. He has quite the steady hand.”
Martin trembled at the thought of cutting his arm open to pull the device that was attached to muscles like a suction cup. It also reminded him of Sonya and the final encounter they had in her house, right when she committed to going into the future and staying there forever. A life that seemed so far back in time that it was impossible to believe it ever happened.
“And what if the votes are for me?” Martin asked, unsure exactly what emotions he was feeling.
“If that happens, we definitely want to ramp up security. We might even have you stay with us. The way we see it, if Chris is this desperate to get you, he’s going to try. If we don’t give you up, he’s going to kill Strike and still come for you. Considering he has a knack for just showing up in the most random of places, we’d expect to see him on this island soon enough. There are people in high positions who don’t want to see you handed over like a bargaining chip. They’ve offered us any assistance we need to ensure your safety.”
“Wow, who said that?”
“A few people, but I’m not dropping names. Just trust that regardless of the outcome, people in the right positions want you alive. They view you as our next commander, you know?”
“Yeah, I’m aware. I can’t say I’m interested in that job, but they haven’t really given me a say in the matter.”
That’s it. That’s who’s talking to Antonio. Commander Blair, Commander Quang. Those two are waiting to endorse me and basically force me into the position.
“I can’t speak to that,” Antonio said. “All I know is that I will not violate my oath to uphold the Bylaws. If they expect me to turn you over to Chris, they’re gonna have to bring a lot of backup to pry you out of our possession.”
“And Everett feels the same?”
“One hundred percent. We’re frontline soldiers by trade. Our whole purpose is to ensure that the Road Runner Bylaws are upheld and enforced.”
“I’m sorry, when did you say this announcement is coming?”
Antonio stuck his arm out and checked his watch. “Expecting it in about thirty minutes. Polls close in fifteen minutes, and they should come on the TV shortly after that.”
“You have this streaming in your room?”
“Sure do. We’ve been up all day, watching and waiting for any sort of update. None has come—they really want to drag this out.”
“I’d like to go watch, please.”
Antonio nodded and they left the bar behind, Martin unaware he’d never return.
11
Chapter 11
When Chief Councilman Uribe stepped behind the podium, he felt the world fall silent. The camera wasn’t yet rolling, but he knew all eyes around the globe were glued to their TVs in anticipation of his speech.
The rest of the Council watched him, some excited about the results, others with their faces scrunched in disappointment, as if they had been betrayed by the people.
The staffer who served as the unofficial cameraman was fiddling with the camera, making sure it was lined up just right to capture this pivotal moment in Road Runner history.
“Are you ready, Councilman Uribe?” the young man asked, a slight crack in his voice.
He shuffled through his speech and took a long inhale. “I’m ready.”
“You’re on in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .” The cameraman pointed at Uribe and fell silent with the rest of the universe.
“Good evening, Road Runners,” Uribe started. “I’m Chief Councilman Francisco Uribe. I want to start by thanking you all for your participation in these last minute polls. As we suspected here at the Council, this issue was too sensitive for us to make the final call. You all responded by setting a new record for voter participation.
“Over the last twenty-four hours, we all made a decision on how we want to proceed from this unfortunate position we’ve been put in. Like any democracy, there can only
be one winner in a poll. It’s imperative that if you’re on the losing side of this vote, we must remain one and keep pushing forward. Either way, this is a dark day for us all – perhaps the darkest in our history. But there will be light, and we can only reach that light if we continue to hold each other to the highest of standards. I’ve heard rumors of pending chaos depending on these results. Do not let yourselves devolve into savages. We are Road Runners, and that’s all that should matter at the end of the day.
“As for the results, please know this was by no means a landslide decision. Out of the millions of votes cast, this ended up being decided by three thousand votes. That said, the decision has been made to not turn over Martin Briar in exchange for Commander Strike. Please know that we have been proactive in making preparations for either decision, and we still are seeking ways to free Commander Strike.
“The next two days will be extremely stressful for us all. It is imperative to stay ready to help as the organization requires. We don’t know how Chris will react to this decision, so remain diligent and aware. We imagine he won’t stop until he has Martin Briar, so it is up to all of you to look out for yourselves and your neighbors.
“Commander Strike, if you’re watching this, don’t give up hope. We have not forgotten you, and are working tirelessly to free you. Thank you, and have a good rest of your evening.”
Uribe nodded to the cameraman and was given the clear that the camera was now off.
“Thank you,” he said. “How did I sound?”
“Very good, sir.”
He rejoined the Council at their main table, where no one moved an inch.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Councilwoman Murray said, shaking her head. She had remained rather silent after they passed around the results.
“I just discussed the need to not dwell on this matter,” Uribe said with a clear frustration under his tone. “The real question is: what do we do now?”
“We can sit back and watch the fireworks,” Councilman Ryan muttered.
Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4) Page 6