Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) Page 3

  “We’re taking it slow,” Justin said. “Let’s keep our eyes on the property, but give time for the trucks to get over there.”

  Sergio already knew this and shot a thumb up to Justin. “Roger that.”

  Justin grabbed his binoculars and looked out the window to the world below, pleased to find the trucks had already taken off, set to drive at a clip above 100 miles per hour. All they needed was a three-minute head-start, but Arielle had suggested they wait to leave until the helicopter got in the air, just in case they ran into any mechanical difficulties upon takeoff.

  Those three minutes suspended in the air dragged for Justin, and surely all of those inside. He passed the time by watching the trucks move below, clouds of dust following behind their small caravan. He stole a glance to the store, undisturbed under the beaming sun. They had discussed what to do if the people inside heard the helicopter ahead of time and headed outside. Justin declared that shouldn’t make a difference in their approach—they still had to destroy the building. Surely nothing the Revolters had on the ground could deter that from happening.

  “We’re clear,” Sergio said, having kept track of the three-minute interval himself, and started forward.

  Justin put the binoculars on his lap and watched ahead, the store growing bigger with each passing second. He had half expected retaliation. Surely Chris had strengthened his security at his offices and buildings around the continent after his mansion went up in flames. But that wasn’t the case, nor would it ever be, seeing as Chris was invincible and didn’t give an actual shit about those who worked for him. Perhaps he believed the Road Runners would never follow through with another air assault after their last one failed under Julian Caruso, a gamble Commander Briar had won.

  It’s not supposed to be this easy, Justin thought. But it was. It only took them seven minutes to reach the point of no return, inching closer to once again turning the Revolution on its side.

  Doubt crept into his thoughts. Did Chris have a way of knowing all of this was coming his way, yet allowed the Road Runners to carry out their plans as a way of ambushing them in a twisted trap? It didn’t seem so far-fetched considering Chris’s history of mind games, possibly even likely.

  Another topic that had been discussed but not truly addressed was the building itself. A handful of those on the team had shared their experiences of entering Wealth of Time, all in different cities at different times. How did they know the store standing in the desert was real, especially in the middle of an area known for mirages? Theories spun out of control during their initial discussion, and it was pushed to the back burner as something they would try to extract from Sonya once they captured her. Some believed the store itself was a portal for time travel, or that it was built above a supernatural energy source. If this same desert housed the supposed aliens in Area 51 hundreds of miles south, then what else could be possible?

  Despite all the doubt, no resistance met them as Sergio said, “We’re now in range to hit the store.”

  Justin took one final peek through the binoculars, finding no one outside, no secret doors with machine guns pointing up at them. Just a massive wooden structure ready to meet its death. He looked to Sergio, whose hands had come off the control wheel to flip new switches, and promptly returned to start aiming their ammunition.

  “Knock that piece of shit down!” Justin barked, suddenly overcome with euphoria as he realized this was indeed falling into place without interruption. The airwaves through the headsets fell silent as the helicopter rumbled violently, a trail of smoke zooming to the store ahead, trailing its missile.

  The first one hit the eastern side of the building and sent a fiery orange cloud into the sky, chunks of wooden shrapnel flying in every direction. Sergio deployed the next, followed by two more, all within twenty seconds.

  Between the smoke trails and explosions below, visibility had momentarily been eliminated, prompting Sergio to descend through the black clouds of ash. They had already planned on touching down and joining the festivities, and once they cleared the smoke, found the rest of the team pulling up in the trucks, jumping out and immediately opening fire.

  The store looked like a tornado had just pummeled it, piles of splintered wood and drywall standing in smoldering stacks while smoke oozed from the rubble. A handful of people scampered from the store’s remains, promptly greeted by a shower of bullets.

  Sergio continued to lower the helicopter and they touched the ground within minutes, the blades swirling dust in every direction, their blaring sound drowning out the rapid gunfire that took life after life.

  Six bodies already lay on the ground, a few twitching as they clung to their last breaths. Three more rose from the rubble and darted away from the building, meeting the same fate as their friends before.

  “I need to find Mario Webster,” Justin said. “We believe he is the highest-ranking Revolter at this location.” Sergio stood from the cockpit and opened the door, waving an arm for Justin to exit. He cocked his pistol before climbing down, but knew he wouldn’t need it—his team had everything under control.

  He jogged toward the commotion, the gunfire having ceased now that no one else was dashing from the crumbled remains of the store. If they hadn’t caught a bullet, they were certainly suffocating under the debris. The thought drew a smile.

  The bodies lay scattered about the desert ground, and the first one Justin approached was already dead. But it wasn’t Mario. He checked the two nearest, finding one with a face smeared in blood and soot, another gurgling on his own blood while gazing blankly to the sky, not even seeing Justin over him. Neither man was Mario, so he moved on to the next body and found his guy.

  “Mr. Webster,” Justin said with a grin, waving to the others waiting nearby. They had instructions to clear the bodies from the scene by tossing them into the rubble which would soon be doused with kerosene for a final cremation of the store’s remains.

  “You motherfuckers,” Mario said through gritted teeth, his strong voice catching Justin off guard. He writhed on the ground, blood streaming from his left arm and right leg.

  “Lucky man,” Justin said, squatting beside Mario’s wounded arm, knowing he had no strength to make a move on him. “You catch two bullets and not one seems to have sliced through an organ or artery. Maybe we’ll pack you in a box and drop you at the doorstep in Idaho. How does that sound?”

  Mario smiled, his teeth shiny against his ashy skin. “You’re fucked. You just signed the death warrants for all of your people here. Do you really think Chris is going to turn the cheek after you blew up his most prized building?”

  Justin reared back a fist and slammed it into Mario’s left temple, earning a satisfying groan as his head bobbed from side to side. He knelt closer to Mario, lowering his lips within an inch of his ear. “I don’t give a shit about Chris,” he said. “Your old man is on his last leg. Do you think we would knock this building down for fun? The end of this war is coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  Mario rolled his head back to meet Justin’s eyes, lips pursed before spitting on his face.

  Justin snickered and wiped off the spittle with his arm. “I’ll consider that a parting gift. Any last words you want us to relay to Chris?”

  “I’ll see you in hell,” Mario snarled.

  “Understood.”

  Justin stood up, pistol still clenched in his grip and aimed it at Mario’s stomach, pulling the trigger and walking away.

  The entire team loaded back into the trucks, minus Sergio, who would fly the chopper back to Salt Lake City. The first domino had officially fallen in their mission to kill Chris. Justin only hoped things played out as smoothly in Chicago.

  Chapter 5

  Chris had called Thaddeus and requested an in-person meeting. He couldn’t gauge the seriousness of Duane’s accusations and wanted to read Thad for himself.

  The two leaders agreed to meet at a downtown cafe in Cheyenne, Wyoming, a middle point between their residences i
n Idaho and Iowa.

  “Mr. Hamilton,” Chris greeted upon entering, two guards waiting outside. “Thank you so much for meeting me.”

  “Always an honor, Chris,” Thad said, standing up to shake hands with the Keeper of Time. “What is this about?”

  They chose a corner booth away from the other patrons chomping down their breakfast and coffee. “I wanted to check in with you. Matters have certainly escalated between us and the Road Runners. Plus it’s been a few weeks since the Liberation officially formed their own leadership. Is there anything else you need help with? I’m here for you.”

  “It’s been fun,” Thaddeus said, chuckling. “A stressful sort of fun, but we’re making strides. We’re solid financially, but the issues we’re running into are about structuring our organization. We obviously have exposure and experience with both the Revolution and Road Runners, and are trying to pull the best from both worlds. We’ve had debates about forming a Council with checks and balances, and also if there should be a line of succession below me.”

  “Checks and balances will make your life a living hell,” Chris said. “You deserve to rule as you please, don’t you agree?”

  Chris was drooling on the inside, Thaddeus giving him a grand opportunity to pick his mind regarding what exactly he wanted out of his role as the leader of the Liberation.

  “Well, sure, that would be nice, but I don’t have the luxury of invincibility like yourself. If I make a decision that my organization doesn’t like, they can come and take me out.”

  Chris waved a hand as he grinned. “Thaddeus, you’re the leader—you make the rules, you set your security in place. You can have a wall of guards around you at all times if you want. No one can lay a finger on you. This is a unique opportunity to build your organization from the ground up. Don’t make the same mistakes as the Road Runners and try to be fair. One thing I’ve learned since becoming the Keeper of Time is that people will respect you for the sole reason of your position. People are brainwashed to respect titles, plain and simple. If you’re the leader, you can refuse to listen to anyone else’s ideas and structure things the way you want. Sometimes you just have to put your dick on the table and let people deal with it.”

  “How does being the Keeper of Time work? Is it something you can make in your lab and share? Have you ever considered splitting that power with others close to you?”

  “Are you suggesting yourself?” Chris asked, cocking an eyebrow. Are you trying to slip into the most powerful position in the world? he wondered.

  “I’m just curious how it works. No one seems to have a clear understanding.”

  “I’m afraid that’s our most forbidden secret. It is only shared with the successor and no one else. Only past Keepers know about the process.”

  “I understand you keep some of your blood in Sonya for the sake of staying alive. If she lives, you can never die. But if your blood is so sacred, then why is it not enough on its own?”

  “The Keeper of Time has always been a God-on-Earth, if you will. I don’t know how it was discovered to maintain invincibility.”

  “And you know where Sonya is? I’ve been thinking of potential missions for the Liberation to focus on, and thought that helping with the Sonya matter could be a good way to get our feet wet.”

  “I know what year she is in, but not where,” Chris lied, seeing the writing on the wall for Thaddeus. Any more questions about their biggest secrets, and he might have to slit the man’s throat and walk out. “I keep tabs on her health for my own sake. She’s doing just fine wherever she is.”

  “I get the feeling you’re lying to me,” Thaddeus said, his face stony as he glared across the table.

  “And I feel you’re prodding for information you don’t need. What is it you really want with Sonya?”

  Thaddeus tossed his hands up. “Look, Chris, we’re just looking for ways to help. We’re all grateful for the opportunity you’ve given to let us govern ourselves. Aside from figuring out those details, we’re just looking for things to do.”

  “I see. I’m looking to build a new headquarters after this war is over. I’d also like help finding the other Warm Souls who live in other parts of the world. If we can find even one, then we’ll have a leg up when Martin tries to make his move.” Chris really wanted to see if he could send the Liberation out of the continent. If Thaddeus agreed to the offer, then Chris could dismiss Duane’s absurd theory. But if he refused to leave, then what exactly might that prove?

  “We’d love to work with you on the headquarters—we’re looking to build one ourselves in a different location. I don’t know about sending any Liberators across the ocean to hunt for Warm Souls. I’m not willing to lose any of our already small forces.”

  “But you just told me you’re looking for something to do. This would be a huge step for both of us. Imagine a world with no Road Runners. The Liberation and Revolution could team up in peace and do as we please. That will never be possible unless I gain access to a Warm Soul.”

  “I understand, but I don’t think we have the resources for that—we need to keep our advantage here on home turf. We’d love to help with this battle against Briar. Let us do so by protecting Sonya—just tell us the year and we’ll track her down.”

  Chris closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

  “I’m currently searching for a new number two,” Chris said, dismissing Thad’s request. “I’ve toyed with the idea of asking you. What are your thoughts on such a role?”

  Chris knew this question would determine plenty. If Thaddeus really wanted to overthrow the Revolution, he’d have to reject the offer based on the terms laid out by Chris.

  “How would that work?” Thad asked, Chris sitting forward with a grin, pulling all the strings in this mental chess battle. “I can’t possibly be the number two in the Revolution and serve as the leader for the Liberation. I would be spread too thin.”

  “Of course not,” Chris said. “I’m talking about a merger—”

  “You guaranteed the Liberation an existence of peace to operate on our own.”

  Chris raised a gentle hand. “Simmer down, we’re only having a discussion. I’m not suggesting the Liberation sacrifice their status and become Revolters. A merger would see our two organizations operate under the same umbrella. You would still be the Liberation, and as the number two in the Revolution, you could either continue to lead your particular subsidiary, or choose whoever you’d like to do so.”

  “So it’s a demotion for me?”

  Chris grinned. “That’s a funny way of looking at it. I see it as a promotion. You’d be retaining your same role, with additional responsibilities, perhaps. But you’d have complete access to the entire Revolution’s resources: our funds, soldiers, equipment, you name it. And I’d leave you free to do as you please, just ask Duane if you need any confirmation. I can’t recall a time I ever rejected a proposal he wanted.”

  Thaddeus sunk back into the booth, fingers brushing over his chin as he entered deep thought. “I don’t know. That’s a big decision.”

  “I’m not asking you to commit to anything right now—hell, I don’t even expect you to accept the offer. Just thought I’d throw it out there.”

  “Has anything like this been done before?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Every time a group has branched off from the Revolution it’s because they hated us and wanted to retaliate. But you branched off from the Road Runners. My enemy’s enemy is my friend, and that’s how I view the Liberation.”

  “And we feel the same, but I can’t lie, Chris, I don’t think I’m ready to give up my role. I’d love to keep working alongside the Revolution, but I want to see if we can make it on our own—with your guidance, but not necessarily your help, if that makes sense.”

  “How ambitious,” Chris said. “But I understand and can’t blame you. You’re in that unique position of being able to operate without the constant threat of me wiping you off the planet, unlike the Road Runners. You still have my f
ull support in whatever you need.” Chris checked his watch. “I should probably get back—I’ve got lots to prepare for the coming days, which I suspect will be bloody.”

  Thaddeus stood, much taller than Chris as he towered over the Keeper. “I wish you the best. I’m sure it won’t be easy, but you’ll come out on top like always. When this all blows over, I’d love to get back together and talk about plans after the Road Runners.”

  “Now that’s a conversation I very much look forward to,” Chris said as he joined Thad in leaving the booth.

  The two shook hands and left the café behind, parting ways as they returned to their private jets. Chris had all he needed from the brief meeting. When his jet rumbled to life and took off back to Idaho, one thought kept playing over in his mind.

  I’m going to kill Thaddeus Hamilton.

  Chapter 6

  Nearly a century in the past, just as Chris touched back down in Idaho, Martin stood at Sonya’s door, adrenaline bursting through his veins as his life flashed before his eyes. He knocked a second time, harder, to ensure it was heard. Eyes had been on all doors that exited the complex for the past thirty-six hours, and no one had reported Sonya leaving the building. She was in there, though—no doubt about it.

  He knocked a third time, sternly, to let her know he wasn’t leaving. His hands remained in the air despite his brain urging him to grab a weapon.

  Don’t tell me she just vanishes into the past as soon as someone knocks, Martin thought. They had people spread throughout time for this measure, but it could take a while for that communication to reach Martin, depending on what year she traveled to. Regardless, he kept faith that she was hiding in the corner, waiting for him to leave.

  Just as he was about to knock again, a shadow appeared from under the other side of the door, followed by Sonya’s voice which sent chills down Martin’s back. “Who’s there?”

  His throat clenched shut for a moment, suffocated by nerves. He had to mentally claw his mouth open to speak. “Sonya? It’s me . . . Martin.” The words came out shaky and soft, and he needed to snap out of it if he had plans of strong-arming Sonya.