Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) by Andre Gonzalez (books on motivation .txt) 📕

reached down to rub them, not yet realizing he hadn’t done that in over forty years. Chris considered a couple of options at this point, and debated infiltrating the Road Runners’ network, just to spark some life into them and see if he could get a reaction from their commander. A sensation kept gnawing in his gut that something was indeed off about this entire situation, but he kept ignoring it. Perhaps he was still too high from his slaughter of Thaddeus to grasp such negative thoughts. Maybe he refused to believe that his life would ever actually be in danger. Whatever the reason, Chris would soon realize he had made a mistake by not listening to—and trusting—his instincts.

He decided to go straight to the source and dialed Martin Briar. Like everyone else in the world, apparently, the call headed straight to voicemail. Chris declined to leave a message and hung up, glaring across the room to the grandfather clock that rang its dull bell four times to signify four o’clock had arrived.

The reality finally sunk in that Sonya was not calling, and for a rare instance, Chris Speidel had no idea what to do. He didn’t want to rush into any drastic conclusions, but the phone calls had a purpose for his well-being.

With Revolters all around the country, Chris returned to his computer and put out an email blast to all offices, calling for every single member to find Sonya. It would take a couple hours for the messages to be relayed and put into action, especially considering each team would decide how to best spread their members both across time and locations. He’d expect to hear some sort of results within four hours, meaning he had to hunker down in this house under full security, just in case.

Once the email was sent, Chris powered off his computer and barged into the living room. “We have a situation,” he explained to his soldiers, who promptly turned off the TV and gathered around. “I have not heard from Sonya for our regularly scheduled phone call. I don’t have reason to believe my life is in jeopardy, at the moment, but I want to exercise caution. We need to completely secure the perimeter of the property. I want all of you to get into position outside and shoot anything that approaches—we have no expected visitors. I’ll be in my office and will keep my weapons nearby. Stand your ground until I inform you it’s safe to retreat inside.”

As usual, his soldiers didn’t question anything and silently moved about the house to grab their rifles and coats before strolling outside for the next few hours. With the house empty, Chris returned to the office and locked the door, closed the windows and blinds, and retrieved the pistol from his desk drawer. He lay on the couch, hoping to pass the time until hearing from someone.

Chris never felt the fatigue or sleepiness creep into his head. Sure, he had slept at night to pass the quiet hours, but he never expected to fall into a deep afternoon nap that his body demanded. His mind drifted away and took him under, into the first natural sleep cycle since becoming the Keeper of Time. While he snoozed, Chris never felt the grumbling in his stomach or the dryness filling his mouth as he fully returned to a somewhat regular, vulnerable, human being.

Chapter 10

A pending disaster was well underway by the time the Council returned from their lunch break and resumed their daily session. Their calendar had been filled with minor matters to settle, but that was all pushed aside when news broke about the assassination of Thaddeus Hamilton.

At first, the story was nothing but shock for the Road Runners, many of them grateful that Chris had actually attacked someone else besides them. That factoid, however, sparked a wave of panic throughout the membership that the organization was not ready for.

Many considered it a warning shot. If Thaddeus could be killed, why not Commander Briar? And where was he, anyway? The Council’s email inbox had flooded with requests regarding their commander’s whereabouts. As rocky as the election and transition from Strike to Briar had been, many had rallied behind Martin yet still had a rotten taste in their mouths having watched the gruesome death of Strike.

The news had broken just before the Council recessed for lunch, and by the time they came back an hour later, a crowd of roughly thirty Road Runners had gathered in the marketing office upstairs, demanding protection from the organization as they grew convinced of pending mayhem.

Chief Councilman Uribe ordered security members upstairs to gauge what exactly the members wanted.

“Our time of reckoning has arrived!” one member shouted. “Our war ends tonight!”

The crowd cheered these statements as truths, despite no one having any evidence to back it up.

Word leaked back to the Council as they convened for the afternoon and what was sure to be a long night ahead.

“Have we heard from the commander and his team?” Uribe asked Councilman Bolt, who had been tasked with reaching out to the team working on the Depression-era mission.

“We have not, sir, and I’m concerned. Because of the nature of this mission, we’ve had three checkpoints scheduled throughout the day, each and every day since they left. We last heard from Lieutenant Commander Herrera this morning, confirming that they were going into Sonya’s apartment today. It’s now been ninety minutes since their last check-in was due.”

“And have we checked the tracking system?”

“Yes, sir, they all still appear to be in Chicago—in the same building—alive and well. That’s why we’re not quite concerned about them yet. The mission could have hit some bumps—they expected as much dealing with Sonya.”

Uribe took off his glasses and tossed them on the table, rubbing his eyes and forehead, just as the head of security, Devin Janae, barged into the chambers with her eyes bulging.

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