“So what if you die? Everyone dies at some point.” He whispered her words, the weight of each one pressing against his skull. He had no plans of dying, but that matter wasn’t up to him.
A knock banged on the door, startling Martin as he nearly fumbled the mug. “Alina?” he called, expecting his lieutenant to stop by before the plans moved forward.
“Yes, sir,” her muffled voice replied from the other side.
Martin rose and trudged across the apartment to let her in. She wore their official combat uniform, navy blue spandex material with thick padding covering the entire torso. While she wasn’t involved in the mission, she wanted to remain prepared in case she had to intervene at any point. Mainly, the uniform provided the best flexibility for running long distances or engaging in close combat.
“Good morning, Commander,” she greeted, her black hair twisted into a braid. “Are you ready to execute this mission in twenty-seven minutes?” She checked her watch to confirm the precise time.
“No time like the present,” Martin said, offering a forced grin.
“Good. Everyone will be moving into their positions in exactly twelve minutes. From there, we wait for you. Have you tested your radio again this morning?”
They had brought radios from the future, technology a hit-or-miss while traveling throughout time, depending on which technologies existed in the era.
“Still works. I paged Arielle to test. And have you notified the Council of our plans today?”
“Yes. The Council has been alerted that you are ready to head in—they wish you the best of luck.”
“Did they really?” Martin asked, rolling his eyes. He and the Council had gotten into several heated arguments regarding his decision to take on this mission firsthand. They didn’t mind him scouting the area and staying in 1933 to make plans for capturing Sonya, but the moment he declared that he’d be the one barging into her apartment, Chief Councilman Uribe brought their operations to an immediate halt.
Uribe had called it reckless and irresponsible. The organization had already been through enough over the past several months, and there was no reason for their leader to once again be placed in serious jeopardy. He brought the issue to a formal vote on three different occasions, a 4 to 3 count returning each time in favor of letting the commander do as he saw fit, Martin forever grateful for having stacked the Council in his favor.
Those opposed, including Uribe, took a deep dive into the Road Runner Bylaws, throwing every rule they could at Martin and their fellow Councilors to stop it from happening. Nothing resisted the power of their votes, and it was settled that Martin would carry out the mission.
The Council eventually pleaded with Commander Blair in Europe to help by freezing time, but Martin’s British counterpart was still pissed Gerald had been killed in what he deemed a “sloppy mission that should have never happened.” He vowed to not offer any more assistance with Martin’s antics in trying to kill Chris. From his point of view, the war in North America was bad, yes, but not something that warranted such desperate moves. He did not give his blessing for Martin to enter the mission on his own, but Martin didn’t give a shit.
“They did,” Alina said, stepping all the way into the apartment, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Martin made his way to the couch he had passed out on last night. “I traveled ahead and spoke to Uribe—he really does wish you the best and said he can’t wait to speak with you in person.”
Martin grinned. “I know things got ugly, but he’s a phenomenal man.”
“That he is.” Alina checked her watch again, something she had been doing just about every minute. She was much more organized than Martin, an attribute desperately needed for their leadership team. Every meeting was prompt with its start and end times, Alina having too much to focus on to get dragged into wasted time.
On her first day as the new lieutenant, she stood up and left Martin’s office in the middle of a conversation, citing that her next time block was due for research on places to stash Chris’s dead body. Martin had been taken aback when this happened, but had since learned to appreciate her dedication in the days since. He might have been the one doing the dirty work in capturing Sonya, but Alina would ensure none of their efforts went down the drain.
“Everything is in place should you not make it back,” Alina said. “Your will has been sent to the Council for safety, and our elections team has made preliminary preparations in case both of us don’t make it for some reason. All bases are covered, including the flip side for what will happen if Sonya is killed, captured, or escapes.”
“Perfect, thank you. Should we start getting ready to head out there?” Martin asked, the words making his head spin.
“Yes.”
Martin pulled himself off the couch and opened the closet door in the short hallway that led to his bedroom. He slipped into an armored vest and helmet, having opted to not wear a combat uniform since his role was confined to Sonya’s apartment. If she ran, everyone else on the team was ready to chase.
If they had prepared him like this for his first attempt on Sonya’s life in 1996, he wondered if things would have played out any differently. He never planned to kill her during that initial visit, but things had since changed.
He grabbed a loaded pistol and slipped it into his utility belt, already equipped with pepper spray and a taser. Martin had no intention of using any of these weapons, considering them more as tools of self-defense. Sonya would dictate how this encounter played out, Martin wanting a peaceful discussion where they could explore all available options.
“Three minutes,” Alina informed him. “You should start heading up.” She brought him the radio he had left on the kitchen table, sticking it in his hand.
Martin nodded and took a
