Alina stuck out a hand to shake, Martin grabbing it firmly. “I know you’ll do great.”
They left his apartment together, reaching the stairwell where Alina went down to her first floor apartment, and Martin took the flight up to the third floor where Sonya waited. He hadn’t been on the third floor since their first day living in the complex, and had only seen photographs and diagrams of the floor during their intensive planning. He checked his watch to find one minute remaining until he was expected to knock on her door.
His legs dragged down the hallway, thoughts swirling out of control as his breathing elevated to a much faster pace. Martin had put on a pair of gloves, anticipating the nervous sweat that always seemed to accompany him during moments of anxiety. He needed to grip his weapons if it came to it. The body armor felt like an elephant on his back.
Unit 312 had a slightly crooked door in the middle of the long hallway, and Martin drew one more deep breath when he reached it, hand trembling as he raised it and knocked. He took a step back and raised his hands in the air to show there was no harm intended, waiting to see if Sonya would answer.
Chapter 4
The grand mission to rid the world of Chris Speidel had many moving parts. While one team worked in 1933 Chicago, another remained in 2020 northern Nevada, a mere ten-minute helicopter ride away from the Wealth of Time storefront. Arielle Lucila, who went on the Chicago trip, had planned the pending attack on the store and served as a liaison between the two teams.
They didn’t want one event to occur without the other, so when Arielle called thirty minutes ago giving the green light, confirming that all was in place in Chicago, a grin came to the lips of Justin Fowler, a longtime Road Runner and current Lead Runner of the nearby Salt Lake City office.
He and Arielle had formed this team together, finding the best twenty soldiers available in North America. They had arrived by helicopter two days earlier, setting up tents as they made final preparations for what was to be a first-time mission for the Road Runners: dropping bombs on a Revolution hideout.
While the Road Runners kept a plethora of explosives, they had only ever used them when they blew up Chris’s Alaskan mansion. Never had they dropped bombs from above, but this was a unique opportunity thanks to the severely remote location of the store.
Besides, no commander had ever legally authorized the use of bombs until Briar, bringing with him a ruthless approach the organization had never seen before. He spared no expense or efforts in his lone goal of bringing down Chris. Some soldiers on the team speculated that Commander Briar was letting the organization run on autopilot—as rarely making appearances and giving updates became custom. But no one let that fact bother them, as they witnessed a refreshing, serious approach to bring down the Keeper of Time.
“Balls to the walls,” Justin told his team, a collection of equally ruthless men and women with an insatiable hunger to kill Revolters. “This is Commander Briar’s approach, and it will be ours this morning. Are there any last questions before we head over?”
He looked to the huddle of blank faces, many concealed behind face coverings as part of their combat attire. The soldiers dressed in their uniforms, helmets on, rifles loaded. An all-out raid was on the menu, and not a single one of them wanted to back down now.
Justin declared it time to proceed. They broke into groups and dispersed in different directions, Justin heading to the chopper equipped with the explosives. Four soldiers joined him, including the pilot, while the other sixteen packed into three different trucks that would arrive to the scene seconds after the explosions started. The intent behind the bombs was not to kill those inside, but to destroy the building—a beautiful, symbolic gesture according to Commander Briar, who had explained all of his troubles with Chris had stemmed from that very edifice.
Once the structure absorbed its damage, those inside would have no choice but to run out where they’d meet the gunfire of those soldiers in the trucks. Commander Briar told them to be ready for anything, including large numbers of Revolters. He cited the time he and Gerald had wanted to stop by, but several cars had appeared in the parking lot after a week of surveillance suggested otherwise. He suspected the store was being used as a hub to funnel Revolters from all around the sphere of time, meaning it was impossible to know their true numbers. That was another reason he justified the bombs, Gerald having instilled the strategy of putting enemies on defense and catching them off guard.
Timing was everything on this mission, an attribute that separated the great soldiers from the elite. The helicopter had been started, leaving them exactly five minutes until take off. Justin and the rest of his crew filed in, he taking the co-pilot seat where he’d make the decision to deploy the bombs.
They all slipped on a pair of headsets as the engine and rotor drowned out any possibility of normal conversation. The pilot entered last, a large man by the name of Sergio Fritteli, who seemed to rock the entire chopper as he made his way to the pilot’s seat.
“Everyone ready to roll?” he asked through the headset.
Justin gave a thumbs up while the other two in the back whooped and hollered like rowdy high schoolers. This earned a satisfied chuckle from Sergio, who started flipping switches on the dashboard. “One minute until takeoff,” he said, the vibrations growing stronger, a sense of destiny sprinkling over the nerves starting to form in Justin’s gut.
“Balls to the walls!” Justin shouted as he looked out his window to the rest of the group already in their trucks, a few hanging
