The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set, Ernest Dempsey [summer books TXT] 📗

of the weapon's ammunition, and knocked Swanson back into the stairwell. When Swanson recovered, he couldn't open the door again, no matter how many times Tucker urged him to get back out there and stop them.

Try as he might, Swanson couldn't get the door to open. He pushed and barged against it with his shoulder, but it didn’t budge.

Tucker slammed his fist against a nearby counter, causing the rest of the operators in the room to jump with a start. He let loose a sting of obscenities born of monumental frustration.

"Someone stop Dak Harper!" he shouted.

The team in Collins' building emerged into the daylight and fanned out to cover the entire rooftop. There was, of course, no sign of Harper or his friend.

"Cooper? MacFarland? Tell me you have eyes on the target," Tucker sneered, forcing himself to keep at least a sliver of calm.

"Negative," the two men echoed. "No sign of either target."

"They're on the roof next door. Get someone over there and let Swanson out of the access stairwell."

"Sir?"

"What, Cooper? What's the problem?"

"That's a dangerous jump, sir. And there's no sign of either target on the other roof."

Tucker's mind raced. Where could they be? Had they jumped? No, Harper wouldn't do that.

He spoke to a man in an SUV. "Mills, do you have any visual of the targets?"

"No, sir. They didn't come out this way, and I have eyes on the next building. They didn't come out of there, either."

Of course they didn't. They vanished into thin air like ghosts in a breeze. "Circle around the block and make sure they didn't get out another way. I know we had all exits covered. Do it anyway."

"Yes, sir."

Tucker watched the feed from the camera in the SUV as the driver sped around the block. He already knew what was coming. There would be no sign of Harper. He'd managed to slip through their fingers.

Another thought needled at his brain, though, and he couldn't shake it. Why, if Harper was the man Bo Taylor claimed him to be—a reckless, self-serving killer who was happy to betray his own men—didn't he kill Swanson on the rooftop? Harper was armed, and he'd disarmed the sniper easily. He could have shot Swanson in the face, used the man's own weapons against him, but the techniques Harper used were all non lethal.

Perhaps Tucker was looking into it too much, overthinking things.

One fact remained, he needed to catch Dak Harper, and somehow, the man had wriggled out of his net.

Twelve

Leiria, Portugal

Dak and Will climbed out of the gray sedan and onto the street in front of a row of steps leading up to a church. The paint on the white, stone building had faded in places, and displayed dark, mottled spots in others where the weather had tarnished the walls, both those wrapping around the church property, as well as the building itself. Some sections of the cracked retaining walls looked as if they might crumble away. The steps climbed ten feet, then made a sharp left, leading to the entrance of the old building perched atop a slight rise.

Will tipped the driver through the window and thanked him in perfect Portuguese before the man drove away, speeding down the antiquated street in search of his next fare.

It was the second such ride Dak and Will had taken. The first landed them in Marinha Grande, just to the north of Nazare.

After running from the apartment building, the two men considered disappearing in the park, or perhaps blending in with the locals. Dak struck down the plan the second it passed through his own lips. The colonel's men would be thorough. They would scout the town until they found what they were looking for.

Instead, Dak and Will took a cab north, figuring Colonel Tucker would be watching the way to Lisbon—the largest city, and the one with the most travel options. Lisbon would make sense as a getaway route.

Dak doubted the man would look to the north, toward the smaller towns and villages.

Once they reached Marinha Grande, they had paid the driver and immediately secured another ride, this one taking them to the town of Leiria, a short ride east.

The Castelo de Leiria stood high on a hill overlooking the town of winding streets and pedestrian walkways. Its terracotta-tiled roof contrasted with the gray stone walls. Square-shaped parapets towered over the main portions of the fortress. The nearly 900-year-old building had been renovated and restored multiple times during the centuries, most recently after the 1969 earthquake.

Dak admired the view as the afternoon sun shone brightly on the gray walls. He longed to visit it. A lover of history, both obscure and mainstream, Dak had always wanted to travel the world, visit historical locations such as this one and thousands of others. That dream was another rift between him and Nicole. She always looked to the future, to technology, innovation, the next generation of everything. Dak gazed into the past, studying and learning all he could. Whether it was to admire millennia-old architecture, the history of war, or the evolution of art throughout humanity, he indulged in all of it. Their worlds were too different.

That microcosm of their relationship only flashed for a second in his memory, and then it was gone.

"Where are we going?" Dak asked, jerking his eyes away from the castle.

"You said we need to get to Istanbul."

"I said I need to get to Istanbul. You need to get somewhere safe and lie low."

Will peered at him with derision. "Seriously? You think I'm just going to put you on a train or a plane or whatever to Istanbul and hide out here while you go get yourself killed?"

"I haven't died yet." Dak's matter-of-fact tone was cool, even, and hinted at no fear of death.

"Fine. You haven't died. Yet. But in case you haven't notice, you brought this little war of yours to my doorstep, too. I'm in, whether you like it or not. And whether I like it or not."

A white compact car drove