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

we’ve done.” He raised his weapon and pointed it at Dak. “I’m in.”

Luis’s eyes darted from the two men to his leader and back again. “Seriously? Can we just talk about this?”

“No time,” Bo said. “You’re either with us or you aren’t, Luis. One way or the other, these crates are coming with us.”

“How are you going to transport them?” Dak asked. “These things have got to be a few hundred pounds each.”

“We take one of the terrorist trucks up at the camp,” a new voice said from the edge of the corridor. Nathan stepped into view, lugging his machine gun over his bulky shoulder.

Luis’ head spun again, this time to account for the man at the door. “You’re supposed to be outside.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nathan said without caring. “But I heard the commotion and had to see it for myself. Don’t worry, I swept the perimeter again. There’s no one else coming. Besides, Billy’s got an eye on things. Right, Billy?”

“Roger that. Although, I’m still trying to understand.”

“So, that’s three of us. Luis? You want to make some money or not?”

Dak looked over at Luis, pleading with the man’s dark brown eyes.

“You always said you wanted to help your family back in Mexico, right?” Bo prodded. “You could do a whole lotta helping with the money from artifacts like these.”

Dak could see the conflict in Luis’ eyes, and the side of good was losing the fight.

Luis took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. Besides, who will know about it? We get this stuff out of here, hide it somewhere until we can sell it, and then go on with our lives. It’s a victimless crime, Dak,” he reasoned. Then he looked around at all the dead bodies on the floor. “Well, relatively victimless.”

“They killed innocent people, Dak,” Bo pressed. “What do you think our government will do with these relics? You think they’ll donate them to some museum or historical preservation society? No way.” He let out an expletive. “You know all too well what they will do with this stuff. The higher-ups will commandeer it, claim it was being used for terrorist funding, and then be lost to the evidence locker. Meanwhile, the top brass will do the same thing with it I’m suggesting. They’ll sell it on the black market to the highest bidder and every single one of them will laugh about it the entire time. They’ll make jokes about us, the grunts who found it—all while they’re sipping on glasses of $500 bourbon while we’re trying to figure out how to pay our medical bills. Does that sound fair to you, Dak?”

The cave flooded with silence. Dak pondered the question, Bo’s points, and the scenario. He was trapped. No two ways about it.

“It does,” Dak said finally. He noticed the men holding the guns visibly relax. Instinctively, he shifted to the side, doing his best to look nonchalant. “And I don’t think anyone could blame you for taking that path.”

Bo nodded and his weapon started to fall to his hip. That was Dak’s only chance. He made a move for his pistol, but something struck him in the back of the head. The force of the blow snapped his head forward. As Dak felt his knees give way, he could see Carson’s face blur by before the spinning world vanished.

Six

Hamrin Mountains

The first thing Dak noticed before his eyes peeled open was the terrible throbbing radiating from the back of his skull. When his eyelids cracked it took a moment for him to adjust to the overwhelming, utter darkness surrounding him. He'd been in dark places before, but nothing like this. He felt as though it squeezed him like an anaconda.

Dak's eyes blinked in slow motion. He was alive. That much he knew. Or everything he thought he knew about purgatory was wrong.

The pounding in his head continued at the same steady rhythm. The agonizing pain caused him to wince, squeezing his eyelids together for several seconds. While his eyes were closed, he focused on what happened prior to waking up in this hellish limbo.

The terrorist cave. He and his team had infiltrated the cave. They'd taken out the targets. Then what? He recalled the next series of events; the memories getting clearer with every passing second.

There was a treasure horde—crates with artifacts in them. It was an assumption that all the crates carried ancient relics. Having seen the golden statue in one, however, made it easy to believe the rest contained similar valuables.

Dak and the others got into an argument. Guns were pointed. Then Dak had made a play for his own weapon. That's when he realized what happened. Carson was the nearest face he'd seen as he collapsed, mere moments before passing out. Carson must have knocked him out. He was the only one in a position to make that move.

Dak grunted and felt around on the ground near him. His fingers hit something small, cylindrical, and metal. The object clinked when he flicked it away. Spent shell casing from the firefight.

The rough-hewn, uneven floor offered no comfort, though something had smoothed the surface over the years—water perhaps, or maybe foot traffic from those seeking shelter.

How had he let himself get into this situation? One moment, he and the team he'd served with for 26 missions were taking down a bunch of terrorists. The next moment, they were turning on him. A familiar lump rose in his gut and he swallowed hard to fight the urge to vomit. A million questions ran through his mind. He propped himself up and felt around for a wall. When his fingers brushed against a hard, vertical surface, he twisted around and leaned his shoulder blades against it. The wall wasn't the most comfortable surface, but it allowed him to rest for a moment while he fought the swirling dizziness that only worsened in the suffocating darkness.

He needed to get out of here. The crates were long gone, as were the men from his team.