"I know the rules," Bo said. "But we're the good guys. And I say it's time for the good guys to get a little pay day."
Luis and Carson agreed.
"What's going on?" Nathan asked into the radio. "You guys find something?"
"Yeah," Bo said. "Something that could send us to an early retirement."
"Really?"
"No," Dak interrupted. "We aren't stealing this stuff. Right now it's evidence and after the area is cleaned up, it'll probably be taken to the antiquities authorities in Baghdad."
Bo leveled his gaze at Dak, clearly unhappy with his team leader's plans.
He changed his methods in hopes of converting him."Dak, come on man. Think about it. If the other crates have similar stuff to this, we could be talking about millions. Maybe more. All of us are nearly done with our time in the military. What were you going to do? Start working for private security firms? Go out and get a real job?"
None of that sounded like what Dak wanted. If he was honest, he really just wanted to find a nice place in the mountains to settle down, somewhere quiet. With the money he could scoop from these stolen artifacts, he'd have a nice little nest egg to get him all of that, and still have plenty left over.
He eyed the statue with a measure of curiosity. He'd studied ancient history in his spare time and found it fascinating while he was in school, earning a minor in history and a major in political science before shipping off to training, then Officer Candidate School.
Dak had served with these men. He'd developed trust with all of them. Things were never perfect, but they rarely clashed, and when they did it had more to do with strategies or planning than anything else. Those disagreements typically ended amicably and with everyone on the same page.
This, however, was a different situation.
Dak knew that everything Bo was saying made sense, but these artifacts didn't belong to them. And after a quick look at the statue, Dak immediately recognized the design as deity from the ancient Sumerian culture. He felt his stomach turn at the realization that these relics were easily more than five thousand years old, probably closer to six. Still, that fact wouldn't change the minds of his men. They were thirsty for something better, an easier life after the military. One that didn't involve 9:00 to 5:00 jobs or protecting wealthy elites on their exploitative missions to dangerous areas of the world. He could sympathize with that, but he knew his men couldn't sympathize with his argument. Still, he had to try.
"Guys, I don't even know where we could move artifacts like this. You'd have to have a connection in the antiquities black market to fence things like this, and I'm not sure any of you have those contacts."
"I'd be willing to work at it," Bo countered. He stepped closer, a look in his eyes unlike any Dak had seen before. He and Bo had been on more missions together than he could count. Actually, that wasn't true. He knew exactly how many. Twenty-six. They'd performed twenty-six dangerous, covert operations together. And not one time had Dak ever seen this look in Bo's eyes.
"I'm sure you would," Dak said with a snort. "Seriously, though, guys. We need to get out of here, report back to base, and get this place cleaned up."
"No," Bo said. "We're taking those crates."
"Guys?" Billy said into the radio. "What's going on in there?"
"Shut up, Billy," Bo said, using his sniper's real name through the radio. It was a no-no in their line of work, but Bo was done playing by the rules. Dak could see it.
"Bo," Dak interrupted, "we're not stealing these artifacts. Okay? They belong in a museum or in a lab for research. And like I said, even if we could take them, there's no way we can move them. Who's going to buy them?"
"Leave that to me."
Dak's eyelids narrowed to slits. "Stand down, Bo. That's an order."
Bo turned away for a moment, frustrated. "Fine," he said. "Have it you way. Mr. Always Play By the Rules. You go on home to the states and get your college tuition paid off. Maybe they'll have you stand up at one of the football games this fall so everyone in the stadium can clap for you and thank you for your service."
"Bo, stop it."
"No, I'm done playing by the rules, Dak. We deserve a score like this. We've given everything, sacrificed everything. And what do we get? A standing ovation when we board a commercial airline? A gas station attendant thanking us for our service?"
"We didn't sign up for this job for the money. Or the glory. We do it because we can, and because no one else is capable."
"Maybe," Bo said. "But I think it's time we take a little something for ourselves."
He spun around and drew his pistol, aiming it straight at Dak's head.
Luis and Carson flinched and took a step back, uncertain what they should do.
Five
Hamrin Mountains
“Bo?” Luis said. “What are you doing?”
“Taking what’s owed to us,” Bo answered. “You going to stand in my way, Luis? Or are you going to get what’s coming to you?”
The long silence told Dak that Luis was mulling it over.
“Dak is our friend,” Luis countered. “He’s been with us through everything. We can’t do this.”
“I offered Dak the chance. He said no thanks. That means we’re splitting the loot five ways instead of six.”
“Bo? What’s going on in there? What loot?” Billy asked through the radio.
“Shut. Up. Billy.” Dak’s voice rumbled as he issued the order.
“I say we take it,” Carson chirped. “Like Bo said, we’ve been on the front lines, doing stuff no one even knows about back home. And he makes a good point.” He swore. “Most of what we do doesn’t even get back to the president, much less the people. We work in the shadows, risking our lives every single day. And for what? They say thanks for your service. Those civilians don’t even know what service 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. That much was a simple certainty.
Dak told himself to focus. Not on getting out, but on the more immediate need. Light. He needed to find light.
His rifle had a light attached to it, but it was long gone. He felt for the cell phone in his pocket, but it was gone. Dak sighed in frustration. With his weapons and phone gone, that left few options for finding anything that could light up this tomb.
Tomb. That's it.
The realization hit him. He'd considered the cavern a metaphorical tomb, not thinking about the fact that—at the moment—it was literally a place of death. The bodies of the terrorists they'd taken out during the mission would still be all over the floor, exactly where the men had fallen during the attack. There was zero chance the team took the time to remove all the bodies.
Dak fought against the aches and pains surging from his left shoulder and his head, and pushed himself forward onto his hands and knees. He recalled the layout of the cave room, mapping it in his head. He remembered being in the back where the crates were stacked before he blacked out. Odds were, his men didn't move him. They would have been in a hurry to get out of there with their loot. On top of that, they'd have to find a place to stash it—which wasn't a problem out here in the middle of nowhere Iraq, but it would take time. The team would be expected to report in at some point. He wondered how they planned on handling his mysterious disappearance.
Distractions. He had to stay focused.
Dak crawled forward on his hands and knees, inching his way along the hard floor. He hadn't gone more than five or six feet before his fingers nudged something soft. It was cloth.
The bitter, iron smell of congealed blood mingled with the limestone all around them, along with the musty scent of the mountain underground, and a still lingering hint of gunpowder.
He realized crawling around could have planted his hands directly into a pool of blood and immediately decided to conduct the rest of his search on his feet—if this guy didn't have what he needed.
Dak squatted like a baseball catcher as he felt his way through the folds of the man's garments, searching for a light or a phone, anything with some kind of artificial illumination.
He'd searched through the man's entire outfit and discovered nothing, so he shifted slightly to the right and shuffled forward until he felt his feet hit another solid object.
Dak kept hoping that his eyes would eventually adjust, as they did when he turned off the lights of his bedroom at night. That usually only took a minute or two, but five minutes into waking in the cave, he started to realize that luxury wasn't coming.
He was bathed in total pitch darkness and the only thing that would change that was a light.
He bent down and began searching the next body. The first guy smelled bad, but this guy reeked of weeks without a bath and it was all Dak could do to not throw up at the scent. That, combined with the looming aroma of death was nearly all he could take, but he forced himself to choke back the bile rising in his gut. He was about to give up and move on to the next body when he felt something solid in a pocket of the man's robes. He dug deeper and his fingers grazed against a smooth, hard surface.
A flip phone.
Seven
Hamrin Mountains
Dak’s heart skipped a beat. He pulled the device out of the dead man’s clothing and flipped it open. The pale glow from the little screen and the numbered keypad may as well have been the brightest beacon, a lighthouse guiding him to safety.
The weak light cast an eerie glow on the macabre scene at his feet. Now he could see the bodies strewn around on the floor. The deathly silence hung over him like a thick fog, seeping into his lungs and coating his skin.
He scanned the room and noticed that most of the terrorists’ guns, if not all, were still here.
“I guess Bo didn’t think disarming them was necessary.” The thought struck him as funny and even with the dire circumstances enveloping him, Dak chuckled for a second until the action caused the pain in his head to worsen.
Bo and the others had gone to the trouble of disarming him but left all these other weapons. Maybe his former partner simply wanted his guns and not the inaccurate Kalashnikovs the extremists preferred.
Dak bent down and picked up one of the rifles that didn’t appear to have any blood on it and slung the weapon over his shoulder. He rummaged through three more dead men’s clothes until he found a phone with a brighter light on it. Then he pocketed the first light as a backup, then switche
d on the new one.
The device flashed a bright, white glow into the room. Dak shone the beam in every direction until he was certain he’d searched the entire area, then made for the passage. When he reached the corner, he glanced back one last time. He looked down at the watch on his wrist and noted the time. They’d entered the cave more than eight hours ago. By now it would be morning.
It was then Dak realized he could have used the glow from his watch to search for a better light.
He sighed, irritated with himself, and then proceeded up the corridor toward the cave’s entrance.
Dak knew the rest of his team was long gone, but he hurried anyway, trotting up the path at a pace that caused his head to pound even harder than before. He pulled off the speed a little hoping to ease the throbbing, wondering if ibuprofen would be strong enough to take care of the pain. Not that there was any of that around here.
He weaved his way through the bends in the passage and then around the last curve, but what he discovered was even more troubling than the grisly scene of death down below.
Rubble smothered the cave entrance.
Huge rocks occupied much of the where the opening was before. Loose dirt and smaller rocks filled in the rest of the space, along with additional debris from what must have been a controlled explosion. Dak knew that the members of his team carried a small amount of ordnance capable of such a tactical demolition job.
A sickening feeling washed over him as he stared blankly at the blockade. Part of his anxiety came from the fact that he was trapped in a cave and no one was coming to help. There was another huge part of his mind, though, that focused on what happened. The men he trusted most in the world had betrayed him.
His mind wandered, as it tended to do at times, pushing his thoughts to a faraway fantasy world where he tracked down the men who betrayed him. In that daydream, he exacts revenge on each one of them for what they’ve done.
The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Page 2