The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  He emerged back on the other side and raised the phone to shine the light around the room. The bodies still lay there where he'd left them, and Dak wondered how long it would be before the room began to stink of rotting death.

  He swallowed hard and pulled his shemagh up over his nose and went to work.

  First, he set about scouring the room for more lights. He searched every one of the dead men and found twelve more phones. Most of them were flip phones, but every little bit helped and he would save those in his cargo pants to use once he was out of here, but that plan would have to wait.

  Next, he took two of the smartphones and turned on the lights, placing the devices face down on the floor. He also found several flashlights that he also placed around the room in the darkest areas. Within twenty minutes, the entire chamber was bathed in a dim—albeit inconsistent—light.

  He grunted in satisfaction upon seeing the entirety of the room.

  "Now comes the gross part."

  He started with the body nearest him and began the unpleasant process of undressing the dead man. This one had taken a bullet to the head, so most of his blood loss stayed off of the clothes. Dak knew that specimens like this were few, and he didn't look forward to dealing with some of the messier corpses.

  He removed the man's outer garments, leaving his underwear and shirt, choosing to only take the clothes that hadn't been tainted when the victim's bodily functions relaxed upon termination.

  Dak piled up the clothing next to the entrance to the crawlspace and then went to the next body.

  He repeated the process, removing the garments from nearly all of the dead men in the room. Satisfied he had enough to use, he removed a knife from one of the bodies and started cutting the robes and tunics in wide strips. This step took nearly an hour to complete after the forty minutes of stripping the corpses.

  Once all of the clothes were cut to his specifications, he tied one end to the other, then repeated the knots with all the strips. By the time he was done—almost two hours later— he'd produced more than one hundred feet of "rope."

  After grabbing the rest of the phones and lights, he stuffed them into every available cargo pocket, then tied one end of his makeshift rope securely to his ankle. Looking back one last time into the room, he sighed and then began the long crawl back through the tunnel toward the burial chamber.

  His stomach grumbled. His fingers ached from pulling and rubbing on the stone. His knees were scraped. Despite all of this, along with an overwhelming thirst, Dak felt a renewed sense of energy pulsing through his body.

  He reached the burial chamber in record time and clamored to his feet. Then he trotted up the corridor to the opening in the cliff and looked down.

  Dak bent down and untied the rope from his ankle, then retreated back through the passage until he reached the burial chamber. Most of the rope still protruded from the crawlspace. That was a relief. He'd initially thought he would need to bring one of the heavy chests or perhaps a statue closer to the tomb's exit, but having created more than enough rope, that wouldn't be necessary.

  He pulled on his creation until the last of the rope appeared through the crawlspace. Ignoring the blood stains on his hand from the dead men's clothes, Dak tied off the rope's end to the leg of the Anunnaki statue on the right. He pulled hard on the fabric, leaning into it from several feet away to make sure the statue didn't topple over and also insuring the cloth wouldn't rip.

  Pleased with his handiwork, Dak grabbed the rest of the rope and returned down the passage toward the exit.

  When he reached the lip of the cliff, he sat down and tied the other end of the rope around his waist, then dropped the bulk of the fabric over the precipice. He looked over the edge as the loop in the rope dropped almost to the bottom of the ravine, leaving less than twenty feet to the bottom. With that, combined with the rope around his waist, Dak figured he'd have to drop no more than six or seven feet to the bottom.

  He secured the knife in his belt and then leaned out over the drop-off, tightening the slack in his rope until it went taut. Then, Dak took a breath, said a silent prayer, and took a step down the rocky face.

  Eleven

  Hamrin Mountains

  One foot after another, Dak lowered himself toward the bottom. His fingers weakened with every passing minute. The muscles in his forearms burned from the effort, but he didn't let go. With every step, he drew closer to safety.

  The sun beat down on him from a cloudless sky. Sweat rolled down his face and jaw, forming little balls of perspiration before letting go and dropping into the abyss below.

  He didn't dare look down now.

  Heights weren't one of his phobias. In fact, few things in life caused Dak to be irrationally afraid. Such fears would prohibit him from doing his job. His mind drifted again, begging him to think about the five men who betrayed him and left him for dead.

  Distracted, his fingers slipped on the rope and he dropped six feet before he was able to catch himself, clamping down on the rope with a strong grip. The act burned the skin on his fingers from the friction, but the injuries were negligible and he kept going, hand over hand, one foot at a time until he reached the end of the rope, about seven feet off the ground.

  When the rope was taut, he let go of his tight grip on it and retrieved the knife from his belt, and started sawing. It didn't take much for the sharp blade to sever the fabric. When the last strands gave way, Dak dropped to the sand below with a thud. He landed on his feet and rolled to the side to cushion the fall, even though it was less than ten feet. He'd seen people get hurt with shorter drops than that and breaking an ankle out in the middle of the desert mountains wasn't his idea of a good plan.

  Dak let out a sigh and looked back up the wall he'd just descended. The rope he'd created dangled loose in the breeze, swaying back and forth gently over the rocky surface.

  His head still hurt, but the throbbing wasn't as bad as before. His vision had cleared, though now he wished for a pair of sunglasses to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine.

  He stood and dusted himself off, then looked around. Hills and mountains surrounded him on all sides. The only sound came from the wind whispering through the canyon. The place where he and his team setup prior to the mission was only a few clicks away, but he knew there would be no mode of transportation there.

  Dak recalled his men's plan regarding transporting the treasure crates. They'd mentioned using one of the terrorist trucks to move the chests, though there was no way to know where. Still, if memory served correct, he'd seen more than one pickup on the top of the mountain.

  He looked up with disdain to the top of the mountain, then to the right where the ravine looped around in front of it and into the valley where he and his team had descended the night before to attack the camp. It would take another hour for him to get back to the top, to the scene of the crime, and he didn't like the idea of returning. Especially now that he was finally free.

  It was either go back to the camp or risk dehydration and death in the desert. The base was too far from here and while he was in terrific physical condition, even Dak had his limits.

  With no other options in play, he started toward the valley.

  Twelve

  Hamrin

  Bo stepped out of his commanding officer’s quarters and back into the hall. He never bothered to look back as he turned and stalked down the corridor toward the barracks.

  He’d informed the colonel of what happened—how Harper had gone crazy, started talking weird, and eventually sided with the terrorists. The colonel had a difficult time believing the story, but Bo hadn’t lied to him before—as far as he knew.

  Bo explained how he and his men took out the terrorists and the traitor sympathizer. He even mustered a few tears that mirrored his disbelief at Dak Harper’s actions.

  “I… I just don’t understand how this could happen, sir?” he’d said, doing the best acting job of his life. “I trusted Dak. We all did. I… I’m sorry, sir. We had to co
llapse the cave. Dak and all the terrorists died inside. It was the only way, sir. We had to get out of there. The place was booby-trapped.”

  The colonel eventually accepted the story and praised Bo for his leadership, his bravery, and quick thinking in a difficult situation. With Dak Harper gone, the man had to be dead, awol or had joined the dark side with the terrorists—as Bo had suggested.

  Bo and his team would be given a short leave before they shipped back to the states, this being their last mission during their tour. Once he and the crew were back home, they would come up with a plan to retrieve the stolen artifacts and move them through the black market.

  That was going to be difficult.

  Bo had his fair share of shady connections, but the antiquities black market was a place he’d forged no kind of network. He honestly didn’t know where to start, though he figured some of his acquaintances in the cybercrime community could help. Those guys were always dipping their toes into a wide assortment of shadowy pools, very often on the dark web. Bo would make a few calls and see where it led.

  He veered right once he was outside the metal building the soldiers referred to as the “tin palace” and marched toward the rows of barracks across the courtyard. The immense, beige building was nothing spectacular in the way of aesthetics, but Bo had never seen a garrison that accomplished that feat.

  He strode with purpose through the corridors until he found his men sitting in a little room in a more remote wing of the facility. Bo stepped inside and shut the door so no curious ears could hear their conversation.

  The four men looked up at him, curiosity burning in their eyes.

  “Well?” Carson asked.

  Bo nodded. “He bought it.”

  A collective sigh filled the room, though Luis still didn’t look relieved. He’d been acting worried ever since they left the cave. It was easy to see that what they’d done to Dak didn’t sit well with him, but there was nothing he could do. If he’d gone against the rest of the team, he might well be stuck in the cave with Dak too.

  Nathan nodded. “Good. What else did he say?”

  Bo sauntered over to an empty chair around the table where the men sat and plopped into it. “Well, as you know that was our last mission. Nothing has changed in that regard. We’re going home, boys.”

  “What about the—” Billy looked around and then lowered his voice before continuing. “What about the treasure? If we go back to the states, someone else could find it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Bo disagreed. “We took precautions. It’s well-hidden, and only the five of us know where it is.”

  “So, what?” Carson asked. “We fly home, hang out for a bit, then fly back here and recover the stuff?”

  “Exactly. And we do it together.” Bo leveled his gaze, meeting the stares of each man so they understood there would be no backstabbing, no sneaking around and stealing the bulk of the treasure for themselves.

  “That’s probably best,” Luis said. Regret and doubt filled his voice as he stared blankly at the table’s surface.

  “After that, we go our separate ways.” Bo leaned back in his chair and draped an arm over the back of it. “I’ve reached out to a few of my morally loose friends. They have some connections in the arms black market, done quite a few deals in West Africa and Central America. I believe they’ll be able to get us connected with someone who can move those artifacts.”

  “Perfect,” Carson said, throwing up his hands. “When do we head back stateside?”

  “Tomorrow morning.” Bo looked around at the men once more, making sure he engaged each one. “It’s been an honor serving with you, gentlemen. Here, in a few weeks, maybe a month, I suspect we are all going to be very rich.”

  The group joined in with a reserved but rousing collection of agreements and laughs.

  “No day job for me when I get back,” Billy said.

  “What are you going to do with your cut?” Carson asked.

  Billy thought for a moment. He rubbed his narrow jaw and shrugged. “I guess I’ll buy the farm I always wanted. Been eyeing some land in Tellico Plains, an hour from Knoxville. It’s at the base of the mountains. Ten acres. Not a ton of property, but it’s more than enough for me and with the money we get from those sculptures, I bet I’ll have plenty left for another lifetime or two.”

  Carson nodded his approval.

  “What about you?” Billy asked.

  “Me?” Carson guffawed. “I’m gonna park my tail on a beach somewhere. Maybe Hawaii. Maybe South Florida. I’ll figure that out when the time comes. I want to be somewhere warm and sunny with sand between my toes.”

  Billy chuckled. “You don’t need to sell artifacts to get that. You got that all around you right here.”

  Carson laughed at the comment. The others did too. “Funny man.” He turned to Luis. “What about you?”

  Luis rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it, honestly. Not much, anyway.”

  “Come on. You never daydreamed about what you would do if you ever came into a bunch of money?”

  Luis bobbed his head in semi-agreement. “Yeah, I mean, sure. I always said I would help my family back in Mexico, my distant relatives. But for me, I’ll probably just get a nice house somewhere in the suburbs. Something quiet. Maybe on a cul-de-sac.”

  Carson rolled his eyes and looked to Nathan. “What about you, Mr. Quiet?”

  Nathan’s focus remained on the knife in his hand as he ran it back and forth across the belt. The thing couldn’t possibly get any sharper. He perpetually worked on his blades, keeping them razor sharp at all times, but the way he went about it unnerved others.

  Nathan never looked up as he answered. “I don’t know.”

  Carson snorted. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  Nathan’s eyelids lifted slightly. He peered threateningly at Carson from just underneath them. “It means I don’t sit around thinking of stupid ways to blow my money. It’s unproductive. I’ll figure it out when the checks clear.” The menace in his tone was enough to send chills through every man in the room. It especially unnerved Luis, who blew it off by focusing on Bo.

  “What about you, boss? Any grand plans?” He offered an uncomfortable laugh with the question.

  Bo’s face remained cold, emotionless. “I’m going to disappear. Probably in a foreign country.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Luis said. “We should probably all lie low for a while.”

  “Yes,” Bo agreed. “lying low is exactly what I intend to do. I may get into a few business ventures here or there, but I plan to keep a low profile and enjoy my life. No more missions. No more taking orders from someone else. I’ll get my life back. After that, I can do whatever I want.”

  Thirteen

  Hamrin Mountains

  Dak wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve on his forearm. He breathed heavily and accidentally kicked a rock as he trudged the last dozen feet to the crest of the mountain.

  He hadn't seen the terrorist camp in the day, other than from pictures in the mission briefing. To his surprise, it looked remarkably well-organized. The tents were arranged in neat rows with a central fire pit for the men to gather around in the chilly desert evenings. At the end of the path between camouflaged tents, Dak spotted three Toyota pickup trucks parked in the dirt behind a cluster of boulders.

  He shook off the fatigue from the ascent and trotted across the camp to the three trucks.

  The vehicles sat under another desert camouflage tarp that made spotting the trucks much more difficult from the air since common practice for finding such training centers often utilized drones, spy planes, or satellites.

  Dak slowed to a walk and chose the first truck to the left. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might have to Hotwire the thing if he couldn't locate the keys. It was unlikely the extremists were kind enough to leave them in the ignition and there was no way Dak would go back down the cave. Even if he wanted to, the only way back in was
to descend the cliff face and hop in through the hole.

  No. If he had to hotwire the truck he would.

  He pulled on the latch and the door didn't budge. He sighed a disappointed breath and walked around to the passenger side. That door was locked too. Dak spun around on his heels and tugged on the driver's side door. It also didn't move. He'd exhausted half of his options already with no luck

  He repeated the process with the two remaining trucks and found all the doors locked. He bit his lower lip and let out a frustrated grunt. He needed water. Distracted, he glanced over at the nearest tent. There was a small chimney sticking out of the back part of the roof signaling it was the camp's kitchen.

  If this place had any water, it was probably there.

  Dak gave up on the trucks, for the time being, knowing that he'd probably have to break one of the windows and strip some wires under the steering column to get the thing started. For now, he needed to treat his parched tongue.

  He stepped into the tent, pulling back the flap as he passed through and found himself in a vast room held up by poles at both ends and in the center. Two tables formed an L shape on the right side of the tent's interior and several wooden folding chairs occupied the left side, along with a couple of plastic card tables for eating.

  A fireplace made of stone and mud in the back connected to the chimney he'd seen from outside. Pots, pans, and utensils filled one end of the table that ran parallel to the back wall.

  He surveyed the room and found what he was looking for. In the back left corner, a stack of bottled water cases bloomed like an oasis in the searing desert.

  Dak rushed over to the water and ripped open the top case. He yanked a bottle out and twisted the cap off, discarding it carelessly on the dirt floor. The water dribbled down the sides of his mouth, rolling off his chin as he chugged the quenching liquid.