The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  Tatvan, Turkey

  Dak stared quietly at Lake Van from his table in the back corner of the cafe. He sipped his second cup of Turkish coffee, chasing the last crumbs of baklava. A gentle breeze rolled across the lake’s crystal surface. Mount Nemrut loomed in the distance, a few strands of snow trickling down the slopes of the massive, dormant volcano.

  He chose a spot in the back of the cafe where he could see every exit and entrance—a habit he figured he would never break, especially now.

  He wondered what the colonel was doing at that moment, other than rubbing aloe on his sunburned face and neck. Although that was an assumption, it was one that made Dak smile, at least for a couple of seconds.

  He positioned the soldiers in a circle, handcuffed to each other with the zip ties that were meant for him—along with several more sets. He kept the two Humvees between the cluster of men and the line of sight to the base in case someone was watching. Someone was always watching. It was best to operate with that mindset. To do otherwise would be sloppy, careless.

  At best, Dak figured he had maybe a thirty-minute head start on any pursuers, though he doubted it took that long for anyone at the base to think something was up when there’d been a lack of movement for over ten minutes during the ambush.

  He’d probably only had fifteen to twenty minutes to get out of the area before the cavalry showed up to rescue the colonel and his men.

  Twenty minutes for Dak Harper, though, was an eternity.

  He knew how to disappear, to blend in, to vanish like an apparition. He also knew all the tricks the military would employ to hunt him down. The colonel’s vast net could stretch across the globe. Still, Dak remained a step ahead, making his way farther north until he reached the Turkish border. He crossed under the cover of darkness, though the night provided little in the way of camouflage with a nearly full moon hanging in the sky above.

  Once Dak was across the border into Turkey, he continued northeast until he reached the small town of Tatvan on Lake Van.

  Tatvan was the town time forgot, which was easy to see due to its remote location. A valley stretched between mountains and hills, running until it stopped at the lake’s lip.

  The enormous body of water encompasses over 1400 square miles and is one of the world’s largest endorheic lakes, meaning it has no natural outlet. Fish are rare in the lake, though one species—the Pearl Mullet—visits during the spring to spawn in the brackish waters.

  Dak liked the location, but he knew he couldn’t stay. Even though Tatvan was as good a place as any for him to disappear, that wasn’t his primary objective. Not yet. Keeping invisible was paramount, to be sure, but he had another pressing item on his agenda: Bo Taylor and his crew.

  It wasn’t just about revenge, though Dak knew a measure of it was exactly that. But he also needed to clear his name. The colonel would—no doubt—go to the ends of the earth to make sure Dak was found, and that he paid for his crimes, crimes he didn’t commit.

  The colonel didn’t know that, and Dak had to remind himself of that fact. In his mind, the colonel was merely doing his job, taking care of his fellow Americans in the face of a perceived threat. Dak didn’t blame the colonel. The man needed proof, evidence that Bo and the others were the real villains in this scenario. That would come, though Dak knew he had to be patient.

  He wondered if Bo and the others knew of his escape yet. Dak assumed that was the case, but they would pull their own disappearing act soon if they hadn’t already.

  It had been three days since his near arrest at the base. Bo and the others were slated to fly back to the states yesterday. They were long gone and finding them now would prove difficult. Dak didn’t mind a challenge. In this case, he relished it. He was the hunter. Could he be more than that? Perhaps he wasn’t just a hunter of people? Dak needed time to think about it. Since a network in the antiquities black market would be a necessity to track down Bo and the others, perhaps he needed to start there and become what he’d heard of only once before.

  Relic runners were thieves who had a penchant for acquiring rare artifacts. Sometimes they sold the goods, other times they kept them for themselves until the value went up. Some relic runners worked for wealthy benefactors while others worked for no one else, choosing to go it alone.

  Dak could see the benefits of either, but if this was going to be his new life, his new identity, he’d need to learn more about this unusual group of people.

  He switched on the laptop he’d purchased earlier that morning from an electronics shop in the center of town. The laptop didn’t have the latest or fastest components, but it would get the job done.

  Dak had already moved his money, withdrawing a significant portion of his savings account at the local bank. He’d open shadow accounts with the cash as soon as he could procure a false identity, but that would take time. The only contact he knew of with those kinds of connections was his old friend Theo. Last Dak heard Theo was in Bangkok. That meant Dak would need to make a trip to Thailand soon.

  He noted several tourists walking by with cameras and wondered where they’d been. The remote town didn’t strike him as much of a tourist destination. The vistas overlooking the lake, the mountains, the valley, were spectacular to be sure, but he couldn’t imagine coming all the way out here on a vacation. Not only was the town of Tatvan in the middle of nowhere, but it also played host to harsh winters, in part because of its elevation over 5000 feet above sea level.

  The waiter returned—a young man with swept brown hair and a thin mustache. He was skinny and medium height, wearing a white button-up shirt and a black tie with matching black pants.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked with a pleasant smile.

  “Actually,” Dak said, “I was wondering about those tourists,” he pointed at the group as they disappeared around the corner, pointing at buildings, taking pictures with their cameras and phones, and chattering in French.

  The waiter followed his finger to the group as they meandered out of sight.

  “Is there some famous spot around here they were visiting?”

  The young man looked at him quizzically, then shrugged. “Nemrut Dag.” Upon seeing the confusion in his patron’s eyes, he explained further. “There are ancient ruins on top of the mountain. It is the place where King Antiochus I built his tomb and a temple, both to honor himself and the gods.”

  Dak’s interest piqued at the information, but he wasn’t here on a sightseeing trip. As much as he’d love to climb the mountain and examine this ancient site, he didn’t have that kind of time. He had to get a new identity before the colonel’s net closed in around him. Once he was a new man, he could re-establish his life for a while, drop off the radar. All of his assets would be tied up, locked down by the government. Fortunately, he’d been able to access most of his funds to give him a head start with his new—and hopefully temporary—life.

  “This is your first time in Tatvan?” the waiter asked.

  Dak nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, the trip up to the top of the mountain is worth it if you have time, and if you’re into ancient history. Most of the local townspeople think little of that stuff, probably because they’ve been around it their whole lives.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Dak paid his bill, and the man disappeared, grateful for the generous gratuity his patron added.

  Maybe Dak would pay a visit to the mountain temple while he was here. The next train out of town wasn’t coming for several hours and he doubted he’d ever visit this place again.

  He glanced back at the laptop screen and then closed it. Dak was about to begin a dangerous game, but as the guy with nothing to lose, he liked his odds of winning. Bo and the others would slip up at some point. When they did, he’d be ready.

  That reminded him. He had a phone call he needed to make.

  He pulled up another tab and entered the words “International Archaeological Agency” in the search bar.

  The IAA website p
opped up and Dak scrolled down to the “contact us” tab, clicked it, and then picked up the phone he’d purchased earlier. He’d bought two, one as a burner and the other for persistent use if needed, though at the time he didn’t have anyone to call, save for this one to the IAA.

  Dak met Sean Wyatt years ago on a mission in Pakistan. He knew that Wyatt worked for a clandestine agency, but he wasn’t clear on who, only that the man had clearance well above Dak’s pay grade.

  Wyatt told Dak it would be one of his last missions and that he was transitioning to his friend’s archaeological organization. Dak had heard of the work the IAA did to help secure some of the world’s most valuable cultural artifacts. He respected Tommy Schultz, the IAA founder, and knew him to be an ethical man, though Dak had never met him before.

  Dak saw what the IAA did to preserve important pieces of history, and all as a non-profit entity.

  He entered the phone number for the IAA headquarters in Atlanta and pressed the phone to his ear. The receptionist answered with a pleasant hello and asked how she could direct his call.

  The treasure in the Hamrin mountains was still there. He doubted Bo and the team would return to that exact spot. They had no reason to do so since they hadn’t seen the tomb with its horde of riches. That didn’t mean someone else couldn’t find it eventually, and Dak wanted to make sure it was kept in the right hands.

  “I’d like to speak with Tommy Schultz, please. I have some information about a potentially huge find in Iraq.”

  Thank You

  Thank you for taking the time to read this story. We can always make more money, but time is a finite resource for all of us, so the fact you took the time to read my work means the world to me and I truly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed sharing it, and I look forward to bringing you more fun adventures in the future.

  Ernest

  Other Books By Ernest Dempsey

  Dak Harper Origin Stories:

  Out of the Fire

  You Only Die Once

  Tequila Sunset

  Purgatory

  Scorched Earth

  The Heart of Vengeance

  Sean Wyatt Adventures:

  The Secret of the Stones

  The Cleric's Vault

  The Last Chamber

  The Grecian Manifesto

  The Norse Directive

  Game of Shadows

  The Jerusalem Creed

  The Samurai Cipher

  The Cairo Vendetta

  The Uluru Code

  The Excalibur Key

  The Denali Deception

  The Sahara Legacy

  The Fourth Prophecy

  The Templar Curse

  The Forbidden Temple

  The Omega Project

  The Napoleon Affair

  The Second Sign

  Adriana Villa Adventures:

  War of Thieves Box Set

  When Shadows Call

  Shadows Rising

  Shadow Hour

  The Adventure Guild:

  The Caesar Secret: Books 1-3

  The Carolina Caper

  Beta Force:

  Operation Zulu

  London Calling

  Paranormal Archaeology Division:

  Hell’s Gate

  For Alexandre

  Copyright © 2019 by Ernest Dempsey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All names, places, and events are either fictional or have been used in a fictional way. Any correlation to those events, places, or people, real or fictional, is entirely coincidental.

  You Only Die Once

  A Dak Harper Thriller

  Ernest Dempsey

  One

  Istanbul

  Dak waited in the cool shade of the café's umbrella, sipping on his third coffee of the afternoon. Typically, such an indulgence didn't make it onto the menu so late in the day, but fatigue tugged on seemingly every fiber of his body. He needed the caffeine like a smackhead needs a spoon and a belt.

  The table, adorned with two empty plates, a half empty glass of water, and the silverware he'd used to devour the baklava and Doner kebab, remained cluttered at his request, mainly to keep other patrons from occupying the empty chair opposite him. He couldn't afford distractions; except for getting more coffee.

  The Turks took pride in their brew, and they made it strong—the way they had since its creation. A pinch of sugar was all they permitted, at least at the few establishments Dak had visited. He didn't mind; he liked his coffee strong—it sharpened his senses like a wet stone to steel.

  Dak kept his eyes on the building across the street, particularly the door where he knew his quarry would enter.

  He knew she had been at work all day, but quitting time had come and gone an hour ago, which told Dak she was working late, or was dilly dallying at one of the local hotspots for a few drinks. If he was a gambling man, he'd have bet on the latter.

  Dak drained the rest of his coffee and set the cup on the table next to the empty plates. Although he craved a beer, especially in the warm afternoon heat, alcohol was the last thing he needed right now. But it was certainly tempting after the week he'd just endured.

  Being left for dead by his comrades topped the list of bad breaks in the last seven days, but the betrayal by the army itself caught him completely off guard. Since his narrow escape from Iraq into Turkey, he tried not to focus on why this had happened to him and come up with a plan. A pity party wouldn't help anything. He was glad he didn't have a family back home that would have to endure all the rumors, the smearing. Dak lived a fairly solitary life, with only his sister and parents in the Florida Panhandle to consider. He loathed the lies they were being shoveled now, but he couldn't risk contacting them to tell them the truth, to fill them in on how the military they'd all sacrificed to serve was now tarnishing his name and trying to hunt him down like an animal.

  No, he couldn't contact his parents, or his sister. Someone would expect that. Did they think he would be that stupid? Probably not. Whatever they thought, he was on his own.

  That was why he came to Istanbul.

  After he crossed the border, Dak stopped in Tatvan to lie low, get some new clothes, and figure out a plan. His assumptions proved correct when the colonel and his search parties went farther east on their hunt. Dak knew eventually they would recall those troops and resources, and then things would get dicey.

  Dodging a bunch of newbies straight out of basic was one thing, but when the colonel had no choice but to call off the search, he would use more covert means to locate the AWOL Harper.

  The colonel had a reputation for bending the rules and didn't try too hard to conceal it. He knew enough people to pull some of the best talent in the military for dark ops, missions that no one else could do. It just so happened that it was five of those guys who threw him into this boiling cesspool of a mess.

  It could be worse, he thought. At least the coffee is good.

  Maybe too good. He felt his bladder expanding and knew he'd soon have to vacate his table and head to the restroom.

  "Come on," he breathed. "Where are you?" The need for a caffeinated buzz had turned on him.

  The seconds ticked by as if pounded out by some brawny, muscle-bound blacksmith on an anvil. After another four minutes, he was about to surrender to the breaking dam when he noticed a young woman walking purposefully down the opposite sidewalk.

  Her gait betrayed a sense of confidence and professional hustle, as is so often the case with people working in the tech industry. The brown satchel hanging from her shoulder dangled wildly as she strode, bobbing up and down with every step. Her carob-colored hair jiggled slightly with the same cadence.

  "There you are," Dak said, rising slowly from his seat. He flipped two bill
s onto the table and set the empty mug on top so they wouldn't fly away in the breeze.

  His eyes never left the young woman in the black, loose-fitting blouse and sandy-brown linen pants.

  He moved like a panther, stalking its prey through an urban jungle. His shoulders tilted and twisted as he dodged pedestrians walking in both directions. Nearing the crosswalk, the light fortuitously turned red, and he darted across the street amid the flood of people.

  The young woman neared the door to her apartment. As far as he could tell, she hadn't detected his presence.

  She ascended the steps to the building and stopped at the brightly painted red door. Dak slithered through the oncoming foot traffic, covering ground faster now. The target slid her key into the door and he let go of caution, bumping and nudging past people, leaving angry scowls and profanity he didn't understand in his wake.

  The woman entered the building and the door slowly swung behind her, catching on the pneumatic cylinder overhead to slow its speed and prevent it from slamming shut.

  Dak flew up the short staircase and caught the edge of the door before it closed.

  He breathed heavily for two seconds before shoving the heavy door open. When he did, a surprise awaited him.

  The woman stood steadfast with one hand on her hip and the other holding a Glock with a brushed metal slide atop the grip.

  Dak sighed and shook his head.

  "How did you know I was here?" he asked, unmoving.

  "Normally, when someone has a gun pointed at them, they raise their hands."

  "Well, this isn't normal. Or maybe it is for you. It's been a while."

  She inclined her head. "Yes, it has, Dak. What, two years now?"

  Dak stared at the woman he'd loved; it was the best four years of his life. Even with a gun in her hand, and definitely chambered, her stunning beauty shook him, just as it always had.