The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

He probably gave the colonel some story about how I tried to kill them, or that I went AWOL. I don't know all the details, obviously. What I do know is that the colonel will do everything he can to bring me in if he thinks I'm guilty."

"Do you think they know you'll come here?" she asked the question as if the possibility didn't concern her, even though it should have.

"No," he said. "They won't connect those dots. Besides, I'll be out of here soon."

"Yes, you will. Though I'm still not sure why you came here. You said you needed my help?"

He nodded and bit his lower lip. "I'm off the grid right now. Nobody is more on the grid than you. I have a pre-paid phone I picked up in Tatvan, but it has limitations."

"Would you just spit it out, Dak? You never used to beat around the bush before."

"Sorry. You're right. I need you to find someone for me." The glare in her eyes pushed him to elaborate. "His name is Will Collins. Last I saw him, he was in South Carolina, based out of Greenville."

"And what's so special about this friend of yours?"

Dak considered telling her the truth, that Will was a former military guy who made a living selling guns. Most of the time his business was legal, by the book, but Dak knew Will understood how to circumvent certain channels. Word on the street was that Will made a bunch of money in a short amount of time and dropped off the map, sold his company, and moved abroad. There was a chance he wouldn't be able to help Dak with his current predicament, but something told him Will would still have at least one hand in a shady cookie jar. Dak hoped it was the one he needed.

"Will knows how to get things and how to make things. One of those things is a new passport. He can get me the paperwork I need to start over." Dak blunted the truth. He needed new ID, papers, passport, all of that, but not to start over as a bartender somewhere in Europe. He had one goal in mind—to find his old team and eliminate them, one by one.

Nicole crossed her arms and tapped the right bicep with her index finger, as if trying to determine if he was telling the truth. That was one thing she'd always appreciated about Dak; he never lied to her. Not once. Right now, that honesty was probably the only reason she would consider helping him.

"Okay," she relented with a passing hand. "I'll help you locate your friend."

"Thank you," he gasped. "The minute you do, I'll be out of your hair."

Her body slumped slightly, almost as if disappointment and gravity shared a common bond. She quickly realized what she'd done and stiffened. "Do you need money?"

"I have a little."

She rolled her eyes and strolled over to the kitchen counter where a cedar cigar box sat in the corner. She flipped open the lid and took out a wad of euros, counted several bills on out onto the counter, then stuffed the rest back in the box.

Nicole picked up the money, padded back over to him, and held it out.

"I'm not taking your money, Nicky," he said. "I appreciate it, though. I'll be fine."

"If you didn't need it, you would have stopped me from counting it out. Take it. That should get you anywhere you need to go in Europe. Buy a train ticket. That's the best way to travel here."

He knew that, but didn't say so. "Thank you. I'll pay you back."

"Please," she said. "That's spare change I keep lying around the house. I almost never use cash, but it doesn't hurt to have it."

"I guess not." He lowered his head again, feeling ashamed for taking anything from her.

"As to your friend, I may be able to help you, but not until you get a shower." She looked at him like he had toxic waste dripping off his shoulders. "Leave your clothes in a bag and I'll wash them."

"You don't have to—"

"No, I really think I do, Dak."

The disgusted scowl on her face said it all. He chuckled. "Okay. I'll take a shower while you look for Will."

Four

Ramstein-Miesenbach, Germany

Yellow lights illuminated the dark green umbrellas hanging over the tables of the Forsthaus Beckenhof biergarten. The place would normally be packed with locals drinking tankards of beer and reveling in laughter, or philosophical conversations that would undoubtedly save the world.

This night, however, the giant patio was as a graveyard, silent and secretive.

Bo looked over the area for the twentieth time. They arrived early to scout the rendezvous point and choose positions for the rest of his team. Billy watched over his shoulder from a bell tower at the end of the street. Carson took his watch from a window above a bakery across the street. Nathan held a position in a thicket of shrubs near the back end of the biergarten. He was the closest if things took a dicey turn, and he could also cut off an escape down that end of the street. Luis was opposite him, directly behind Bo in the car they'd rented. His job was to be ready to cut off an enemy retreat if they took off that way.

Bo didn't think that was going to happen. His contact was a good businessman and he wouldn't risk a short-term gain for a long-term loss, although people's ability to do stupid or erratic things never ceased to surprise Bo. It was the one consistent element of humanity; they were full of surprises. Knowing that, Bo took precautions.

He stepped under the white, ivy-covered archway, topped with a sign that read "biergarten", and continued into the sitting area. Bo had seen many similar establishments in this country, and he often wondered why there weren't more like it back in the States. He briefly considered opening one, then remembered he probably wasn't going to end up in the US.

Carson