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

hours, his focus never wavered, eyes always locked on the cracked, undulating pavement that stretched down the hill toward the flats of Tiamba.

Every few minutes, a gentle breeze rolled through the hills and passed through his open window, providing some relief from the sun's warmth. He allowed himself the distraction of a sip of water now and then to keep hydrated, though he didn't dare drink too much. The last thing he needed was to be relieving himself when the convoy passed.

If that happened, there would be no mercy from his employer. And he knew too well the methods his key enforcer would use—he'd witnessed them firsthand more times than he could count. It was that man's plan that Marco was here to execute.

A rival cartel—El Nuevo Guerreros—was rumored to be sending a convoy down this route. It was more than a rumor, though, and Marco knew it. The Guerreros were sending a shipment of guns to one of their factories to the north of Tiamba, a small village on the outskirts of Uruapan.

The village itself was irrelevant. With only a few hundred inhabitants, however, it made the perfect cover for the operations of one of the largest cartels. With the Mexican government under pressure for the last couple of years, they'd been pushing harder and harder in the war against the drug cartels.

Marco knew that much of it was show. Most of the cartel members knew it too. They played their part, sending the most expendable of their ranks into open gunfights against police and military personnel. For the heads of the cartels, it was a win-win scenario.

If the government's gunmen won a fight here or there, killed a few dozen men, it would be plastered in all of the papers. The cartels would look weakened to the public, and the war on illicit drugs would appear to be working. Whenever that happened, profits went up because the authorities had a bad habit of resting on their laurels.

It helped that some of their ranks were paid by the cartels.

On the other hand, if the cartels took out some cops, some government agents, their stranglehold on the region would grow that much more. Some people trusted the cartels more than they trusted the government, which was easy to understand given some of the recent displays of incompetence.

A shootout near a school one week ago resulted in several civilian casualties, including one teacher who died as a result.

The government was vilified in the papers and on social media. The mayor's ability to keep people safe hung on the minds and mouths of thousands. The governor, too, was unable to curtail the violence, though many believed he was also heavily influenced by the cartels.

It was impossible to say which one or ones, though Marco knew the truth.

His organization was currently one of the largest in the country, rivaled by few. As it happened, their most notorious rival was located in the same region, making Uruapan the epicenter of much of the violence.

Marco didn't feel bad for the civilians. If they wanted to take an active role, they could take a side. Dying innocently in the war was still dying. He'd rather have a gun in his hand and go down fighting than die as collateral damage.

He reached down to his cup holder and plucked the bottle, raised it to his lips, and took a sip. As he put the container back in its place, he looked down the road. A few thousand feet away, three more SUVs waited, concealed by dense outcroppings of trees along the route. The convoy would never see them coming, just as they wouldn't see Marco and the vehicle across the road.

He noticed the driver of the other SUV looking down toward his lap. Even from thirty yards away, Marco could tell what the man was doing.

Marco touched the button on the radio piece in his ear. "Juan, stop looking at your phone. They could be here any minute."

Marco's driver, a muscular man with a shaved head and a thin beard, looked over with a humored chuckle. "He's going to get killed one of these days."

"Only a matter of time," Marco said. While Marco kept his appearance mostly clean with only a few hidden tattoos, his driver was a canvas of body art. Flames licked up the sides of the man's neck. A skull stared out from his throat. Dozens of other tattoos covered his arms, and probably the rest of his body, Marco imagined, though he didn't care to let his mind wander into too much detail.

The sound of motors moaning and tires rolling along asphalt interrupted his thoughts.

He touched his earpiece again. "All teams be ready. Here they come."

Marco checked the AR-15 in his lap, twisting it over to inspect it for at least the sixth time since he'd been sitting there. He pulled on the charging handle and notched a round into the chamber, then flipped the cover off the red dot sight mounted on the rail.

Two more men in the back of the SUV did the same and shifted in their seats as adrenaline began seeping through their veins.

The first enemy vehicle zoomed by, a silver Chevy Tahoe. Three more vehicles followed; two minivans and an old Toyota Landcruiser.

They weren't the usual vehicles the Guerreros used, but that was probably by design. Most of the time, vehicles running shipments of drugs or weapons utilized a variety of transportation modes to disguise their operations.

Marco waited for ten seconds after the last vehicle passed before giving the order.

"Team one, move into position."

The SUV across the road pulled out from its hiding spot and turned right, heading up the hill until it reached the top, while Marco's driver stepped on the gas and veered toward the convoy.

The other SUV turned and stopped in the middle, blocking both lanes so no other traffic could get through.

"Team two, set the trap."

Marco watched the road ahead, and within seconds the other three SUVs emerged from their cover. They drove out onto the asphalt