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

and blockaded the road, along with the shoulders. The only way any of the enemy transports could get by was to drive into the forest, and that would be a short trip ending in a collision with a tree.

The convoy's Tahoe slammed on its brakes and skidded to a stop. The two minivans did the same, both steering into the other lane to avoid hitting the car in front. The last SUV trailed a few car lengths behind and stopped less abruptly.

Team two flung open their doors and stepped out of their SUVs, leveling their guns at the first truck. The men fanned out, surrounding all four vehicles as Marco's driver sped to the rear, hit the brakes, and spun the wheel to block both lanes—sealing off the enemy's only potential exit.

Marco was the first out, a true general willing to step into battle with his men at a moment's notice. He leveled his weapon, aiming at the back of the last SUV while his driver and the two other men from his ride spread out to encircle the vehicle.

The people in the convoy barely moved, except to look around at the circle of death surrounding them. They never got a chance to put up their hands or even step out and offer to surrender.

"Kill them," Marco ordered.

The sound of gunfire rolled up and down the highway, echoing through the forests. The deadly hail of metal punctured the convoy's vehicles, shattering glass and tearing through metal, riddling the bodies that occupied them.

When every magazine ran dry, all that remained of the massacre was the cloud of bitter smoke that hung in the air from the mass discharge of powder.

Marco lowered his weapon and stalked toward the last vehicle—what was left of it. He stopped at the rear door and pulled on the handle. To his surprise, it wasn't locked. The door swung open and a pale-skinned woman's body slumped over, the seatbelt around her lap and shoulder keeping her from falling out onto the road. The woman wasn't dead, but she soon would be. Her body bled from at least ten bullet wounds in the legs, torso, and arms. She breathed heavily, but each breath brought more blood into her lungs and sent her into coughing fits.

Marco frowned at the sight and immediately peered deeper into the vehicle to the other side. "Gringos?" he muttered.

Something was wrong. These weren't the men they were after. He stepped to the back of the SUV and flung open the rear door.

Instead of guns, he found boxes of food, medicine, and shoes.

He swore in Spanish and closed the rear door, then walked back to the open passenger-side door and the dying woman. He drew the pistol from his hip, pointed it at the top of the woman's head, and squeezed the trigger.

The American woman's coughing ceased, and she went still.

Marco stuffed the pistol back in its holster, took a phone out of his pocket, and called the first contact on his recents list.

"Bueno," a man answered.

"Luis," Marco said. "We have a problem."

Three

Sequatchie County, Tennessee

"You're sure about this?" Dak asked. He immediately regretted slinging the question.

"Sure?" Will said, doing his best to sound offended. "Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't call you if I just had a hunch. It's him."

"Sorry," Dak said, ducking under a low hanging tree branch.

He trudged through the forest toward the cabin, paying no attention to how much noise he made. Disturbing the wildlife didn't matter now. A far more pressing concern riddled his thoughts.

"It's fine," Will laughed. "I'm just messing with you, but yeah, don't think I'm going to call you with information that might be correct."

"I'll try to do better in the future," Dak panted.

"What are you doing, anyway? Sounds like you're a little out of breath."

Dak exhaled as he reached the top of a small knoll. The Swedish timber-style cabin sat perched in a clearing just ahead. A hundred feet of meadow surrounded the mountain retreat on all sides. He'd tilled some of the cleared area for a micro-farm and planted a few varieties of vegetables. It was too late to plant corn, but he'd considered constructing a greenhouse for year-round growing.

"I'm hiking back to my cabin," Dak answered. "I was up in a tree stand."

"Tree stand? It's not hunting season yet. Or is it? I can't ever keep that stuff straight. I'm not much of a hunter and being out of the States for so long, it's hard to remember."

"No, it's not hunting season yet. I was just enjoying the serenity of it all."

"Oh," Will said, then paused. "I hope you got all the serenity you wanted because if you're going after Luis Martinez, it's going to be anything but tranquil."

"I still can't believe he's with a Mexican drug cartel. That doesn't sound like Luis."

"Based on what you told me, none of those guys from your team are who you thought they were."

Dak reached the cabin and clomped up the three steps onto the wraparound deck. He turned the latch, opened the door, and stepped inside. "That's an understatement."

"There's more," Will hinted. "Luis didn't just join a cartel. He's with one of the biggest in the region and there's a bloody war going on between his organization and a few other rivals."

"That's not unusual. The cartels are constantly fighting for supremacy down there." Dak set his coffee thermos on the counter to the left, slipped off his boots at the door, and ambled over to a wooden writing desk in the right corner. The workstation's position between windows on either side allowed for a wide view of the forest. The peaceful view of nature was only one of the motivators for choosing that spot for his laptop. The other reason was that it allowed Dak to see if anyone approached his property from the trail that led down to the road.

"Yeah, and Uruapan is notorious for the violence. It regularly spills into the streets and sucks in civilians."

Dak didn't know as much about that particular city as some of