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

"Yes, ma'am," he said, turning his head to the side.

The panel beeped, and a green light glowed. As he suspected, the wall slid backward exposing an entryway to the left interior.

"Very cool," Dak offered.

"I like it. Gives me real privacy. And the cartel goons are too stupid to look beyond the boxes and clothes. Also helps that I'm a woman."

He followed her through the narrow opening into a room that was three times the size of the previous.

"Why's that?"

She looked at him like ants covered his face. "You don't know much about the cartels, do you?"

"Only a little. I don't believe what I read in the papers or on the news."

"At least you have that going for you." She walked across the room to a stand-up desk midway down the right-hand wall. A flatscreen monitor sat on it. The computer on the floor next to the desk glowed with several sapphire LEDs. A steel table in the center of the room reminded Dak of a butcher shop he'd seen once, except there was nothing on it. Except for a white leather desk chair near the elevated desk, and a sparse few other necessities, the room was empty. She put her hand on the optical mouse and clicked it.

The screen bloomed to life with dozens of images. Some featured a massive estate with a mansion atop a rise in the center. The gray stucco and terra-cotta roof stood like a fortress against the natural backdrop of the hills, forests, and mountains in the distance.

"When was the last time you heard of a woman running a cartel?" Carina asked, continuing her line of thought.

Dak lifted his shoulders and bobbed his head. "I guess I haven't."

"And why do you think that is?"

He shifted. "I don't know, but I feel like the answer isn't a complimentary one."

"You'd be right. None of them suspect me of much because I'm a woman, incapable of running an operation like this."

Dak scanned the room, bewildered. "An empty room with a computer in it?"

She sighed in derision and clicked the mouse again. Without looking, her fingers tapped across the numbers on the keyboard and then dramatically hit the enter key.

Within a second, the sounds of locks clicking filled the room. The floors in front of each wall began moving, all rising from the ground. When the hydraulic motors stopped, Dak found himself in a completely different space.

"Now this is a gun cave."

She looked at him, befuddled. "Never heard that before."

"Just made it up." He looked at her with squinting mischief in his eyes. "Man cave sounded wrong, on account of you being a woman."

She blushed. "Thank you."

The hidden walls held racks of weapons from small, compact revolvers up to a few .50-cal sniper rifles complete with tripod and long-range scopes. Some racks on the back wall held rucksacks and metal boxes marked with a symbol indicating explosives.

"Try not to get too excited, soldier," she said. She reached out and touched his face, pulling it back toward her.

For a second he thought, no feared, she might try to kiss him. He was both relieved and disappointed when she turned his head to the computer screen. There, in several boxes, was a face Dak had imagined finding for the last seven months.

"Luis," Dak muttered.

"Yes," she said. "And before you play with those," she indicated the weapons stash with a finger, "you need to learn all you can about his organization."

"Good call," he said. "By the way, I'm Dak. I know you know that, but I thought a formal—"

"Carina. A pleasure," she said, forcing her eyes to stay locked on the screen and not the powerful, rugged man next to her. "But we both know who each other is. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't ask how I know so much about you already."

"You're a professional," he said. "I would expect nothing less."

Another blush reddened her faintly tanned cheeks. "Well, I appreciate that."

He leaned forward, placing one hand on her desk as he peered at the images. She could feel his warmth near her and caught her breath for a second.

"So," he said, quickly steering back to business. "Tell me everything I need to know about this cartel."

Eight

Guadalajara

Carina clicked on a minimized window and the screen's main image changed to a white background with grid lines.

"A spreadsheet?" Dak wondered.

"A list," she corrected. "It lists nearly every point in Mendoza's supply chain. Each one of these businesses is used as a front to move drugs, money, and weapons. His system is elaborate, but the concept is simple enough. He uses legitimate businesses: supermarkets, shoe stores, coffee shops—any business you can imagine. And he doesn’t own any of them, not on paper, anyway."

"He coerced the owners into helping him."

"Coerced is putting it mildly. Mendoza only knows one way of negotiating."

Dak knew exactly what she meant. While his experience in the drug trade was limited, he'd seen enough organized crime to know how it worked. If you owned a business, either you cooperated and got to keep your livelihood, or you didn't and you would end up in a ditch.

Back in the United States, the exploits of the Italian, Irish, and Russian mafias were well known. If you didn't work with them, you'd be out of business or at the bottom of the ocean. The cartels weren't much different, although their schemes differed.

In the States, businesses in the larger cities paid for protection from other organizations. Racketeering was truly one of the country's oldest professions. They used their businesses for other purposes, certainly money laundering, but not to the level the cartels operated. And Mendoza's system was impressive, to say the least.

"Most of his allies are taken care of," Carina went on. "He pays well because he understands their value in the grand scheme. It also helps him move more money around to keep both the United States and Mexican governments off the money trail. And yes, he runs similar operations in the US."

"Doesn't surprise me." Dak's eyes rolled down the list. There were dozens of