When he reached the lip of the cliff, he sat down and tied the other end of the rope around his waist, then dropped the bulk of the fabric over the precipice. He looked over the edge as the loop in the rope dropped almost to the bottom of the ravine, leaving less than twenty feet to the bottom. With that, combined with the rope around his waist, Dak figured he'd have to drop no more than six or seven feet to the bottom.
He secured the knife in his belt and then leaned out over the drop-off, tightening the slack in his rope until it went taut. Then, Dak took a breath, said a silent prayer, and took a step down the rocky face.
Eleven
Hamrin Mountains
One foot after another, Dak lowered himself toward the bottom. His fingers weakened with every passing minute. The muscles in his forearms burned from the effort, but he didn't let go. With every step, he drew closer to safety.
The sun beat down on him from a cloudless sky. Sweat rolled down his face and jaw, forming little balls of perspiration before letting go and dropping into the abyss below.
He didn't dare look down now.
Heights weren't one of his phobias. In fact, few things in life caused Dak to be irrationally afraid. Such fears would prohibit him from doing his job. His mind drifted again, begging him to think about the five men who betrayed him and left him for dead.
Distracted, his fingers slipped on the rope and he dropped six feet before he was able to catch himself, clamping down on the rope with a strong grip. The act burned the skin on his fingers from the friction, but the injuries were negligible and he kept going, hand over hand, one foot at a time until he reached the end of the rope, about seven feet off the ground.
When the rope was taut, he let go of his tight grip on it and retrieved the knife from his belt, and started sawing. It didn't take much for the sharp blade to sever the fabric. When the last strands gave way, Dak dropped to the sand below with a thud. He landed on his feet and rolled to the side to cushion the fall, even though it was less than ten feet. He'd seen people get hurt with shorter drops than that and breaking an ankle out in the middle of the desert mountains wasn't his idea of a good plan.
Dak let out a sigh and looked back up the wall he'd just descended. The rope he'd created dangled loose in the breeze, swaying back and forth gently over the rocky surface.
His head still hurt, but the throbbing wasn't as bad as before. His vision had cleared, though now he wished for a pair of sunglasses to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine.
He stood and dusted himself off, then looked around. Hills and mountains surrounded him on all sides. The only sound came from the wind whispering through the canyon. The place where he and his team setup prior to the mission was only a few clicks away, but he knew there would be no mode of transportation there.
Dak recalled his men's plan regarding transporting the treasure crates. They'd mentioned using one of the terrorist trucks to move the chests, though there was no way to know where. Still, if memory served correct, he'd seen more than one pickup on the top of the mountain.
He looked up with disdain to the top of the mountain, then to the right where the ravine looped around in front of it and into the valley where he and his team had descended the night before to attack the camp. It would take another hour for him to get back to the top, to the scene of the crime, and he didn't like the idea of returning. Especially now that he was finally free.
It was either go back to the camp or risk dehydration and death in the desert. The base was too far from here and while he was in terrific physical condition, even Dak had his limits.
With no other options in play, he started toward the valley.
Twelve
Hamrin
Bo stepped out of his commanding officer’s quarters and back into the hall. He never bothered to look back as he turned and stalked down the corridor toward the barracks.
He’d informed the colonel of what happened—how Harper had gone crazy, started talking weird, and eventually sided with the terrorists. The colonel had a difficult time believing the story, but Bo hadn’t lied to him before—as far as he knew.
Bo explained how he and his men took out the terrorists and the traitor sympathizer. He even mustered a few tears that mirrored his disbelief at Dak Harper’s actions.
“I… I just don’t understand how this could happen, sir?” he’d said, doing the best acting job of his life. “I trusted Dak. We all did. I… I’m sorry, sir. We had to collapse the cave. Dak and all the terrorists died inside. It was the only way, sir. We had to get out of there. The place was booby-trapped.”
The colonel eventually accepted the story and praised Bo for his leadership, his bravery, and quick thinking in a difficult situation. With Dak Harper gone, the man had to be dead, awol or had joined the dark side with the terrorists—as Bo had suggested.
Bo and his team would be given a short leave before they shipped back to the states, this being their last mission during their tour. Once he and the crew were back home, they would come up with a plan to retrieve the stolen artifacts and move them through the black market.
That was going to be difficult.
Bo had his fair share of shady connections, but the antiquities black market was a place he’d forged no kind of network. He honestly didn’t know where to start, though
