“This is your first time in Tatvan?” the waiter asked.
Dak nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, the trip up to the top of the mountain is worth it if you have time, and if you’re into ancient history. Most of the local townspeople think little of that stuff, probably because they’ve been around it their whole lives.”
“I can imagine.”
Dak paid his bill, and the man disappeared, grateful for the generous gratuity his patron added.
Maybe Dak would pay a visit to the mountain temple while he was here. The next train out of town wasn’t coming for several hours and he doubted he’d ever visit this place again.
He glanced back at the laptop screen and then closed it. Dak was about to begin a dangerous game, but as the guy with nothing to lose, he liked his odds of winning. Bo and the others would slip up at some point. When they did, he’d be ready.
That reminded him. He had a phone call he needed to make.
He pulled up another tab and entered the words “International Archaeological Agency” in the search bar.
The IAA website popped up and Dak scrolled down to the “contact us” tab, clicked it, and then picked up the phone he’d purchased earlier. He’d bought two, one as a burner and the other for persistent use if needed, though at the time he didn’t have anyone to call, save for this one to the IAA.
Dak met Sean Wyatt years ago on a mission in Pakistan. He knew that Wyatt worked for a clandestine agency, but he wasn’t clear on who, only that the man had clearance well above Dak’s pay grade.
Wyatt told Dak it would be one of his last missions and that he was transitioning to his friend’s archaeological organization. Dak had heard of the work the IAA did to help secure some of the world’s most valuable cultural artifacts. He respected Tommy Schultz, the IAA founder, and knew him to be an ethical man, though Dak had never met him before.
Dak saw what the IAA did to preserve important pieces of history, and all as a non-profit entity.
He entered the phone number for the IAA headquarters in Atlanta and pressed the phone to his ear. The receptionist answered with a pleasant hello and asked how she could direct his call.
The treasure in the Hamrin mountains was still there. He doubted Bo and the team would return to that exact spot. They had no reason to do so since they hadn’t seen the tomb with its horde of riches. That didn’t mean someone else couldn’t find it eventually, and Dak wanted to make sure it was kept in the right hands.
“I’d like to speak with Tommy Schultz, please. I have some information about a potentially huge find in Iraq.”
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read this story. We can always make more money, but time is a finite resource for all of us, so the fact you took the time to read my work means the world to me and I truly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed sharing it, and I look forward to bringing you more fun adventures in the future.
Ernest
Other Books By Ernest Dempsey
Dak Harper Origin Stories:
Out of the Fire
You Only Die Once
Tequila Sunset
Purgatory
Scorched Earth
The Heart of Vengeance
Sean Wyatt Adventures:
The Secret of the Stones
The Cleric's Vault
The Last Chamber
The Grecian Manifesto
The Norse Directive
Game of Shadows
The Jerusalem Creed
The Samurai Cipher
The Cairo Vendetta
The Uluru Code
The Excalibur Key
The Denali Deception
The Sahara Legacy
The Fourth Prophecy
The Templar Curse
The Forbidden Temple
The Omega Project
The Napoleon Affair
The Second Sign
Adriana Villa Adventures:
War of Thieves Box Set
When Shadows Call
Shadows Rising
Shadow Hour
The Adventure Guild:
The Caesar Secret: Books 1-3
The Carolina Caper
Beta Force:
Operation Zulu
London Calling
Paranormal Archaeology Division:
Hell’s Gate
For Alexandre
Copyright © 2019 by Ernest Dempsey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All names, places, and events are either fictional or have been used in a fictional way. Any correlation to those events, places, or people, real or fictional, is entirely coincidental.
You Only Die Once
A Dak Harper ThrillerErnest Dempsey
One
Istanbul
Dak waited in the cool shade of the café's umbrella, sipping on his third coffee of the afternoon. Typically, such an indulgence didn't make it onto the menu so late in the day, but fatigue tugged on seemingly every fiber of his body. He needed the caffeine like a smackhead needs a spoon and a belt.
The table, adorned with two empty plates, a half empty glass of water, and the silverware he'd used to devour the baklava and Doner kebab, remained cluttered at his request, mainly to keep other patrons from occupying the empty chair opposite him. He couldn't afford distractions; except for getting more coffee.
The Turks took pride in their brew, and they made it strong—the way they had since its creation. A pinch of sugar was all they permitted, at least at the few establishments Dak had visited. He didn't mind; he liked his coffee strong—it sharpened his senses like a wet stone to steel.
Dak kept his eyes on the building across the street, particularly the door where he knew his quarry would enter.
He knew she had been at work all day, but quitting time had come and gone an hour ago, which told Dak she was working late, or was dilly dallying at one of the local hotspots for a few drinks. If he was a gambling man, he'd have bet on the latter.
Dak drained the rest of his coffee and set the cup on the table next to the empty plates. Although he craved a beer, especially
