Free The Solomon Key by Shawn Hopkins Page B

know what it was. But he put off that question for right now. “Weren’t you afraid they’d find this place?”
    “The NAU?” He laughed. “They’re bored and lazy, hardly ever go off the main paths. I’ve only seen them around this part of the woods twice. Besides, you saw how well hidden the entrance is. The roots from the tree above come down and cover the face of the opening.”
    He went back to digging, talking over his shoulder. “I switch up my route, avoid making a path. The only way to discover this place is first to recognize it and then to crawl through the hole itself to see where it goes. There’s no NAU soldier who’s going to do that without being commanded to.” He finished digging, the wall of dirt now low enough for him to crawl over, and wiggled his way into the darkness beyond.
    A second later, a huge army bag was coming back over the dirt and into the room. And then another one. Scott’s head reappeared next, emerging from the dark womb, dirt streaked over his face, mixing with sweat. He crawled back over the pile of dirt and got to his knees before turning around and reaching back into the secret compartment. This time, it was a large metal box that he pulled into the candlelight. He handled it gently, setting it down in the dirt with awkward reverence. Flipping the two latches on the case, he swung the lid open.
    Edward leaned forward, shocked to see grenades and claymore mines stacked within the box. “Who are you?”
    Scott didn’t answer, just began opening the large duffle bags, pulling a huge M107 — the Army’s first semi-automatic .50 cal. sniper weapon system — out of the first one. He leaned it against the wall. “An oldie but a goodie. Effective on multiple targets up to 2,000 meters. But too loud for this.”
    “For this what?”
    Still ignoring his probing questions, Scott went back into the bag, this time retracting a fully assembled AS50 semi-automatic sniper rifle. “Another relic. Designed for Special Ops. Twenty-seven pounds dry weight. Fifty-three point nine inches long.”
    “I know what it is, Matthew. What are you planning on doing with it?”
    But next came an HK 417 assault rifle, a SAW, a few pistols, another M4, and a whole lot of ammo.
    “Guess the ATF would’ve had an issue with all this, huh?” Scott asked, still deflecting.
    Edward leaned back against the chair and sighed. “I’d really like to know what you’re thinking, Matthew.”
    To which Scott asked, “How you holding up?” He had camouflage for each season laid out on the floor. Selecting the digital bushland pattern, a four-color autumn palette, he began taking his jacket off.
    “Fine.”
    He watched Scott pull the camouflage pants on. “Are you going to tell me who you are or not?”
    He pulled his boots back on. “Who I was. ”
    “Okay, who you were.”
    “CIA.”
    A pause. “Data entry?” Edward quipped, stealing another glance at the small arsenal just laid out before him.
    “Black Ops.”
    Edward thought about the answer. It would certainly explain a lot. “And the story?” he asked, trying to process this new revelation slowly.
    Scott stopped for a second and looked into Edward’s eyes, about to disclose the secret he’d kept from him over the last few years. And, after sighing in surrender, he finally nodded his consent. “I sold my soul to the flag just in time to realize that the flag didn’t really exist anymore.” He reached over and grabbed his backpack, taking out a canteen. After a gulp, he offered it to Edward. “It’s purified.”
    Edward accepted and drank, eager to hear the rest of Scott’s story.
    “I got to Iran in 2013.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was captured and almost had my head sawn off. Wasn’t one of my favorite days. They offered to bring me home for a while, but I didn’t trust the people I’d be returning to, so I stayed put.” He watched his fingers working with the buttons on his jacket. “Then I heard that some of the