Christopher Golden - Uncharted - The Fourth Labyrinth

Jada waved him to silence, focused on her phone call again.

“Yes, I’m still here. That’s perfect, thanks.” She looked around and realized she had nothing to write with or on. “Actually, if you could do me one other small favor? Could you e-mail me that number? I know it’s probably not what you’re supposed to do, but-”

She paused again, listening, and then smiled. “Even better. Thanks again.”

Jada ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. “He’s just going to e-mail me the whole bill. Should’ve asked for that in the first place.” She glanced at Sully. “So now we know where to start when we get to Egypt-at the hotel where my father stayed. But how the hell are we going to get there?”

“One step at a time,” Sully said as they turned north again, the vast Chelsea Piers complex in view up ahead. “First we get a boat.”

“You’re just going to walk into the marina and take one?” she asked.

Drake gave a small shrug. “Maybe not walk so much as skulk. Or slink. Possibly just a good old-fashioned sneak. What we lack in stealth we make up for in brazen stupidity and desperation.”

“Come on,” Jada said, turning to Sully. “Is this really going to work?”

Sully grinned his most rakish grin. “Seriously, kid. You don’t think we’ve never stolen a boat before?”

Jada seemed to ponder that for a moment, then let out a breath. “Actually, after the past few hours, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Drake glanced at Sully. “You know, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

They stole the boat on a Tuesday just as the sun was going down. As they walked onto the dock, a guard eyed them warily, trying to figure out if they were trespassers. Drake took Jada’s hand and then turned and gave her a radiant smile, and she went right along with the charade, snuggling up against him. They were pretending, but it was a nice sort of make-believe, and Drake had to remind himself that the girl was Sully’s goddaughter.

“Hey, there,” Sully said, sauntering up to the guard as if he belonged there.

The guard frowned at Sully, taking in the bomber jacket over the guayabera and the neatly trimmed mustache, clearly wondering if this was somebody he was supposed to know. Sully drew him aside, lowering his voice so that only the guard could hear, but Drake knew the gist of what he was saying. They had discussed it moments before, and it was a ruse they’d used more than once.

“Listen, amigo, here’s the deal. I’m working for Theresa Fonseca. I’m brokering the sale of some of the assets she’s received in her divorce settlement. I’ve got this couple on the hook, but they’re a little skittish because the divorce is turning ugly, and they’re looking for an excuse not to buy. They keep making noises about security down here, so what I need from you is to act like you’re busting my chops. Be a hardass-”

The guard looked confused, glanced at Drake and Jada, and then shook his head. “I don’t know any Theresa-what was the name?”

“Fonseca. She-”

“Nah,” the guard said. “No Fonseca down here.”

Sully turned to Drake and Jada and put his hands up in a see-what-I-mean gesture, as if trying to show them just how tight security was at the marina.

“That’s good, man. Perfect,” Sully said.

The guard narrowed his eyes. “I’m not playacting here, pal. There’s no one named Fonseca.”

Sully bopped his palm against the side of his head. “Right, right. Divorce, remember? Crap, what’s the husband’s name? Starts with a K, I think. Keller? Kramer?”

“Kurland?” the guard suggested.

Sully pointed a finger at him, pistol-style. “That’s it. Yeah. Look, I just need to walk them down and show them the boat and I’ll be out of your hair. If I do my job right, Miss Fonseca-Mrs. Kurland, I guess-gets a decent price for the thing, and it’ll serve the son of a bitch right for making babies with his girlfriend on the side.”

The guard’s face twisted in deep disapproval. “Babies?”

“I know. Awful stuff. Imagine finding out your husband was having an affair for, what, six years? Bad enough, right? But the guy fathered two children with the other woman. How does a lady pick herself up after getting kicked like that?”

By then the guard was nodding in agreement.

“What an ass,” the guard said.

“Fortunately, the judge agreed,” Sully said, smiling conspiratorially. “Now, look, do me a favor? Tell me we’ve got thirty minutes, no more. I have another appointment before I can go home tonight, so I don’t want to be hemming and hawing with these folks for hours.”

The guard did better than that. He walked Sully over to Drake and Jada, looking as though he were doing them a mighty favor.

“I’m sorry, but the marina has strict policies about visitors,” he said. “Without the owner present, I can only give you half an hour. You’ll have to sign in and show your ID. Please respect the privacy of the other owners and see me on your way out.”

Jada squeezed Drake’s arm, apparently concerned about having to show her ID.

“Not a problem,” he said. “We wouldn’t have it any other way, especially if we might be owners ourselves.”

“I-um-left my purse in the car,” Jada said.

The guard furrowed his brow.

Drake only smiled wider. “I’ve got it, sweetie. I’ll sign us in.”

The guard glanced at Sully, clearly trying to decide whether to push the ID issue, but then he let it go. Apparently, he didn’t want to make trouble for Mrs. Kurland, because he led the three of them to a small guard booth not far from the marina entrance and barely glanced at the false identification Drake and Sully showed him as they signed the guest book.

Drake still had his bloodstained coat folded under his arm, and the guard shot a quizzical glance at it as Drake signed in, as if he thought he might be hiding something inside.

“What’ve you got there?” the guard asked.

Drake sighed in regret. “Not a damn thing. I spilled juice all over myself like an idiot. Ruined my coat.”

Careful to show only the inside of the coat, he unfurled it to show that there was nothing wrapped inside it and then draped it carefully over his arm.

“Thanks, amigo,” Sully said, giving a private little nod to the guard that Jada and Drake weren’t supposed to see. “Say, what’s the slip number again?”

He patted at his pants pockets as if looking for the piece of paper where he’d written the number down.

“One forty-seven,” the guard replied.

Drake felt sorry for him. It wasn’t the guard’s fault he was dumb enough to fall for their hustle. He probably was going to get into serious trouble over this, maybe even lose his job. But if Drake had to choose between getting shot or thrown in jail and causing problems for this guy, well, it was really no choice at all.

Sully thanked the guard, pressing a twenty into his palm as they shook hands-a tiny fraction of the reward money Drake had brought back from South America. Then they were walking along the dock, the boats swaying on either side of them, rocked by the river.

Compared to some of the luxury crafts that were docked at the marina, the boat in the Kurlands’ slip wasn’t much to speak of-a thirty-five-foot Chris Craft with a fiberglass deep V-hull, maybe twelve feet at the beam-but that was all right. They didn’t want anything huge or ostentatious. Even better, the Chris Craft was moored in a slip at the outside edge of the marina.

They boarded as if they belonged there, Sully behaving as if he were giving them a tour. Then Sully ducked out of sight, working the key switch off the ignition and pulling at the wires, figuring out which ones were for the starter. Drake kept watch out of the corner of his eye until the guard got a phone call at the booth. He was one of those people who paced while they were on the phone, and as he talked, he strolled back and forth between his security booth and the walkway that led from the dock to the marina club.