Christopher Golden - Uncharted - The Fourth Labyrinth

The third time he strolled up the walk, Drake gave a nod and Sully twisted the wires together. The motor growled to life, and Sully grinned up at Drake.

“You guys are a little too good at this,” Jada said.

“Our line of work requires a lot of improvising,” Drake said.

Jada gave him a dubious smile. “Right.”

Sully backed the boat out of the slip. Just as he throttled forward, pulling away from the dock, the guard came running toward them, shouting and waving at them to pull back into the slip. Drake knew that even then the man wouldn’t know exactly what to make of it all. If he had believed Sully’s story-and it was clear he had-Mrs. Kurland might have just given her broker the key so he could take the prospective buyers for a spin. The guard would suspect, certainly. But he wouldn’t be sure, and he wouldn’t do anything drastic until he was.

As they sped upriver, the boat whipping over the water, Drake watched the guard growing smaller in the distance.

“That guy is having a bad day,” he said.

“Could be worse for him,” Jada said. “He could be with us.”

Drake and Sully both glanced at her, saw the sarcastic glint in her eyes, and laughed. She was right. Her father had been murdered, and they had encountered two other dead men today. Someone had sent men with guns to fire lots of bullets at them in hopes of making them very dead. Another someone-or maybe the same someone-had burned down Jada’s father’s apartment building.

They were having a day far worse than the guard’s.

“Still,” Drake said. “When we get back into the country, I’ll send him something. Wine of the month, maybe.”

“Cigars,” Sully said, as if wine had been the stupidest suggestion Drake could have made. “Maybe steaks.”

“Steaks?” Drake asked.

“Man’s gotta eat. And did you get a look at him? You don’t get that big eating Brussels sprouts.”

“You guys are unbelievable,” Jada said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind whipping past them as Sully throttled up and the boat went even faster.

Drake nodded. “That is actually not the first time we’ve heard that.”

Jada whacked his arm. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

But she couldn’t quite erase her smile, and Drake was glad. After all she had been through since the discovery of her father’s remains, she needed all the distraction she could get. Now that they had a moment’s respite, though, he watched her amusement quickly fade until she gazed at the city passing on their right-lights coming on as evening arrived-her expression solemn and somehow lost.

He hoped her stepmother wasn’t involved in her father’s death, but he had a terrible feeling that Olivia Hzujak was exactly as wicked a stepmother as Jada suspected.

Troubled, Drake reached into the inside pocket of his ruined coat and pulled out the slim leather case that held a good portion of the reward money he’d earned in Ecuador. There was more in his bags, which were safe in a locker at JFK, and some in his wallet. The rest had been put into an account he sometimes used in the Cayman Islands. For now, what he had on him would be all they had at their disposal, so it would have to be enough.

He dropped the coat overboard and watched it floating, soaking in the water as they swiftly left it far behind.

So far, so good. They would ditch the stolen Chris Craft just north of the 79th Street Boat Basin-Jada’s suggestion-and stop by the apartment where she’d been hiding out just long enough for her to pack a small bag. Drake and Sully would have to improvise. They would pick up a couple of go phones-cell phones that could be loaded with as many minutes as they wanted, used, and then thrown away, all without creating an account that could be traced. Sully had suggested they call the marina and let them know where the boat would be, and both Drake and Jada had given the idea a thumbs-up. If they were ever caught, they would still be arrested, but a joyride would go over a hell of a lot better with a judge than outright theft.

From the apartment, they would head north. They needed to get out of the city fast but as under the radar as they could manage. Grand Central was no good just in case there had been cameras that had picked up their faces at the marina. So they would take a cab to 125th Street station in Harlem and board a Metro North train to New Haven, Connecticut, where they could rent a car. The ID they had used at the marina would be no good now, but Drake was counting on Sully traveling with more than one set of false identification.

Once they were in a car, he thought they would be all right. Drake knew a guy in Boston who could whip up passports and other ID for all three of them. They would take the ferry to Nova Scotia and then a boat over to mainland New Brunswick rather than face the greater scrutiny of crossing the Canadian border in a car. From there, another rental car would bring them into Quebec. Montreal-Mirabel International Airport was used almost exclusively for cargo flights, and he and Sully had friends there. They had needed to sneak themselves-and various acquisitions-in and out of North America on numerous occasions. He expected that it would all go off without a hitch.

Even so, he knew he would be on edge until they were in the air and on their way to Egypt and the archaeological dig at the City of Crocodiles. In Drake’s experience, the closer he got to the source of a secret-or a treasure-the easier it became to sense an imminent threat or perceive an enemy. People tended to reveal their true colors when things as valuable as treasure and secrets were at stake. He didn’t like snipers taking shots at him from rooftops or thugs hiding behind dark windows.

If someone wanted to kill him, he liked to know who it was.

It made it a hell of a lot easier to fight back.

On Tuesday night none of them got more than a few hours’ sleep in the back of the rental car before they arrived in Boston, where the forger had Drake and Sully’s new identities waiting for them. The forger was a third-generation professional they called Charlie, though they all assumed it wasn’t really his name. He’d had Drake and Sully’s photos on file, which allowed him to prep

their passports in advance, but he had to create Jada’s on the spot, along with various other items-everything from an American Express platinum card to a library ID.

On Wednesday morning they stopped in Portland, Maine, where Drake and Sully bought small duffel bags and several changes of clothes. By midnight they found themselves in a shabby motel near the cargo airport in Montreal, with one double bed for the three of them. Drake took an extra pillow and blanket from the closet and made a nest on the floor while Jada and her godfather took the bed.

They watched television, waiting to see if there might be some report of the violence in New York, but Montreal was a world away from Manhattan. That night Drake barely dozed, kept awake by the anticipation of the morning’s departure, after which he would finally feel like they had gotten away safely. Jada lay awake as well. Several times he noticed her curled up on her side, watching him with eyes that gleamed in the darkened room, but neither of them spoke.

Only Sully managed to sleep. He always seemed able to doze, no matter how terrible the circumstances. He snored deeply, sometimes exhaling loudly, his mustached upper lip trembling with the noise.

On Thursday morning, the flight they thought they had arranged left without them. Desperate hours passed before they were promised another. At last, late that afternoon, they were airborne, comfortably ensconced in a small compartment behind the cockpit.

Finally, Drake slept.

When he woke, with the muffled thump of Irish punk rock coming from the cockpit, he found Sully gone and knew his old friend must be up front with the crew. He lay quietly, watching Jada sleep. With the magenta streaks that framed her face, she usually had an air of confidence even in the middle of her grief. But now in the peace of sleep, she seemed vulnerable, and he had to wonder about the wisdom of their journey. Drake had known plenty of capable women-had had his ass kicked by more than one of them. They had been skilled fighters, survivors, totally able to take care of themselves.