Christopher Golden - Uncharted - The Fourth Labyrinth

“Yeah?” Jada said as they fell into step side by side, leaving the plane behind. “What time of year is better?”

“He doesn’t mind the second week of January. Usually the Wednesday, around three in the afternoon, you can actually breathe for a minute,” Drake said.

Jada laughed. “Actually, I don’t mind the heat. Better this than winter back home.”

“Don’t let Sully hear you say that,” Drake replied.

“What about you?” she asked. “What’s your take on Egypt?”

“Sultry and mysterious. I need a little of that in my life.”

She shook her head. “Listen to you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a romantic instead of a sarcastic.”

“I could be a sarcastic romantic.”

Jada arched an eyebrow. “I like that. I think I’m going to steal it.”

“I give it freely and of my own will.”

“Aw, it’s no fun if it’s not stealing.”

They both faltered then. Drake figured they had taken their flirting to its natural conclusion and any more would be strained and awkward, so he let silence fall between them. Jada didn’t object. Their shared quiet was comfortable, as if their brief encounters years ago had built a foundation for a friendship now. Getting shot at had contributed to their budding friendship, too. Drake knew all too well how quickly a bond could form between people who were in danger.

“So, what is it with you and Uncle Vic?” Jada said, switching gears. “You guys have friends everywhere.”

A pair of cargo trucks rumbled past, their engines almost as loud as the planes coming in and out of the airport.

“Not friends,” Drake said. “Connections. We know who to call when we need something: information, equipment, transport-”

“A new identity,” Jada added.

Drake nodded. “And weapons when we need them. But knowing who will take your money to do something that might not be strictly legal isn’t the same as having friends. A connection who’ll sell information about a treasure hunter to me is just as likely to sell info about me to the competition.”

“I thought you were an ‘antiquities acquisition consultant,’ ” Jada said.

“That, too,” Drake replied.

“So you trust your friends not to sell you out?” she asked. “I mean, everybody has a price, right?”

“Almost everyone. As for friends-I choose carefully.”

Jada nodded, but a cloud seemed to pass over her face, and he knew she must be thinking about her father.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

“My dad always gave advice like that,” she said. Switching the weight of her duffel from one hand to the other, she gazed off into some middle distance, as if she could peer into her own memory. “He always had these great quotes about choosing your friends wisely and all that, but I guess he was a pretty crappy judge of character, considering he married Olivia.”

“I don’t know about that,” Drake said. “Sully may smoke the smelliest cigars in creation-sometimes I think he buys tobacco scented with manure or something just to aggravate me-but I’ve never known anyone more loyal. Luka picked him as a friend, so he had to have at least some idea who to trust.”

“Then why did my father marry the wicked witch?”

“To some men, women are a mystery. We don’t understand how their minds work. Which makes it a lot harder to avoid a knife in the back.”

Jada smiled. “Oscar Wilde said a friend is someone who stabs you in the front. And by the way, women have the same problem with men. We can see the treachery in other women easily enough, but guys might as well be from another planet for all we understand them.”

Drake glanced sidelong at her. “ ‘Treachery’?”

“It’s a good word,” she protested.

“Yeah. I like saying it. ‘Treachery.’ You don’t get to say that word enough in life.” He frowned. “Actually, that’s probably a good thing.”

Up ahead, Sully had reached the little hut on the tarmac. Drake wasn’t sure if it was a security booth or a spot for incoming crews to check in with their cargo manifests, maybe some kind of traffic office. A skinny man in khaki pants and a loose shirt of blue cotton stood leaning against the side of the hut, smoking a cigarette. He wore sunglasses too large for his face, but he smiled as Sully approached him, and the two men shook hands.

“Not a friend?” Jada said, keeping her voice low as they neared the hut.

“A connection,” Drake confirmed.

By the time they reached Sully and the thin Egyptian man, Sully was in the middle of lighting his cigar, which Drake took to mean things were going well. Sully’s cigars were a form of communication all their own, and sometimes lighting up could be a sign of frustration, but not this time. Sully looked pleased.

“This is Chigaru,” he said, and the Egyptian gave a little bow of his head. “Chigaru, meet Jada Hzujak and Nathan Drake, the closest thing I’ve got to a family in this world. I take their health and well-being very personally.”

“Not to mention your own,” Chigaru said in British-accented English.

Sully laughed, and it turned into a short cough. He frowned and looked at his cigar. “Gotta give these damn things up.” Then he leveled his gaze at Chigaru. “Yeah, I take my well-being pretty personally, too.”

“Not to worry, Sully. You have friends in Egypt.”

At “friends,” Drake glanced at Jada and saw her raise her eyebrows at the word.

“The best friends money can buy,” Sully said.

Chigaru grinned and nodded sagely. “Absolutely.” He regarded the three of them, obviously taking note of their meager complement of luggage. “Shall we go?”

“It was a long flight,” Drake said. “And it’s a long ride to Fayoum. We were hoping for something to drink.”

Chigaru’s expression blossomed into a brilliant smile. “My friends, do you think me so poor a host? I have Coca-Cola, beer, and sparkling water on ice in the car. If you like, I will stop at a market and pick up some takeaway food before we leave Cairo.”

“That would be fantastic,” Jada said happily.

Drake couldn’t disagree. Chigaru might only be a connection, but at the moment Drake felt pretty friendly toward him. A meal and a cold Coke sounded like heaven.

Chigaru started to lead the way toward a Volvo station wagon with tinted windows parked between the hut and the cargo terminal. Just before they reached the car, Sully spoke in a low voice so that no one else would hear.

“What about the weapons we talked about?” Sully asked.

“Didn’t I tell you not to worry?” Chigaru said. “Our first stop is for guns.”

He opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. Sully smiled at Drake and Jada like it was Christmas morning.

“That’s more like it. We run into any more trouble, I wanna be able to give some back,” he said before climbing into the passenger seat.

Drake opened the rear door and held it for Jada.

“Looks like we’ve got everything covered,” she said, strained amusement in her voice. The idea of guns and more shooting obviously did not appeal to her any more than it did to Drake.

“For the moment,” Drake agreed.

But even as he climbed into the back of the Volvo with her and heard the clink of ice as she drew a bottle of sparkling water from a cooler, he couldn’t suppress a shiver and the temptation to look back over his shoulder.

He’d just had the strangest feeling they were being watched. It was a sensation he’d had before, and far too often he’d been right.

The Auberge du Lac had been built as a hunting lodge for King Farouk, the last monarch of Egypt. Drake thought it looked more like the kind of place where Sinatra might have appeared in the early days of Las Vegas, with its whitewashed walls and palm trees. The hotel stood on the shore of a lake that was part of the Fayoum Oasis, not far from Fayoum City, which was modern and industrial by local standards.