The train lurched into motion just as Flynn shoved Chloe into a seat. Lazarevic had been on his ass about Drake slipping out of his fingers yet again and he was not in the mood to be gentle. He'd prefer it if the car was empty, but four guards had been posted: two at each entrance to the car. He bit his lip. Yelling at her wasn't an option, unless he wanted to let everyone know he'd allowed a traitor onboard. He could order them away, he had earned that luxury, but that was as likely to raise suspicions as anything right now. Chloe turned her head to the window as he took a seat next to her. Outside, Nepal passed them by, brilliant in greens and blues. It'd be picturesque under better circumstances.

"There's plenty of room. You don't need to be here," she said.

"We need to have a chat."

"You can do it from someplace else."

"Not without blowing your cover." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Just how long has this been going on? Since Borneo?"

Chloe said nothing. Of course since Borneo. Shit, since before Borneo, even. It was obvious in retrospect. He felt like an idiot.

"You're sleeping with him, aren't you."

"Not anymore," she said, tightening her arms around her chest. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Not any of my business? He's my friend and you're my partner," he hissed.

"Oh, he's your friend is he? You've got a funny way of expressing friendship, Harry" Chloe said. "Send all of your friends to prison, do you?"

"Was my friend. But you know how this game is played, Chloe," Flynn replied, leaning back into his seat. It wasn't supposed to come to this. On paper—or rather, in his head—it had all come together so perfectly. Drake would take the fall for the heist and wind up in prison and safely out of the way while he and Chloe pulled off the rest of the job and got a fat payout. Prison wouldn't hold Drake forever, he'd get out sometime and Flynn would hold it over his head for a while, until the next thing came up. Hell, if the money was as good as what Lazarevic was promising he could bail Drake out himself just to gloat about it. It's no worse than what Drake would have done himself. He'd just pulled the trigger first, that's all.

But Drake had gotten out early and screwed the whole thing up, the tenacious bastard. His meddling pissed the boss off, and working with Lazarevic had become increasingly unpleasant by the day. Not that he had ever been pleasant to work with, but Flynn had once been in his good graces. These days, the man had gone from stabbing his lackeys to simply shooting them. Not that it mattered, really, they all wound up dead and that's what worried him. Lazarevic killed often and without pleasure or remorse; the only emotion the man seemed to have was rage. At least some sick fucks got off to killing. Not pleasant, but they got something out of it—that much Flynn could understand. Lazarevic was something else, some sort of monster beyond his ken. He'd kill for the man if it kept him off his back, sure. At the end of the day he really didn't care so long as it wasn't him taking the bullet. But without that stone, he couldn't tread water in the pool of Lazarevic's patience for much longer. Flynn didn't relish the idea of being on the business end of one of the bastard's anger-fueled fits. The sooner this was over, the better. They had the dagger, they had the map. Finding the stone would be easy now. Everything would be fine, provided that Nathan Drake knew when to quit.

"So," Chloe said, her voice distant. "What are you going to do?"

"With you, you mean? Nothing." She wouldn't be going back to Drake anytime soon—not with the way he'd eyed that blonde woman. Drake changed women the way he should change his shirts. Surely Chloe had figured that by now. When he'd first gotten the offer for this job, he'd promised Chloe a trip to France with the earnings. He wanted to waste hours on the beaches of Nice, pick the pockets of package tourists for laughs, and sleep with her in an overpriced hotel. "We'll do the job, then get the hell out of here. Like we planned, remember?"

"Why don't we skip to the second part? Jump off the train, disappear."

"When we're this close?"

"Harry, this isn't worth it!"

"Don't be stupid, Chloe, he's got the rail line and the city secured. Ground and air support. We wouldn't last long. All we need to do is make the bastard happy. Find him that big shiny rock he wants and this will all go away," he said, squeezing her shoulder. She flinched away.

"Will you kill him?" She asked. By the tone of her voice she meant Drake.

"If Drake shows his stupid face again then I bloody well have to, or Lazarevic will kill us," Flynn snorted. "Son of a bitch might start thinking I was in on it with Drake all along."

Chloe hugged herself tighter. "I see."

"If he'd kept his nose out of it, he'd have been fine," Flynn insisted. Drake was only bringing this on himself.

"Maybe if you'd let him in on this in the first place—"

"First off, he wouldn't have taken a job with Lazarevic. Nate Drake thinks he some sort of saint of thieves or some shit. He's got a weird sense of morality that way." If Drake had any sense, he'd be running of the with blonde right about now. But he didn't, so there was as good a chance as any that he was going to come after Chloe and the dagger, as if he had the right of it. In the past, Flynn had often accused him of not being able to remember that he was a thief, not a Hollywood action hero.

"I noticed," Chloe said. "Always with the heroics."

"Right," Flynn agreed. "And he'd have taken our shares. Him and Victor."

"I can't believe you're thinking about the money right now."

"I'm thinking about keeping us alive, Chloe."

His radio crackled to life. "Drake's been spotted in the rear cars."

So Drake had decided that he wanted to play the hero, after all. A hero who was going to get them all killed for the sake of his fucking ego, because Nathan Drake couldn't stand to be bested by Harry Flynn. That's what this was all about, really. So be it, then. If Drake wanted to be the hero, Flynn had little choice but to be the villain. He glanced over at Chloe and found her face unreadable.

"Remember. I'm the only one who's got your back against Lazarevic. So think about what I said," he warned as he got to his feet. He unholstered his Desert Eagle. There'd be no stopping the way this train was headed, now.