II.
Croft Manor,
Surrey, England
Lara had made her way across the house and into her garage. It was attached to the right side of the manor proper. Inside she had both her collections of motorcycles and had retained most of her father's car collection. It was one of the man's few passions outside of ancient history and mythology. There were at least fifteen classic cars including a MacClaren and several Jaguars. Lara, of course, had added a few of her own vehicles to the collection, including a custom built Land Rover Defender 90 and one of her personal favorites, a Jeep Rubicon, also custom built to her specifications. The Defender gleamed with the authority of cold riveted aluminum sides and shining black roll cages. It was set up with titanium ammo boxes and supply crates, brush bars and light guards. It was a powerful V8 four wheel drive (most of her vehicles were she thought proudly). The Rubicon was similar; a custom built V8 four wheel drive heavy off road vehicle that was quite a bit off the original board design specs with its large tires, silver paint and black accents.
Her personal civilian vehicle, when she wasn't using her restored Norton or Ducati Monster 1200 S-Stripe, was a silver low slung 2001 Aston Martin Vanquish. It sat nearest the garage doors, its tinted windows and black wheels and rims promising speed and power at the slightest touch. Like most of her other vehicles, it too was silver. The only exceptions to this were both her restored Norton, which was a dark blue with black framing and her Ducati, which was a stunning scarlet with a white strip along the side tanks. The garage itself was made of the same polished tan stone that made up most of the manor's older areas. Combined with the deep mahogany wood and curving arched doorways, the garage was just as elegant as the rest. The builders of Croft Manor had spared no expense, though she was sure that she had spent several of them to spinning in their graves with some of her additions, though she suspected they would have liked the fully functioning astronomy observatory she had built into the top of the clock tower.
She had left Colloway and Stevens sitting with Bryce and Hillary in the drawing room. Drake had wandered off to look over her collections in the main halls under the knowledge that if he touched a single piece she would personally break his fingers. She had taken that time to go upstairs, shower under a scalding cascade, cleaning off both the literal dirt from the bike track and to take away her stress and aggravation. If she was going to be successful, she had to be clear headed. Having tied her hair back into a loose pony tail and sliding into a pair of light tan close fitting yet still flexible trousers and a white t-shirt, she was feeling more like herself than she had. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the anger.
Now in the garage, her well worn but still sturdy brown combat boots thunked deliberately as she finished making her way across the main garage to the far side. There, under the fluorescent lights was a large steel cage like storage area. It was more than fifteen feet wide and was sealed behind twin doors. Heavily re-enforced, the whole thing was enclosed in a chain link weave sealed in the center by a small keypad.
Her armory.
Stepping up to the keypad, she quickly entered her combination and with a beep, the locks disengaged. She opened the twin doors, exposing the core of the armory. In front of her on racks and pegs was a large collection of varied fire arms, ranging from old fashioned shot guns and rifles to more modern assault weapons and pistols. Below the racks were several drawers, each one filled with varying magazines, ammunition, both standard of different calibers organized by type and weapon going all the way up to some special flavors of ammo that she reserved for extreme situations. A tall side cabinet on the left was hidden behind another steel sheet door. She opened it and inside was her dual gun belt rig and custom magazine holders as well as her knives, both throwing and survival. Her chemlights and solar charged LEDs were also there, as well as her portable computers, GPS units, headset microphones and Sony over ear cameras and relay systems.
Bryce really did make sure she had the latest toys. She appreciated him more than she let on.
She quickly made a mental inventory of what she would need for Africa since that was going to be her first stop followed up by an as of yet undesignated visit to China. She reached into the cabinet and retrieved her dual gun rig, a tough leather belt with twin thigh holsters and straps custom made for her on her specifications. A wide bronze buckle held it clasped and there were attachment points for her various pieces of hardware. She set it behind her on the steel workbench next to her tool boxes. She quickly grabbed her armored PDA which looked like a tablet phone only smaller, light grey with an armored plastic impact resistant sealed case. She grabbed her LED flashlight. It was military issue, large, green and fit snugly into a sleeve that came on the next item she pulled out: her backpack. Like all of her gear, it was custom made and had a few special modifications to it by Bryce at her request. It was the same brown leather that all of her gear was.
She opened it and checked its insides. The waterproof lining was intact, as was the hidden GPA emergency beacon. The inner core itself was surrounded by space for storage and once sealed with the zipper, the bag was practically impenetrable by anything other than a direct shot and could easily be submerged into several hundred feet of water. Inside the pack, there was a rounded odd look machine that was attached to shock resistant plating that lined the back side of the pack that would be pressed against her. It had neatly tucked wires running on the inside to the right shoulder strap. Setting the flashlight aside, Lara held the pack out from her and hit a small flat hidden switch on the right shoulder strap.
Instantly the bottom of the pack opened, dropping a steel hydraulically powered series of connected rods out. The rods formed a single straight mechanism and on each side of the rod connectors branched out, one on each side going up like a strange compact metal tree.
It was a specially built collapsible ammunition bandolier that when loaded with clips for her pistols was hidden away neatly in her pack. Four clip attachments on either side for a total of eight spares, each clip holding fifteen rounds plus the two at the back of her belt attachment and the four on her hips attached above her holsters. A lady should never go unprepared. She laid the backpack and its exposed bandolier on the table as well. She opened a side drawer and grabbed a few chemlights, tossing them absently behind her as well. Her over the ear camera that was linked to her cell phone went next. It was a small device that fit over her ear like a Bluetooth, with a small HD camera and a small transparent screen that would extend out and fit over her right eye, allowing for real time face to face communications.
Digging through a box, she came up with a unique look instrument, just over a foot long with strips on four of the sides of a cone with a rounded black head. She hit a pad on the inner core of the cone and with a ratcheting of metal, the four strips sprang out, locking into place. Made of a titanium carbon alloy, it was a grapping hook that was easily foldable and had a magnetic head for attaching to metal surfaces that the arms couldn't grab onto or as an extra source of gripping power. At the bottom was a screw on attachment for a retractable 400 pound mono-filament cable that reached up to thirty feet. She quickly located the cable and the cable pack. Hooking the three together she sat it aside. Next came her binoculars, also a custom job. High powered with infra-red and thermal settings as well as a nifty remote-diagnostics sensor, Lara carried them everywhere. Again, a gift from the mad genius that was Bryce.
Picking out one of her favorite knives that was perfectly balanced for throwing or combat she closed the cabinet and moved to the center of the armory. Sliding open a top drawer, she selected the twelve already filled magazines she would need, four for the pack, two for the back of her belt and four for her hip attachments. The remaining two were for her weapons themselves. Opening a final drawer, she had them. Of course, she had multiple sets, all identical but these were special.
Memories flooded her again.
Years ago, on her first expedition on her own for Natla Technologies she had emulated her former mentor, former Royal Marine and free lance salvager who had when she was in her later teens, practically raised her. Hillary had always been cautious but knew that Roth was trusted by her father, Richard Croft and therefore never worried too much. On the Natla expedition, she had carried a pair of Colt Mark IV Series 80s, both in silver with black handgrips chambered in .9mm. She had an encounter with several prehistoric life forms (the came to mind) that made her reconsider her ammunition of choice. The Atlantean mutations of course sealed the deal. Not long after that close call, she had tested out various models and found that the target shooting specialty of the USP 9 Match was perfect. The .45 rounds along with hollow point bullets fit her style perfectly.
The twin paired HK USP 9 Match pistols sat side by side, cradled in their foam slots. With highly polished silver steel slides, black sights, black ridged hand grips and a black vented barrel weight that reduced recoil and replaced the elongated slide on earlier models, their rapid rate of fire combined with the sheer toughness of HK weapons made them irreplaceable. Polygonal rifling, a trigger stop and fully adjustable rear mounted sights made these pistols her best friend in the field more often than not. At two and a half pounds each they weren't too heavy or too light.
Her eyes darted above them.
There, on the racks above, was another pair of guns, these were all silver with black grips. A pair of Remmington Model 1911 R1 Enhanced pistols. Muzzle brakes peeked out deceptively shy from the barrels. She hadn't touched those in years.
Roth. I miss you still.
She brushed the thought away. Taking her HK's she turned to the table, shutting the armory behind her, the lock engaging.
She put on her belt, fastening it around her waist and strapping the Velcro holster straps around her thighs. She inserted a magazine into each of her pistols and slid them home into their holsters, the metal catches on the inside of the leather's holsters snapping into place perfectly. She also snapped two magazines, one above the other on the custom magazine holders that rested just above her hips. Two more magazines were slid horizontally opposite of each other on the back of her belt where the small of her back would be. She loaded the remainder onto the bandolier tree and slid it back up into her pack. Satisfied, she loaded her pack up with the chemlights, her PDA and secured the LED flashlight into its slot on her left backpack strap. The grappling hook line and retractor went on next, clipping securely around the back of her belt where the collapsible hook dangled just a few inches loosely away from waist.
She snapped her binoculars onto the front of her belt on the right side and was putting on her back pack on when a voice startled her.
"You don't pack lightly."
Bloody hell, she snarled mentally. It was the American, Drake.
"Well, a lady has to accessorize and you can never be too prepared." She said back, sliding her knife into its boot sheath. Drake raised an eyebrow.
"You planning on running into a military down in a tomb somewhere?" he said, eying her lethal double guns gleaming in their holsters. Lara clasped the strap of her pack that ran across her chest.
"Maybe. Wouldn't be the first time." She checked the charge of her ear piece and reached around and slid it into a pocket in her pack. Drake nodded.
"Me? I pack light. My bad, my pistol…all a guy needs really. There isn't much happening in tombs that requires you to be a walking one woman army."
She stopped on her way back to the drawing room and looked him up and down.
"How long have you been doing this?" she asked not really caring.
"A few years. Why?"
"I have bachelors in archaeology. Never got to finish any higher but trust me," Lara said, stepping over to a display case on a wall next to the door that led back into the house. Drake saw that it contained more relics, smaller ones, like a hunter's trophy room. She reached into the case and picked up an object about nine inches long. She tossed it over to him and Drake caught it deftly. He looked it over. It was a yellowed white color, like bone or ivory. Wickedly curved, it had a set of small nicks and ridges running along the outer side. Conical in shape, it looked like a claw to him.
"What? Bear claw? Poaching is illegal. Didn't peg you for that kind of person." He replied, tossing it back at her. She put it back in its case.
"I'm no poacher. I'm a survivor. And that was not a bear claw." She stated flatly walking away from him.
"What was it then?" he asked following.
"Didn't you pay attention in school? That was a tooth." Lara said as she crossed the threshold back into the manor.
"Yes. Well. Not all the time." Drake told her. "Had a rough childhood."
"T . Rex. " she said pointedly.
"What?"
"That tooth," she said pausing to let him catch up. "It's from a T . Rex."
Nathan looked incredulous. "What, you robbed a museum?"
Lara smiled.
"No. Mine was fresh."
With that, she turned, leaving him to stand there, dumbfounded and for once without a witty retort. After a moment to get over his shock, Drake hurried to catch up and wondered what the hell he was really getting into.
Lara stood beside Bryce at his tech station in the center of the opposite side of the main hall. It was a room that was totally the opposite of the surrounding manor. Where one was ancient history, artfully carved stone and polished wood that carried hundreds of years of nobility, the other was surgical and ultra-modern. Walled off from the main house by transparent glass and steel panels, everything was efficient, surgical in nature. Wires and cables led to servers, computer towers, wireless uplinks and blinking lights and boxes of a hundred different kinds. Bryce's main desk was a curved affair which he had built himself, made of steel desks and black support beams. Six monitors wrapped around the desk itself, some above the other, some to the side. Twin black keyboards sat side by side with wireless mice and disk drives taking up the rest of the space. All of the cables, cords and connectors snaked their way across the floor to hook into the series of computer towers and servers under the desk itself.
Apart from the high tech work station, there were also several work benches, each covered in various pieces of equipment, some of which Lara could only guess at what its purpose was. Wires, microchips, circuit boards, wrenches and soldering irons lay strewn about in what could only be called chaos. Bright florescent lights hung over the tables and the desk was the only place where the lighting was more muted and subdued. In the far corner of the tech room was a large metal creation. At well over nine feet high, it was a droid, a robot with a smooth black face like insect eyes, a rounded upper half trailing down into a utilitarian body. Six limbs, three on either side, lay folded neatly. Some of the arms were tipped with saw blades and pinchers. Others had graspers and at least one was a 9mm canon.
This droid was called SIMON. What the name meant, if it meant anything was also beyond Lara. Bryce himself was a genius though like all geniuses, especially those who fancied themselves hackers, he was very eccentric. SIMON was used as Lara's chief training method, often paired with the gymnasium inside the former ball room. SIMON was more than capable of pushing Lara to her limits and she had carried the bruises and scrapes to prove it more than once. Bryce had been tinkering with hooking SIMON into the manor's private computer fiber optic network that controlled all the devices, clocks and systems as a type of defense mechanism. Bryce had been working on that now for at least two years and had so far, been unsuccessful. Croft Manor, while normally quite safe, was not always immune from Lara' enemies. It had been invaded before. Once by the Italian Mafia don and insane cultist, Marco Bartoli and by the private army of Manfred Powell, former head and usurper of the Illuminati.
Former, was the word, Lara reminded herself. She had personally ended his career before it got off the ground and left the Illuminati in shambles. They hadn't troubled her since. The most recent issues to plague Croft Manor were the attack by her former friend, Amanda Evert and then later quite a bit of damage was done thanks to Jacqueline Natla, now deceased Atlantean god, and Natla's warped mutation, a doppelganger of Lara herself, a dark reflection. She had lost friends that time. It still stung and it was because of this she applauded Bryce's efforts to make sure their home was not violated again. Lara had lost more friends than she cared to count and frankly it was getting tiring.
Bryce, still dressed as shabbily as ever, sat at his desk in his office chair, which like everything else was machined and steel with perfectly balanced caster wheels. He looked up at her, his dark eyes concerned.
"What's the plan, then?" he asked.
Lara leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms, casting a wary glance out into the main hall through the transparent walls which thankfully were soundproof.
"The plan is we don't have one yet." She told him honestly. Hillary came around through the door into the room, the glass door sliding smoothly shut behind him on its hydraulics. He was no longer dressed in his tailored suit but had traded it in for his evening wear: a comfortable navy blue house coat over white blue stripped pajamas and plush house shoes. Lara had to remind herself not to giggle at him. He looked utterly ridiculous. In his hands he held a cup of steaming coffee.
"I hope you can do better than that." He said, standing in front of her. She sighed and stood up straight, adjusting her two gun rig on her waist as she moved across the tech room. She heaved herself up onto one of the work benches, scattering some of Bryce's hardware. A tiny four legged robot scurried out of the way.
Bryce gave her an eyebrow.
"Sorry." She said half serious.
"Lara," Hillary said, moving behind Bryce, the steam from his cup wafting up into the air. "I hope you don't mind me saying that while I'm glad you are out of your study, I didn't quite envision this as the means to that end."
She shrugged. "I do my best thinking when I'm moving, Hilly. You know that by now."
"Indeed. So, as Mr. Bryce asked already most likely, what is the plan? What do you know about this Nathan Drake? Can you trust him?" Hillary responded, looking out through the walls at Drake who was standing in front of the large fireplace in the sitting area, looking up at the oil painting of Lord Richard and Lady Amelia Croft.
"That was what I was hoping you would find out." Lara said, turning her gaze to Bryce.
"Bloody hell, Lara, I've not any time to run—"
"Nonsense. You've had almost an hour. If I know anything about you Bryce, you've already hacked into his bank account, school records and medical history. You could probably tell me his shoe size. No time for modesty." She came back, a hint of pride in her voice and old fashioned British stubbornness.
"Well," Bryce said sheepishly turning in his chair to his workstation. "I did find a few things." He began moving his hands over the keyboard. In seconds, his hands were a blur as data began to pour over the screens rapidly. File after file, photo after photo, record after record. Both Lara and Hillary moved in closer, leaning over the work station. Bryce briefly glared at them. He hated being crowded but one look from Lara told him she wasn't in the mood to play games.
"What do you have?"
"For starters, his basic information. Born in 1982. No record of a birth name. Apparently, he took Nathan Drake as his own name by the time he was in his teens according to the adoption agency records I was able to hack into. No one really every disputed it. I did find references to his mother's suicide in his psychiatric notes from St. Francis Boy's Home. His father apparently gave him up. "
Lara nodded for him to go on, her eyes flicking as Bryce moved among the windows, shrinking some, expanding others with lightning speed. She made a special note of everything that seemed important.
"After 1990, he sort of vanishes. There are no more records from the boy's home for him until 1992. Apparently, he was arrested for smuggling and jailed for a time. He was bailed out by one Victor Sullivan. After that, there are a few newspaper reports over the next ten years or so that indicate he's made a name for himself as a freelance for profit treasure hunter and a decently good one."
Lara scowled at Bryce. "Being a greedy grave robber doesn't endear him to me."
"Says the tomb raider." Hillary said gently.
"Don't call me that, please. I hate that term. I could throttle Alex West for sticking me with it."
"Sorry."
"No formal education in archaeology but that's about the extent of what I can find. No military training, nothing." Bryce said, sitting back in his chair. Lara nodded.
"It will do. Thank you."
"Another Terry Sheridan?" asked Hillary carefully, wincing as Lara looked at him, anger and pain in her eyes. Hillary and Bryce had been totally against her going with Terry to find Pandora's Box.
"Don't pull that card on me. Please. Not now. I won't tolerate it. He will stay straight or I'll do what I should have done to Terry. Make sure he stays put." She said finally. Hillary blanched a bit.
"You don't mean…"
"No, I don't. I'll break his leg and dump him in the most God forsaken hole I can and finish it on my own." She told him flatly. Flashes sparked. Memories. The warmth of a ship's bunk, the evening sun on her bare skin. The smell of and heat of Terry's body against hers.
The cold steel of a handcuff slapping around his wrist, the other end going around a bolted steel bed frame as she pulled away.
Lara turned back to Bryce, her pony tail cascading around her shoulders.
"Are the new satellite communications uplinks tested and ready? I'm going to need you and Hillary more than I think I ever have. I would appreciate expediency, please." She told him more than asked.
"As of yesterday, everything is green across the board. All you have to do is link your ear piece and camera and the PDA into the network. I've already programmed your phone for it. The IP address I took the liberty of programming into all of your gear last night. I was bored." He replied smugly.
"And SIMON? I want to be prepared in any case. Going after cults and their toys tends to get messy."
He looked at her and then cast a wary glance over at his droid.
"Well, SIMON is working fine but integrating him into the house's network is proving challenging. Most of the other passive and active defenses are working however, especially in the vault."
Not pleased but satisfied oddly, Lara acknowledged it with as much objectivity as she could.
"Keep at it. And the two of you. Have you been practicing on the range?"
Both Hillary and Bryce looked at each other and then to Lara sheepishly.
"I'll take that as no. Boys, you really should do that. It could save your life." She said.
A knock came at the glass door. Everyone looked up to see Drake at the entrance to the tech room.
Warily, Bryce motioned for him to come in and Lara let him. This was Bryce's domain, after all.
Drake pushed open the door and strolled into the room, his eyes roving around, taking in all the flashing lights, humming drives and clicking equipment.
"Nice set up," he said whistling. "All custom?"
"Yes." Bryce told him curtly.
Nodding, Drake looked past him at Lara. "Listen, I've got some company coming. Two…friends. I'll need their help in the field. I was wondering if we could all just use the manor as headquarters. You know, the Raider Cave or something."
"Who?" Lara demanded, crossing her arms again. She wasn't liking this already and it was getting worse by the minute.
"My friend, Sully. Victor Sullivan…and Elena Fisher….my fiancé/slash personal slave driver."
Lara looked at Colloway and Stevens who had meandered into the sitting area and who were looking in her direction expectantly.
She didn't have time for this.
"Bryce?"
He looked up at her.
"Do we have spare headsets?"
"Naturally."
"Make sure you and Hillary have one and two others for Mr. Drake's…..associates."
"Done."
"Mr. Drake?" she said turning back to Drake, standing to her full height, all five foot seven and a half of it.
Drake waited for her to go on.
"Your associates may stay here and work with Bryce and Hillary. However, anywhere but the guest rooms and the tech area, kitchen and bathrooms are off limits. I mean it. Absolutely off limits. If Hillary catches you in any area besides those spaces, he has my express permission to throw you off the property with prejudice."
"Yes mam." He said, giving her a mocking salute. She didn't' do him the favor of acknowledging it.
"Also, I have every artifact and piece cataloged and inventoried. When we return it would be in your best interest if I find everything where it was when we left. Understood?"
Nodding he wisely kept quiet. Perhaps he wasn't a total lost cause.
"Now then. We need an action plan. I suggest you contact your associates now. We won't be here to brief them." Lara instructed. Bryce dug around on his desk and finally, there among the clutter on a charging station were the headsets. He had been looking right at them the entire time. He snagged one and tossed it to Drake. Drake fitted it over his ear. He tapped it on and the blue light winked on at the tip of the microphone. Lara picked up one herself and tapped it on. Bryce turned to his work station and tapped in a series of commands. A program began to run and a cursor began to blink.
"Just ah, enter the number there using the ah, keypad." Bryce told him, scooting back a bit so Drake could access the keyboards. He didn't like anyone touching his equipment but he conceded now wasn't the time for a pissing contest. Drake entered a long number which Lara immediately recognized as a satellite phone number access code.
Switching the sound to play through both the headsets and via the tech rooms speakers, Bryce adjusted the volume as the sound of a ringing phone filled the room. It had a trace of static to it, not at all like a landline.
A moment later a loud semi-gruff male voice with an American accent picked up the line.
"Who the damn hell is this?"
Nathan grinned. "Sully! Its me, Nate!"
The voice changed instantly from irritation to relief.
"Nate! Goddamn its about time. What the hell did they do to you? We thought that they had taken you off and dumped you in the Atlantic somewhere."
"Not hardly, Sully. You can't get rid of me that easily." Drake said, smiling a bit. Lara noticed it was a genuine smile, not that mask he wore most of the time. She wondered how deep the connection went between this man, who was obviously the Victor Sullivan Bryce had found record of and this rougish smuggler treasure seeker in front of her.
"Trust me, I know. I've tried." Sully added sardonically. "What's the situation? Elena and I have been keeping our ears out but we ain't got squat to go on. What are we doing, Drake?"
Nathan told him. "We're going after the Spheres, Sully. Sorry I couldn't brief you before I left but on the way over to England, MI6 filled me in. There's a crazy religious nut who they think has four of the seven spheres and they think they know where a fifth one is. That leaves two unknown. I'm in Surrey right now, at the manor of one Lady Lara Croft. Name ring a bell?"
For a moment, Sully was quiet. When he continued, he caught Nathan by surprise, not to mention Lara.
"Actually yeah. I heard stories of a man named Croft. Richard I think. Was a big name in archaeology back in the day, way before your time. Was famous, or infamous rather, for his theories on alternative history and mythology. Made him a lot of enemies in academic circles but he was damn good. He went missing about fifteen or twenty years ago. Never met him though."
Lara said nothing but felt a swell of pride warm up inside her. Her father had been a good man.
"Is that so? Well, I believe that I happen to be in the company of his daughter like I said. MI6 is pairing us up to track down and get these spheres before this wacko, Aurin St. Clair, can use them. What do you know about him? I know what MI6 has said but I want to know what you have heard."
Lara raised an eyebrow. So Nathan Drake didn't take things at face value. The man wore quite a poker face.
"Never heard of him."
Shaking her head, Lara spoke up. "Mr. Sullivan, I'm terribly sorry to be rude but we are on a bit of a time crunch. We need to come up with a plan as soon as possible. My friends and assistants will be working with you. Their names are Bryce and Hillary. We can all hear you, by the way."
"Wonderful." Sully growled. "Fair enough. Whats the battle plan?"
Lara waited half a moment before continuing, her thoughts racing.
"To retrieve the Sphere of Creation, we'll need transport to Africa, specifically to the mountains of Kilimanjaro. Near the summit, there is a location, a place legends call the Cradle of Life, where its believed all life on Earth began. The Creation sphere is located inside the cradle."
"Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. " Sully stated bluntly.
"Hey, we thought El Dorado was bullshit, too. The legend of the curse anyway so we should probably keep an open mind, Sully." Nathan cut in. Lara was again caught off guard, looking at him carefully. It seemed like every time she thought she had him pegged, he showed a different face. Wonderful.
"I assure you, Mr. Sullivan," she told Victor.
"Call me Sully."
"Sully then. I assure you, the legends are true, in so far as the artifact does exist. I recovered the Sphere two months ago on an unrelated expedition on a dive below Santorini. I lost three friends to Chinese gangsters that day. The orb is real. Long story short, its sitting at the bottom of the Cradle of Life." She finished.
"Why don't we take a plane into Africa?" Drake suggested.
" We could. There aren't any landing strips where we need to go and to cross by land after we touch down at one of the major airports would take too long. Bryce?"
Bryce looked up at her. "Hmm?"
"Ring Kosa. Ask him if he can meet me where he did before and to bring the spare Jeep. We are going to revisit the cradle in more than just name. I don't see why we can't use the same methods to get there again. Ask him if he can find us a willing pilot with a decent chopper. I don't trust MI6."
"Right." Bryce slapped on a different headset, changed the frequency and opened a separate program on a separate computer line.
"Hillary?" Lara said, turning to him. He snapped his attention to the here and now.
"Please inform MI6 that Mr. Drake's associates will need speedy transport from wherever they are to here within the day, if you please. Sully?" she said into her headset.
"Yeah?"
"Present location, please?"
He fumbled for a moment. She heard a rustling of papers.
"Just off the coast of Hawaii…about ten miles out from Honolulu."
"Good. I'm arranging transport for you to here, my home. Bryce has an extensive tech station and quite a few tools at his disposal. He's also quite talented. I'm sure that between the four of you, support and information shouldn't be an issue."
"Okay. I suppose. Drake, what about the gold? We aren't going to have time to go to Spain." Sully asked tentatively.
Lara's eye brows raised towards her hairline as she turned a curious eye in Nathan's direction.
Drake turned a bit red and stammered."Well, about that, I'm sure MI6 would be happy to help make arrangements to get the gold we recovered to Spain. At least fifty percent of it."
Lara glared at him.
"Better make that a hundred percent"
"NATE?!" Sully growled, his voice more threatening than a bear on a hunger strike.
Nathan eyed the twin guns resting in Lara's holsters, their silver steel and black frames glinting lethally.
"Trust me, Sully. Its for the best."
"I trust you too much, Nathan Drake. This has better be worth it."
"Right then. Is that all?" Sully concluded with a snarl. He wasn't taking this well and Nathan knew it.
Drake looked at Lara and Lara nodded.
"Yeah, as far as I know. How's Elena?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, she's fine." Nathan heard Sully pull the phone away from his face and yell for someone in the background. "Elena? Nate's on the line."
Nathan heard the slamming of something heavy and then actually heard fast angry boot falls. A shuffling of sound and then Elena was there in his ear.
"NATHAN DRAKE YOU SON OF A BITCH! THIS IS MY STORY! YOU WAIT UNTIL YOU GET BACK. I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T DIE, YOU ARE GOING TO WISH YOU HAD, YOU LOUSY-"
"I LOVE YOU TOO!" Nathan yelled quickly and cut the call.
In the sudden silence, Lara looked at Drake questioningly, mild amusement on her face. It was the first time he had actually seen her grin, although it was barely there.
"Its fine really. She's not medicated or anything."Drake added. "She's a journalist. You know how they get."
"Better you than me." Lara said, stepping away from the table and handing Bryce the headset back. "Let's go. We need to get you some basic gear and then we have a flight to catch."
"But we haven't called or anything. What flight are we taking?" Drake said, falling into step behind her.
"Trust me, Mr. Drake, the best trips are those that are unplanned and in this case that will serve our needs perfectly. Follow me." She turned on her heel and headed back towards the garage area. Nathan sighed and ran to catch up to her fast purposeful strides.
The only thought on his mind at present was a simple one.
Women.
As they left, Bryce scooted up to his workstation and tossed a raised eyebrow over to Hillary who was about to make his way out to main sitting area to pass on the instructions to MI6. Hillary caught his glance and shrugged.
"What?" Hillary asked, trying to make sense of all that had just happened.
"Raider Cave? Honestly…bloody hell, that's lame.." Bryce sighed and turned back to his work station.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The dull grey skin of the Boeing C-17 did not glint in the sun. Military planes were not meant for glamour. The machine was a work horse, a powerhouse that rode the air as easily as a Ferrari took to the streets. 174 feet long and with a wingspan of 169 feet and the top of its ceiling hitting 55 feet, the C-17 was gargantuan. A flying titan, it soared through above the clouds, its four Pratt & Whitney F117-PW-100 turbofan engines pumping out astounding speeds. Each engine was rated at 40,400 pounds of thrust, ramming the god-like plane through the skies at 515 miles per hour, just a little under Mach 1. The rear of the plane was almost entirely cargo space with enough space for an Abrams tank, three Strykers, or six M1117 Armored security vehicles. The C-17 could also serve as an evac and medical transport and was commonly used to carry troops and supplies to warzones. This flight was a military relief flight heading to Iraq to assist in the rebuilding efforts from the war on terror, to pick the mess the United States and the allied countries had left in their quest to snuff out Al Qaeda.
Right now, the cargo crates and boxes were tied down and covered with thick cargo nets. Each crate contained food, medicine, clothing, radios and survival gear. A single load master in military gear would walk the aisles between the crates every few hours to check inventory and to make sure that nothing was loose or out of place. Lara and Nathan had taken jump seats at the far end of the cargo hold, next to the ladders that led up to the cockpit control center. Up in the cockpit, the two pilots keep the aircraft on course, expertly handling the controls. There was barely any turbulence. The humming roar of the engines was muted through the bulkheads.
Lara went over the plan in her head again.
She had called Kosa before they had left Croft Manor. She had instructed him as planned to bring her Jeep to the location she had met up with him before in Africa, just a little south of Mount Kilimanjaro. She also instructed him to make sure that once they got to a certain point, just before they hit the native Wachagga village at the base of the mountain to have a chopper pilot ready. She had made a promise to the chieftain that she would leave the Cradle of Life in peace. She had even entrusted the medallion with the key to the orb on it as proof of her word. Their religion, a strange mix of Christianity, Islam and traditional beliefs also had something else to them, something no other tribe of their people had; a legend about the gods who came to earth to seed it with life from a box and that with that life came its companion; death. She hated going back on her word; it was all she really had times but she must what must be done. She hoped Kosa was able to find a pilot so that they could simply air lift to the Cradle and not need to pass through tribal lands.
They had finished the night at Croft Manor and had left before day break to hit the Royal Airfield in Buckinghamshire, an hour from Surrey. After pulling a few favors she was owed by the RAF, she was able to secure passage on this flight to Iraq with a small detour to fly over Tanzania at which point they would exit and be on their way. Well, not really a short detour, Lara thought cynically. It was a major detour but they owed her. Doing jobs for one's government did, on occasion have its perks. While she was not happy to be at their call again, she did feel something stirring again.
Warmth, an energy begging to be released, was swirling behind her sternum. All of her gear, including her weapons, were stored in her backpack which was sitting next to her seat. She was dressed as she preferred for Africa, the same beige tan cargo pants and white shirt with combat boots she had slept in. Drake had opted to wear the same thing he had shown up in as well. She looked across the aisle at him, sitting nonchalantly in his chair, the four way harness holding him in place. She had decided not to wear her own. Lara studied Drake's face. His expression was relaxed, apparently he wasn't worried about anything. She wondered if he had the slightest inclination of what was about to happen.
"We are about to hit the exit point, Croft. Get ready. One minute to drop point!" MacKenzie, the RAF pilot called down to her.
She acknowledged. "Thank you. Keep her steady, chaps!"
Drake suddenly looked from Lara up to the pilots.
"Drop point? What drop point? What are we dropping?" he asked nervously, realization sinking into his chiseled features like a glacier. She nodded towards a black pack with several pull straps on it attached to his seat.
"Mr. Drake, you may want to put that on, if you don't mind. It would also be best if you do exactly as I tell you." Lara told him, standing and moving quickly with deliberate purpose. She grabbed her backpack and put her arms through it backwards, strapping it to her chest. Drake watched her finally understanding.
"Oh hell no…We are NOT jumping out of this plane, Croft." He said, standing nonetheless, his eyes wide, throwing up his arms in protest.
"How else would you suggest we get to the Cradle in the time crunch we are in?" she asked, ignoring his panic, strapping on her own parachute, clasping the chest buckles shut.
"Like any normal person! We charter a plane to land at an airport and go over land."
She shook her hand. "I told you before. Too slow. We need to move fast, especially since has four of the orbs already. It's a safe bet he isn't as out of the loop as we've been led to believe. They never are." Lara told him. "In my experience, Mr. Drake, the "bad guys" are never as foolish as they are in the films and to allow ourselves to fall behind in any respect could mean a swift death. Now then, we have a jump to make. Please strap in. We jump in," she paused, looking at the watch on her left wrist, "Thirty seconds."
"Drop zone approaching in ten seconds!" the pilot yelled back at her. The loadmaster walked by them, quickly strapping himself to a steel bar with a length of safety cable, clasping it at his waist. He raised a fist and struck a control high up on the wall.
With a grating clunk of gears, the cargo bay ramp's locks disengaged; the seal between the aircraft and the atmosphere outside was broken, the cabin rapidly depressurizing. Slowly, the bright blue sky outside shone through, lighting up the dim cargo bay. The ramp continued to lower, a giant metal jaw on a monster's mouth. Lara did a final gear check, pulling a pair of goggles out of her pocket, slipping them on over her eyes. Standing at the edge of the now fully open cargo ramp, the wind roaring past her, her pony tail flailing, she looked back over her shoulder and yelled at Drake.
"Are you coming Mr. Drake? We have a world to save! You aren't afraid, are you?"
Drake straightened his spine. He wasn't afraid of anything. Well, almost anything. Angrily, he quickly made sure his bag was secured around his neck, strapped on his chute and shoved the goggles over his face. Fighting the force of the wind pushing him, his shirt flapping, he stood next to Lara at the rear of the ramp. Looking over at her, he grinned that roughish lopsided smile.
"You know the last time I used one of these, the plane was burning. I didn't have the best of luck with my landing!" he shouted.
Lara shrugged. "Hopefully you'll do better this time!"
" 13,000 feet!" The loadmaster yelled over the screaming wind.
Drake swallowed, his heart pounding. "You go first!"
Lara rolled her eyes. This was not happening. "Live a little, Drake!"
Without another word, Lara bolted, her legs pumping, her combat boots slapping into the metal ramp, arms ramming back and forth at her sides, her head down. She saw the edge of the ramp. She thought she felt Drake's foot falls next to her.
He was, she noted. He was actually doing it.
The edge was of the ramp was suddenly under boots and she shoved off of it, leaping out into open space of the great blue yonder, her pony tail flying out behind her, the cold wind slapping her in the face, the warmth of the sun heating her skin.
She immediately began to fall, cascading towards the cloud layer below. Putting her arms next to her side and straightening her body, she plunged through the cloud layer, Drake falling behind her. He copied her motions, his speed increasing instantly, both tomb raiders becoming human missiles.
Her heart began to pound and adrenaline flooded her system as the ground became visible, patches of brown and tan, with the rare blue ribbon of rivers shimmering. The warmth that had been dying to burst forth moments ago finally was released. The rush of death came for her and she spat in its face as she fell, the wind force shoving the goggles into her face. Beside her, Drake caught up with her and held position next to her, moving his arms out a little so that he wouldn't pass her. She looked over as he grinned at her. He tightened his arms suddenly and shot past her in a white blur, his shirt flapping wildly.
A challenge.
Adjusting her angle and moved over the top of his position, and nailed her arms and legs together, her speed rocketing her forward faster than was probably safe. Her descent would probably give any respectable sky diver nightmares as she caught up to Drake, the ground roaring towards them, details becoming visible as the C-17 vanished above the clouds, its ramp sealing up. He never saw as she shot over him and past him. She turned and gave him a smile as she passed him. She wasn't sure he saw it or not, but that wasn't the point. Looking down, she saw a silver dot zooming across the savannah, throwing up a massive dust trail behind it. She glanced at her watch, slowing her speed.
Kosa had amazing timing.
At this speed they had about a minute of free fall, less with their acrobatics and she calculated another four seconds before she had to pull her chute.
She waited, her heartbeat her clock.
She yanked the cord and with an instant jerk, her chute exploded out of her pack and unfurled, revealing a blue and white striped fabric parachute. It caught the wind expertly, jerking her to a slow descent. Next to her about half a second later, Drake's chute opened, snapping into place, its red and white pattern blazing in the sun. She hoped her remembered how to land. The ground was only a hundred or so feet away now, rushing up to meet them fast. Narrowing her focus, she relaxed her body, especially her knees and ankles. The landing would be suddenly, sharp and if she let her own body absorb the shock right, would be perfectly safe.
She saw the silver flash and glint of the black frame of her Jeep Rubicon, the spare she let Kosa use, parked outside the landing zone. She thought she saw a flash of orange and red. Kosa himself. Pulling her cords, she braked, going into a controlled spin, the ground coming closer and closer with every pass.
She mentally counted the seconds.
Three…
Two….
One
The impact came hard and fast as her boots touched the ground, tossing up small dust clouds, her momentum carrying her forward into a short run before she came to a full stop, once again on the flat earth with the brown grass and shrubs of the savannah, the heat from the sun already beginning to bake her.
Drake landed not far from her, just outside the landing zone. He stumbled a bit more than she did but to his credit, he stuck the landing decently. His face was wind chapped, as she imagined hers was. The change from the cold upper air to the warm swelter of the African savannah was a welcome one, tingling her skin. She quickly shred the parachute and stuffed it roughly back into the pack. She slid out of her backpack and set it down, quickly taking out her gear. She slipped her belt and two gun rig on, sliding her pistols, fully loaded into their holsters. The rest of her gear went into positions on her belt and she re-zipped her pack, closing it as she put it on the right way, on her back, clasping the chest clasp. Straightening, she shook her hair out of her face and smiled. Kosa was waving at her. She felt the first gentle tugs of life calling her as she returned the gesture.
Kosa, a born and trained Maasai warrior, stood dressed in traditional Maasai garb. An ankle length orange-red sarong like robe with his shoulders and arms bared, his deep chocolate brown skin gleaming. His sandals were dusty, as he preferred to walk whenever possible. While his head was neatly shaved bald, he did sport a neatly trimmed and well cared for black mustache and goatee that was highlighted with the smallest bit of gray. He wore twin sun earring discs made of hand melded bronze and his eyes were alive, warm and earthy. He was a tall man, standing well over six foot two and around his right bicep was a traditional set of Maasai rings, three golden circlets that he never took off. His powerful arms were across his chest and on his right finger were the keys to the Jeep, dangling in the sun.
"Kosa!" Lara called happily as she made her way over to him. His smile went from ear to ear, exposing brilliant straight white teeth.
"Lara! Its good to see you!"
His voice was smooth, cultured and had a unique blend of accents, at once Maasai and English, its deep tones pleasing to the ear.
She met him at the Jeep and embraced him.
Pulling away he looked her over.
"It has been too long. Two months without a phone call and then this? You look different." He said, holding her by the shoulders, examining her with his eyes from crown to toe.
"It has been a long two months. I'm sorry to have called so urgently." She said, tossing her parachute pack into the back of the Jeep. Like her Rubicon at home, it was modified to her specifications: rugged, off-road and tougher than most tanks. Kosa tossed her the keys and she caught them deftly, heading towards the left side of the SUV. Drake caught up to them and tossed his pack in the back. Kosa eyed him up and down and gave Lara a questioning look.
"No. We aren't repeating history, my friend. Nathan Drake, this is my friend, Kosa. He is a translator and professor of tribal history and culture at University of Dar es Salaam."
Drake extended a hand and Kosa took it, stoically. With a firm shake, Kosa inclined his head.
"My pleasure, Mr. Drake. I hope you know that anyone who travels with Lara, never does things the easy way." He said, a sly grin making its way into his dark features.
Lara opened the driver's door and hauled herself up into the Jeep, sliding the driver's seat forward, starting the engine.
"I can hear you, you know." She told Kosa gently.
"I know. That is why I said it. I keep hoping one day you will do things the easy way."
Lara shrugged as Kosa and Drake climbed into the Jeep. She put it into gear and revved the engine.
"Where's the fun in that?" she said, punching the accelerator. The Jeep rocketed forward, its big wheels digging into the dirt, the dark rise of Kilimanjaro rising like a specter over the horizon. She was starting to feel alive again, if only a little. She was where she truly belonged. The field.
Kosa laughed, a deep rich sound as the car bounced over the ruts and holes. At the sound of the car's roaring power, a flock of birds took to the sky, screeching as a pair of feeding giraffes looked over from their meal to see what the commotion was about. A flock of flamingos never raised their heads from the water hole two hundred yards away. In the back of the Jeep, Drake was grateful for the hot air that was now rushing over his sweating scalp even if the ruts rattled his teeth as Lara drove straight through them.
"Indeed!" Kosa said, looking at Lara and seeing perhaps a ghost of his friend coming back to life.