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To Victor Sullivan, the sound of his Zippo lighter opening was one of the simple pleasures of life. It was a familiar, satisfyingly mechanical sound. Sully flicked the striker with his calloused thumb and a small flame leapt up, its glow dancing on the lighter's tarnished brass casing. His cigar lit, Sully turned to the open door of the pilothouse.

The night was still and starless, warm, but with a breeze just cool enough to justify Sully's well-worn aviator jacket. Three a.m. was typically a horrible time to be awake- in the Navy the "graveyard watch" had always been his least favorite- but the night had found him in reflective mood. As he leaned on the rail gazing out over the tranquil, ink-black seas, Sully let his mind wander. Wander back years and years to when he was a young man in the Navy, to his discharge from it and his start up in the more illegal circles of the world. So many "bad" decisions, he thought to himself. Yet it was those same decisions that led him to cross paths with a certain young street urchin.

Nearby a fish jumped in a patch of shimmering moonlight, the splash momentarily breaking the silence of the quiet ocean night. Sully thought of the fishing trip on the Moho river he had taken the teenage Nathan Drake on shortly after their meeting. Then his mind followed all of their adventures and misadventures until finally he arrived at their present situation.

What had they gotten themselves into?

He thought of the day Mr Turner had knocked on their door, of that feeling of uncertainty and dread as they wondered if they were both about to end up behind bars. Then the sense of almost giddy disbelief as it turned into a promising, high-paying job for them. And ever since it had been a long trail of mystery and danger. He frowned. Then there was the issue of Turner himself. Something about him just made him a bit uneasy, like there was more to him than met the eye.

Sully shook his head at his own thoughts. He had worked for countless people who were shadier than Turner's sunglasses. Since when was he the type to play it cautious? He stepped back inside the pilothouse and placed his hand on the wheel. There was no need to steer, as autopilot was holding their course, but he liked the way the polished mahogany felt under his hand. A thin trail of smoke curled up around his face as he studied the GPS. They would be at Alexandria in a few hours.

"You know those cigars are going to kill you."

Molly's voice was unexpected, Sully had thought he was the only one awake. He chuckled to himself. "They're welcome to try, sweetheart," he smiled and turned to face her. "Of all the things that have tried to kill me I think my Havana's are the least of my worries."

Molly was wearing a slightly oversized leather jacket with her usual khaki pants, and her hair was loosely pulled back in its typical ponytail, with just a few stray strands of hair fallen over her face. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she said primly.

Sully pondered for a moment, then asked "What's a girl like you up at this ungodly hour?" "Couldn't sleep," she said simply. "I suppose I'm a bit anxious about the day. Figured I'd come see if our fearless captain needed some coffee and some company."

"Well," said Sully, "one thing you should know about me is if I have a good cup of coffee I can talk the whole night long. Before you know it you'll be so tired of listening to me all your trouble sleeping will disappear."

Molly smiled. "Cream?"

"Black, if it's all the same to you."

She pointed at him with her thumb and forefinger. "Back in a jiffy."

Fifteen minutes later Molly returned with two cups of freshly brewed coffee and handed one to Sully. He gratefully received it and took a sip from the steamy mug. "Ahh, perfect."

Molly settled into the co-pilot's seat, a bar-type stool matching to the pilot's and bolted to the floor near the wheel. The cool ocean breeze lifted her bangs slightly as she soaked up the pleasant stillness of the night. Inwardly Sully wrangled with a diplomatic way to ask the question that was eating at him without being too suggestive of his suspicions of why she was awake. Finally he gave up and asked "Where's Nate?"

Molly did not look offended. "He fell asleep on the sofa while he was studying."

"It's good for him," Sully said. "Kid works his ass off."

Molly thought back to when she had passed through the salon about midnight. Nate had been passed out with his laptop open, surrounded by various history books, and with Cook's journal open on his face. She had stopped and just looked at him for a minute, considering this unique person she had come in contact with, with his insatiable passion for history and his big heart for people. She had smiled as she thought about earlier that same day when Nate had offered to help her carry a cooler up the steep ladder from below deck. About halfway up he had slipped and fell back down to the floor. Laying in a heap with ice all over him he had looked at her sheepishly and said "I guess I should be asking you for help." There in the salon, watching his chest gently rise and fall with his deep, even breaths, she had felt a certain warmth toward him and his charming, clumsy nature. "He's certainly quite a man," she said in her very British understating kind of way. "How did you two ever come to hook up?"

"Would you like the long version or the short one?"

Molly took a sip of coffee. "Well, I suppose I've got all night, now, don't I?"

Sully heaved a long sigh. "I had a rotten home life growing up. My father didn't have a clue about raising kids. Not a bad person necessarily, just not a good father. So I ended up joining the Navy when I was a young man. Did that just long enough to figure out how to get in real trouble, and eventually got kicked out for- well, for various reasons." He took a drink of coffee, savoring the bitter, brown liquid as it slid down his throat. "After that I got involved with some bad crowds, and ended up doing a job for a lady," in his mind's eye he could see Katherine Marlowe and the museum, and hear the sounds and smell the odors of the streets of Cartagena. "And she turned out to be a bit worse than I realized," he admitted. "But while I was there ole' Nate, who was maybe fifteen at the time, came along and tried to pick my pocket."

"That's an uncommon way to start a lifelong friendship."

"Well he was an uncommon boy. He was talking all about long lost treasures and secret missions from the queen, but he had really done his homework on it, you know. It was fascinating. I ended up helping him out and it kind of put me at odds with my employer. But like I said, she wasn't the most upstanding person, so I guess it was kind of a saving grace that I caught him digging in my pocket. And besides," Sully shrugged, "I could hardly bring myself to leave him on the street by himself."

"He was on the street?" Molly asked in disbelief. "By himself?"

"Yeah, he didn't exactly have the greatest upbringing either," Sully said. "In fact mine almost pales in comparison." Sully carefully chose his words here, as Nate was very hesitant to talk about his younger years with anyone, even initially with him. "He ended up in a boy's home pretty young, and then ran away from that when he was about thirteen."

Molly looked thoughtfully out the window. "Sounds like you were a saving grace for him too."

Sully gave a puff on his cigar. "Well, it is helpful to the longevity of a friendship when it's mutually beneficial."

"Hmm." Molly leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee and placing her chin in her hand. She thoughtfully tapped her finger on her chin."Tell me," she said as if she had just thought of it. "When I met you in Sale you introduced yourself as historians. But you're not are you?"

Sully chuckled and pinched his cigar between his thumb and forefinger. "I suppose that depends on how loosely you're willing to interpret that," he said, giving her a wry smile. "But by all conventional definitions, no. Though Nate does have an encyclopedic knowledge of history," he bragged.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Ah," Sully hesitated, thinking back to that terrible day in Panama when Nathan had come home with the news of his brother's tragic loss during the prison break. There was once, shortly after he had taken on the young Drake, that he had overheard him crying in his bed at night, but never before or since had he seen him openly cry like he had that day, as the hot, bitter tears streamed down his face. "No," Sully said. There was a brief pause in the conversation in which the only sound was that of the water slapping against the hull. Eventually Sully looked at Molly through the corner of his eye and broke the silence.

"Now, I don't want to press my luck," he said, "but you and Nate seem to get along all right."

Molly had known this was coming at some point, and honestly expected it to bother her more than it did now that it came. But something about Sullivan's easy-talking, easy-listening presence put her at ease. "I'm not really looking for a relationship," she said. "Not that I don't like him or anything, it's just I'm not ready to settle down."

Sully looked amused. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Nate's not exactly the 'settle down' type."

"I mean emotionally settle down," Molly clarified.

Sully nodded. "Got wanderlust in the blood?"

"I don't know about 'in the blood'" Molly said, making quotes with her fingers. "The rest of my family is quite a bit different from me."

"Oh?" Sully said. "What was your family like?"

Molly sighed heavily. "I don't think I want to tell you."

Sully shrugged. "That's up to you, sweetheart, but don't forget your not exactly talking to a saint here."

Molly inhaled sharply. "My family was... goody two-shoes."

Sully raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't mock."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Yes, my father loved us, worked hard to provide for us, payed our way through Cambridge. My three siblings ahead of me all got nice, high paying jobs in a firm somewhere or another. And I just... panicked."

"Panicked?" Sully asked.

"I just couldn't picture myself working one of those," she made a fluttering movement with her fingers, "stuffy white-collar jobs."

"So what did you do instead?"

"So instead I went the way of archaeology, so at least I could get my hands in the dirt, and on the side took self defense courses, got my pilot's license, anything I could do that would keep me out of a business suit. Eventually I got hired by Winters to aid in his research, as his health is failing. I jumped at the opportunity, of course." She took another mouthful of coffee, draining the cup. "So there it is, my not exciting story of how I got from spit-polished girl in London to where I am today."

"There's nothing wrong with having a good start on life." Sully commented.

"Except that the straight laced people are seldom the ones who do anything of any impact," Molly said sourly.

Sully considered. "You know, it's not really where you came from that matters," he said softly. "Thing is, for some the opportunity for greatness just comes looking for them. Others have to fight tooth and nail for every inch. But in the end the one who fought for it will always outshine the others."

Molly smiled in spite of herself. "That's quite good, you know. You should write one of those inspirational columns in the paper."

"Pah!" Sully scoffed. "I'm about as inspirational as a hooker going through midlife crisis."

"No, really though," Molly said. "Thank you." They watched together in silence as the first traces of the dawn appeared on the horizon. "Well Victor - Sully - I'm afraid that both my coffee and my insomnia have run dry." Molly rubbed her eyes. "I think I will turn in for a bit."

"Works every time." Sully smiled warmly at her. "No extra cost for that."

At anchor in the Mediterranean sea, two miles off the coast of Alexandria

It was quarter to eight when Nate burst into the galley, laptop and Cook's journal tucked under his arm, shouting "I got it!"

"Oh, sleeping beauty's finally awake!" said Sully.

"Good morning sunshine," Molly chirped as she poured Nate a cup of coffee.

Nate took the coffee without looking . "I figured it out!" he said, brimming over with excitement.

"Figured what out?" Sully inquired.

Nate plopped the computer and journal down on the table. "This number that's been showing up everywhere. The 666. Do you know where it comes from?"

"It's the 'mark of the beast', from the book of Revelations," Molly said.

"Right," said Nate. "That's where everybody knows it from. But it actually appears before that in the Old Testament."

"Oh, here we go," Sully muttered.

Nate had pulled up an online bible and pointed out the verse on the screen. "Right there."

"'The weight of gold that came to Solomon in a year was 666 talents'." Molly read. "That's a helluva lot of gold."

"A helluva lot," Nate echoed.

"But what's the connection?" Sully asked.

"That's where Cook comes in." Nate opened the journal. "According to his research Solomon was the origin of that number being associated with evil. In the bible Solomon's apostasy of his later years is well recorded, but all it says of his death is that he 'slept with his fathers'. Now Cook says that that wasn't a natural death, but that he was assassinated, murdered by a group of radicals to atone for his heresy. And guess what that group called themselves?" Nate asked.

"Oh, I know" Sully volunteered. "The-"

"That's exactly right, the Watchers," Nate cut off Sully, who looked at Molly and shrugged. "And they took his body to 'the land of Sheba, to Arwe, the great king of the people he sold his soul to.'" Nate was pacing back and forth reading out of Cook's journal. "Now Arwe is a giant serpent-king in Ethiopian mythology, whose size is such that it was said that 'Arwe is not beyond the hill, for the hill you see is Arwe.' According to Cook, the Watchers have carefully guarded the truth about Solomon's fate to preserve the integrity of the royal line of David."

"No kidding," Molly said in wonder. "So what are we going to do?"

"I'm going in to Alexandria to find Hassan's base and collect that map," Nate said. "Hopefully I'll find Winters too. You two are staying on the boat."

"What?"

Nate shrugged. "Yeah, what good would it do to find anything if we can't even get out of here after? Besides," he smiled, "if everything goes as planned, Hassan will never even know I was there."

"Kid," Sully growled, "when was the last time anything went at all how we planned?"

"Thank you," Molly said to him.

Nate looked confused. "What? Zanzibar wasn't so bad."

"'Not so bad' he says," Molly imitated him.

"Would you just leave us alone for a minute?" Nate asked her in irritation. Molly left the galley looking miffed, and Nate turned to Sully. "What is the deal?"

Sully sighed and shook his head. "I just feel like this one's starting to get away from us."

"'Get away from us?'" Nate looked more confused than ever.

"Just think about it. We're working for the F.B.I., trying to deal with some sort of terrorist group? Since when is that our deal?" Sully asked.

"Turner just happened to be the one who hired us," Nate said.

"And since then we've had enough close shaves with death to give a guy razorburn!" Sully interjected. "Look, all I'm saying is don't forget what we always said, 'money seldom buys anything good for the living, never for the dead.' This just isn't worth dying for."

Nate thought about it. "Just let me see if I can at least get Winters out of this mess," he said. "After that we can reconsider."

Sully leaned on the table and looked Nate in the eye. Exhaling deeply, he said finally, "Whatever you need to do, kid."

Nate took a long swig of his coffee and set the mug on the table. "I'll be back soon. I promise."