Crowds spilled from the end of the gangway into Keflavik International Airport, joining the general bustle of the airport as a woman's voice came over the airport's intercom system, announcing in Icelandic the boarding of a plane at the next gate over. From the group of arrivals a man with heavily gelled brown hair and a gray suit split off to the side, striding with great purpose down the corridor toward the baggage claim. His spit-shined black oxfords clicked on the polished floor of the terminal with every confident stride that he took, passing a man sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper with not a second thought.
Though the man in the suit had not noticed him, the man reading had certainly noticed the man in the suit, and he lowered the newspaper once he was past.
"I've got him," Nate said quietly, setting the paper aside and rising to follow. "Following to the baggage claim now."
"Just be careful, kid," Sully's voice came through the earpiece Nate wore. "Keep your head down, and don't let him get away from you."
"Roger that," Nate smirked, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his lightweight, brown ochre jacket. As he walked he scanned the shops and restaurants he passed, pretending to be just another traveler moseying through the airport, while keeping a watch on Garnier out of the corner of his eye. The Frenchman was moving with great deliberation, forcing Nate to eventually abandon his casual pace just to keep up, but Nate still did his best to avoid making it obvious he was tailing the scientist.
Getting the logistics worked out to beat Garnier to Reykjavik had been tricky, and they had had to rely heavily on Elena's press status and knack for hacking. Once she had nailed down which flight the Frenchman was on and it's arrival time at Keflavik, Sully had loaded them all in his plane and gunned it to the north. Nate had spent most of the trip snacking on a bag of stale caramel corn and bitching about the "criminally uncomfortable seats", until finally Sully had threatened to eject him.
"Don't make me use this," he had growled, pointing at a button labeled in red on the instrument panel.
Nate eyed it suspiciously, then looked at Sully. "It's fake- right?" His confidence faltered. "I mean, you can buy those things online with a peel-and-stick back."
Sully raised an eyebrow at him, his finger still hovering over the button, and his mustache twitched as his lips curled into a smirk.
A short staring contest ensued, until Nate frowned and slumped in his seat, crossing his arms on his chest. "Fine," he mumbled darkly.
They had arrived in Reykjavik a couple of hours before Garnier was scheduled to land, giving them just barely enough time to secure a rental car and drive the half hour or so out of the city to the international airport.
At the baggage claim, Nate followed Sully's advice, keeping his head down and making sure to keep a carousel between him and Garnier, glancing up every now and then to make sure he didn't slip out unnoticed. As he shoved a couple backpacks around, pretending to look for his own bag, he glimpsed the unmistakably styled mop of hair over the top of the carousel, and saw that Garnier was turning to leave. Quickly tossing the backpack aside, Nate fell in step about twenty feet behind the thin scientist, who was now towing a black hard-shell suitcase. He noticed the signs as they walked, and quietly spoke to Sully. "Okay. He's heading for the car rental. I'll meet you there."
"One stylish ride to the car rental, coming right up."
Nate smiled wryly and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't flatter yourself, Sully, you know style was never your strong point."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
As Garnier disappeared into Go Iceland rentals, Nate strode into the parking lot, quickly spotting their black Dacia Duster circling towards him. He jokingly stuck out his thumb as Sully rolled to a stop alongside him, then he jumped into the passenger's seat.
"What's not stylish about this, Nate?" Sully prodded as he chewed on the end of a cigar. He shifted into second as he pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Nate stared at him, smiling mischievously. "You know you're not supposed to smoke in this, right?"
"All too well," Sully replied. "That's why it's not lit, genius." He parked the car a short distance away on the side of the road and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Now, we wait."
"Hand me those binoculars, Elena," Nate said, turning to his wife in the backseat.
Elena fished the them out of a duffel that sat on the seat next to her and handed them to Nate.
As Nate looked intently through the binoculars at the entrance to Go Iceland car rentals, Sully gibed him. "You know that's not exactly inconspicuous?"
Nate lowered the binoculars and looked at him. "So... tell me if somebody's coming."
It was only a couple minutes later that Nate spotted Garnier come out of the building and climb into a red Ford Fiesta. He watched as the small car pulled out and headed for the exit of the parking lot.
"I got him," Nate said, tossing the binoculars onto the back seat. He pointed out the car as it left the lot, and Sully gently put their Duster in gear and rolled slowly down the street, waiting for Garnier put a little distance between them before falling in behind. They followed him north into the city, staying several car lengths behind him and keeping a vehicle between whenever possible. If Garnier had spotted them, he wasn't letting on.
As they drove through Reykjavik, passing tightly packed houses in bright pastel colors, Nate noticed a group of people standing outside an official-looking building, holding signs and banners. They were chanting something, but without speaking Icelandic, it was hard for him to know what.
"What's up with them?" he asked curiously.
Craning her neck to see over Nate, Elena answered, "There's been a major financial crisis going on here. It's all over the news- you know, banks crashing, national debt skyrocketing, that kind of thing?" She looked at Nate before she continued. "People are protesting in huge numbers, calling for the resignation of members of the government. It's big."
Nate nodded, watching the crowd of picketers out the back window. "I guess so."
Smiling smugly, Elena commented, "You would probably know all about it if you put some effort into staying current with anything going on in the world, instead of just what happened in it four hundred years ago."
Sully watched as a woman wearing a sign shoved a policeman who was trying to subdue the protesters. "Then again, maybe we're the smart ones," he said.
Garnier turned down an alley, and Sully slowed to try to see where he was headed. "Looks like our mad scientist got where he's trying to go," Elena said.
"Do you think it's a trap?" Sully asked. "Could he have spotted us?"
"I dunno," Nate said, and reached into the backseat to grab the duffel bag. He unzipped the main pocket and pulled out his leather shoulder holsters. "Only one way to find out." Shedding his jacket, he donned his holsters over his navy blue Henley.
"What are you doing?" Elena asked indignantly. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb wearing those!"
Nate stared at her. "What? You don't think people like them?" She huffed, and Nate turned his attention to Sully, "Find a place to park nearby. I'll scope it out and see what's up."
Stepping out of the car, he swung the door closed behind him and turned to face the narrow alley that Garnier had just turned into. As the Dacia pulled away, Nate walked carefully forward, wary of making any noise in case Garnier was just around the corner. Once off the street, he pulled out his gun and crept up to the corner of the nearest house. Peering stealthily around the corner, Nate tensed.
Garnier's bright red rental car sat in a small lot in between two of the houses, and at the rear of another house on the next block. Weeds grew from cracks in the dusty pavement, and a low wooden fence bordered the lawn of the house that faced the block over, with the Ford parked just in front of the gate. The grass was a little too high to give the impression that the house was anyone's full time residence, and the shrubs had begun to encroach on the walk that led to the back door. Nate's gaze wandered up the weathered clapboard siding with its peeling paint until it came to rest on a small balcony off the second floor of the visible side of the house. "That's worth a shot," he mumbled to himself.
Giving a look up the side of the house he was hiding against, he quickly planned out a route to the roof. He climbed up onto a planter box then jumped to an iron grate covering the second floor window, hoping all the while that he wouldn't be spotted from the street, and that no one was inside the house. From the grate, he flung himself up to catch the gutter, then hoisted his body up and rolled over onto the clay tiled roof. Standing, he cautiously approached the edge.
From here it was an easy jump to the neighboring balcony, maybe ten feet across and almost as many down. Breathing deep, Nate pushed off and landed on the balcony, bending his knees as he landed to help absorb the impact. Not wanting to accidentally roll and smash into the house, he allowed his body to drop into a squat, reaching out with one hand to steady himself as he broke his fall, but one knee came down a little too far and cracked painfully on the concrete. Nate sucked air through his teeth and gave a silent grunt against the pain. He leaped to his feet and pressed himself against the wall to the side of the door, rubbing his knee and waiting to see if anyone would come out of the house to investigate. After a minute or so of no one appearing he decided the coast must be clear, and quickly knelt down in front of the glass door and set to work picking the lock. Another minute and the lock was sprung, and Nate stepped inside, his gun drawn.
He found himself in a dusty bedroom with a steep A-framed ceiling, vacant except for a few dusty cardboard boxes crammed with paper over in the corner. The door was cracked, and he could hear voices drifting in from the spaces beyond. Silently, Nate tiptoed over to the door and out into a hallway that was open on one side onto a vaulted dining room on the first floor. Crouching low behind the railing, Nate looked over at the small gathering of people below.
"...as I said, there is plenty to merit your interest in this endeavor." Garnier was saying as he stood at one end of a worn oak table that glowed with a buttery patina from many years of use. "I did not come empty handed."
The man at the other end of the table was a striking character: not tall, but thickly built, with legs like tree trunks and bare arms that were dense with muscle. His face was partially obscured by a full, red beard, but Nate could see that one of his eyes looked funny, like maybe it had been injured at some point. A closely-cut mop of curly red hair graced the man's head. As the character leaned one forearm on the table, muscles rippled across his arms and chest, seeming about ready to burst the light blue sleeveless shirt and leather vest he wore. His mouth opened and he spoke in a voice like a lion, "Well? Don't keep me waiting! We haven't got all day, after all." His one uninjured eye gleamed with a lively spark.
"Of course." Garnier unzipped his suitcase and withdrew the astrolabe and the journal, setting both items on the table. "This, my dear Floki," the Frenchman said with ceremony, indicating the astrolabe, "is the key to Atlantis. And this-" motioning to the journal, "will tell us how to get there."
The man called Floki picked up the astrolabe with a gentleness that seemed like it was probably foreign to his powerful arms. As he held it aloft, admiring its composition in the light streaming through the window, the several men lounging around his end of the table all sat a little straighter to see the object as well. Nate noticed they were all in casual but rugged clothes, and each was toting a handgun at the hip.
"Ha!" Floki barked out a laugh. Then he began to chuckle, softly at first, but gradually increasing in volume and earnestness until he was outright howling. Nate's brows scrunched in confusion, but the big Scandinavian ended his laughing fit suddenly by forcefully placing the astrolabe down, earning a flinch from Garnier at the sound of the priceless artifact banging on the table hard enough to leave an impression in the wood. Floki leaned forward, palms flat on the table, and said in a voice sort of like a whisper and sort of like a low growl, "It looks about as much like a key as it looks like a pissing dog." His mouth turned up in a wide grin and he laughed once more. "I can only hope that that book will explain all of this."
"You won't be disappointed," Garnier said stiffly.
Floki grinned again and stood up, brushing his hands together. "I hope not, my diminutive friend." Nate almost laughed himself as he saw the French scientist bristle at the condescending address. Gesturing to the window, Floki continued as he began to pace, "You see those people out there? Idiots. All of them." Nate could not see the people out there, but guessed he was talking about the protesters on the streets. "They think they will make a difference with their ridiculous cardboard signs and marching around in the street. Me?" He pointed to himself, raising his eyebrows. "I know I will make a difference. If this is really what you think it is, the amount of treasure will be enough to not only stabilize my country's economy again, but to make it the most prosperous country on the whole wide world!" The twinkle had come back to his eye with a vengeance. "My revolution will make Iceland a world power, with me as its leader!"
Garnier shifted his weight from one foot to the other, evidently either bored or uncomfortable with Floki's monologuing. The redhead seemed to notice, as he turned to his smaller colleague with a smile.
"Oh. And, you know, I'll give you your due credit." He slapped the Frenchman on the shoulder a little harder than he probably appreciated.
Mathis flinched, then spoke in a low voice, "Just one thing, Floki,"
Floki raised one eyebrow, and gave an exaggerated bow. "Speak! Now! Or forever hold your peace."
Doing his best to be undaunted by the Scandinavian's antics, Garnier continued, "How many men can you bring to this?"
"Fifty, at my disposal," Floki said without hesitation.
Garnier frowned. "Is that all?"
Floki seemed amused by his question. "Did you require more?" he asked.
The scientist again shifted uncomfortably. "Not long ago, Drake single-handedly stopped an entire army that was on the hunt for Shambala. By comparison, fifty is a token force."
"It is not always size that matters," the redheaded brute grumbled in reply. "I would think someone of your stature would know that by now." A smile spread across his face as he watched the Frenchman's expression change to one of seething anger, then he turned and walked out of Nate's line of sight. When he reappeared he had a rocket launcher slung over his shoulder. "Have a little faith, my good friend," Floki concluded. "Our resources will surprise you."
Nate had just decided that he had better make his move soon when he suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun press into the back of his head, and he inwardly chided himself for getting too wrapped up in the scene before him and neglecting to watch his own back. Slowly, he lifted his hands, allowing his gun to dangle from the tip of one finger. After being relieved of his weapon, he was ordered onto his feet and led down a set of stairs to the first floor, where he was roughly shoved through a door and into the dining room. Everyone in the room turned to look as he came staggering in with the goon just behind him, still stabbing the end of his gun into the back of Nate's neck. As Nate caught his balance, he saw Garnier take a step backward, away from him, and slip Newton's journal into his pocket protectively.
"Caught a spy," the goon holding him at gunpoint declared. "He was creepin' around up on the balcony and listening in on your conversation."
Nate grimaced and held up his hands, arms bent at right angles. The man Floki looked at him, and then at his French accomplice. "Is this him?" he growled.
Garnier nodded his affirmation.
Floki grinned and walked toward Nate with slow, measured strides, his gait like the confident stalking of a jungle cat. Each carefully placed, heavy footfall seemed to make the whole house creak, and as he moved closer, Nate took in the ugly scar that had permanently closed his right eye, the hard, square jawline, and the tattoos that swelled on his bulging biceps as the man crossed his arms. "Nathan...Drake." He said slowly, shaking his head as if in cheerful disbelief, and then declared dramatically in his feral roar, "In the flesh!"
For a moment he just stared at Nate, smiling, and Nate returned his gaze with a level and unflinching glare. Then the big redhead abruptly shuffled his feet, shifting into a fighting stance, and threw a punch at Nate's midsection. Nate instinctively blocked the hit, raising his fists to meet any further attacks, but to his surprise, Floki just guffawed loudly in his face and slapped his shoulder.
"I just had to see if you were worth your reputation!" he shouted. "Turn's out you are! That was just a little bit of fun." The Scandinavian continued to chuckle, placing his hands on his hips, and even Nate laughed a little in spite of himself, partly from nervousness and partly from relief. Then, just as quick as the first time, Floki suddenly swung a powerful uppercut right into Nate's gut, catching him by surprise and causing him to double over in pain. "That one was for real," Floki added nonchalantly.
Nate clutched at his stomach and choked, still bent double and with the wind thoroughly knocked out of him. "Huh!- yep- I noticed," he wheezed, then coughed raggedly. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Nate stood up straight and looked his opponent in the eye again, his belly still aching from the punch. "C'mon. 'Sthat all you got?"
Floki regarded him curiously. "What brings you here, to my doorstep?"
Nate offered a dry chuckle. "Oh, you know, just came to take back what belongs to me."
"...that you stole just a few days ago," the redheaded beast said as an addendum.
Nate shrugged. "Welcome to the business. We do that kind of thing a lot."
Before anyone else could respond, an explosion rattled the timbers of the ramshackle house, causing everyone to take cover in reflex. Nate threw his hands over his head and glanced out the window, where he could see an overturned car that was rocking from the blast, flames leaping from its shell. It seemed the protests were turning into a riot.
"Sons of bitches!" Floki roared as he took in the sight just outside of his house.
Nate realized this was his chance and swiped the astrolabe from the table before turning and dispatching the thug who had had him at gunpoint with an elbow to the temple. The crack of bone on bone seemed to jolt the stunned occupants of the room back to their senses, and Garnier lunged at Nate, trying to reclaim the astrolabe or at least restrain him from escaping. Nate just rammed him up against a door frame, scraping the scientist off onto the hardwood floor, and ran for the closest window.
"Get him!" Floki bellowed.
But Nate was already flying through the air as the first bullets began to thud into the woodwork around him. Tucking his chin and lifting his shoulder to break the glass, he collided with the windowpane as the thugs shouted irately behind him.