PANAMA CITY, PANAMA, SOME TIME LATER
Nate showed up early for the swap, walking past the entrance to the small courtyard watering hole a couple of times to scope the place out. The place was run-down, half the bright aqua paint chipped off the bricks, a handful of mismatched tables with mismatched chairs in a ragged patch of sun. A few silent locals were parked at the bar set under one of the yard’s arches, hunched over their drinks. A tiny old woman swept the rough stones with a straw broom.
Nate sat on the splintered stairs of an apartment building across the street and read the paper, watching the entrance. A pair of beefy-looking men went in together about ten minutes before the scheduled appointment and took one of the tables near the back. They ordered beer and played casual, but they were not-so-subtly watching the entrance.
A big guy with a ton of swagger and a black eyepatch showed up next, and sat alone at a table at the back wall, facing forward. Gage, presumably; that was the name Nate had been given. He had a gun on his belt and looked hard, mean… but his eyepatch glittered, like it had been bedazzled. Nate smirked and took his time reading an article about stolen antiquities. The writer, one Elena Fisher, really knew her stuff.
Nate waited until he was fashionably late and then folded the paper, sticking it into his bag. Time to see what Eyepatch and his buddies had to say for themselves.
He walked into the courtyard and headed straight to Gage’s table. He looked low-rent but there was a good cigar sticking out of his breast pocket and his clothes were quality. The guy glared at him with his good eye, and Nate saw that his black patch was studded with tiny diamonds, in the shape of a skull.
“You’re late,” Gage rumbled.
Nate dropped his bag on the ground and sat. “The patch is a little much, don’t you think? I mean, we get it, you’re a pirate.”
The man lifted the patch, revealing a badly injured, closed eye. “Ouch,” Nate said, wincing. “Sorry, pal.”
“Let’s see it.” Gage’s voice was a violent growl. No small talk, then. “You first,” Nate said.
Gage set a folded old map on the table in front of him. Nate could see the writing on the back, in spidery German, noted the condition of the paper, and felt his heartrate pick up. Yeah, that was the one.
Nate reached into his pants pocket and came up with what Gage’s boss had asked for in exchange, holding it tightly. He didn’t want to put it down… but the map was important, bigger than Elcano’s journal, even.
I’ll get it back. Nate opened his fist, let Sam’s ring on its cord settle to the table.
“Why do you want the map, Drake?” Gage asked. “It leads nowhere.”
“Why does your boss want my ring?”
Gage sneered. “Because he knows it means something to you.”
The thug took Sam’s ring and immediately put it on, grinning, chin up and chest out. Nate resisted the urge to snap it off his ugly thick neck, and reached for the map instead.
Gage stood up, and his buddies at the other table did the same. The duo had guns out, menacing black semis trained on Nate.
“Now, you’re gonna tell me what’s so important about an old Nazi map,” Gage commanded, and Nate heard a round being chambered somewhere behind him, and a familiar, extremely welcome voice.
“Put ’em down, boys,” Sully said. “Nice and slow.”
About damned time. Nate turned to welcome his last-minute savior—and burst out laughing. Sully stood coolly in the bright sunlight, a sleek pistol in one hand, a heavy pack on his shoulder, and—
“What is that thing on your face?”
Sully frowned, keeping his gaze on the pair of goons, who hadn’t lowered their weapons. Since the last time they’d met, Sully had opted to grow himself a thick, bristling mustache.
“How about we focus on the task at hand?” Sully’s voice was extra dry. “Kinda hard to focus with that creature on your lip, watching.”
Gage went for the gun on his belt, a sudden burst of motion, and Nate moved just as fast. He slammed the table into the big man’s gut and gun hand, hard. Even as Gage dropped his weapon, Nate was out of his chair and scooping it up.
He whirled around to stand behind Gage, putting the muzzle to his temple.
“Let’s call it even,” Nate said. “You got what you want, I got what I want.” Gage nodded at the twins, who lowered their guns and sat down again.
Nate reached into his hostage’s breast pocket, very precisely, and extracted the cigar. He tossed it to Sully.
Sully Aexed his ’stache over it and nodded. “Montecristo. I’m impressed.”
“You’ll be dead before you can smoke it,” said the man with the gun to his head.
“No I won’t,” Sully said. “I’m firing this sucker up the second I walk out that door.”
Nate picked up his bag and grabbed the map, backing toward Sully. “This was fun, we should do it again.”
Gage reached for the ring around his neck, and came up empty. He looked down, confused.
Nate let the ring dangle from his fingers on its cord, unable to help a wide grin. The lift had been smooth as glass. “Oh, look at that.”
Gage’s good eye was murderous. “I got people everywhere, Drake.”
Nate and Sully slowly backed for the exit, Sully covering the duo while Nate kept his new semi aimed on its previous owner.
“You were supposed to be here yesterday,” Nate said.
“Did you know you need special papers to bring an animal on a plane?” Sully asked. “I did not know that.”
Sully’s big shoulder pack took the occasion to meow softly. Nate risked a glance, saw silky fur and glowing eyes through the netting on the back.
“So I almost bought it because of your cat?”
“What are you talking about? He did great. Didn’t you, Mr. Whiskers? Now, let’s see that map.”
Nate handed it to him, swinging his semi to cover the gunmen as Sully took a look.
“Goddamn, kid, this is the big one,” Sully breathed, but Nate didn’t bother to confirm. They were at the exit, and Gage and his goons were looking more and more pissed off. Time to turn and run for it.
Nate grinned, ready for whatever came next.
