Uncharted The Fourth Labyrinth - By Christopher Golden Page 0,126
labyrinth. If she cared only for the white hellebore, she’d have turned around the moment we found it as we entered Diyu. But she wants that gold.”
Drake scowled. “While all you want is to sell mind control to whichever government is the highest bidder.”
Henriksen shrugged. “Someone’s going to profit from this. I’d rather it were me.”
Jada took a step backward. “This is what my father wanted to stop,” she said, staring at him.
“I have no doubt,” Henriksen agreed. “But I’m not some James Bond villain, Jada. It’s not as if I’m going to try to take over the world. I’m only a businessman.”
“Do you have any idea what this could be used for?” Jada demanded. “Think of the espionage applications. Dosing world leaders so you could control their decisions. Never mind the military uses. You know that soldiers would be experimented on. And what about dictatorships that want more pliable people?”
“As I said,” Henriksen replied, “someone’s going to do it.”
“Unless we destroy the white hellebore,” Jada said. “Burn it all.”
Henriksen clenched his fists. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“Whoa!” Drake said, dropping his hand to the gun on his belt. “Let’s all take a breath, okay?” He shone his flashlight at Jada and saw the emotions wracking her features. “Henriksen might not be a world conqueror, but right now, we have no idea what Olivia has in mind.”
“Oh, make no mistake,” Henriksen said. “If whoever she hires for the science can synthesize the chemicals, there’s nothing Olivia would like more than to have presidents and despots as her puppets.”
Drake glanced back and forth between them. “Our goals haven’t changed. I’m here for Sully.”
“I’m here for my father,” Jada corrected him. “I love my Uncle Vic, but I’m here to stop Henriksen—or my stepmother—from getting what they want.”
“Just hang on!” Drake snapped. “Do not fight this fight right now. We have two choices, all three of us. We go forward or we go back. If Sully’s really still alive, I’m not leaving here without him, and I’m guessing both of you need to know what’s at the heart of this place, yes?”
“I’m not going back,” Jada said.
Henriksen’s eyes blazed with his own intent.
“Then let’s get going,” Drake said. “One fight at a time.”
They had lost time with revelations and argument, and as they renewed their exploration of Diyu, Drake felt constantly aware of the darkness they’d left behind. Every shadow and crevice breathed with menace because they had no idea how many hooded men might remain, but the longer they went without being attacked, the more his main concern became Olivia and the surviving mercenaries. It had sounded like Massarsky had taken charge when Perkins had been killed. He’d seemed okay for a guy who used his military training as a soldier for hire, and maybe a killer for hire if the price was right. But Drake had a feeling they wouldn’t be having a beer together anytime soon.
They moved swiftly, making fewer wrong turns, working half on instinct now. Jada froze Henriksen out as if he weren’t there at all, and that sat just fine with Drake. If the two of them weren’t talking, it meant he didn’t have to worry about breaking up a fight. Having to walk through three additional torture chambers—they were more plentiful down in the twisted bowels of the maze—only put more of a damper on any idle conversation. No one was feeling chatty except for Drake, and even he stopped trying to fill the silence after a while.
When they discovered the living quarters of the Protectors of the Hidden Word, they drew their guns and didn’t holster them again. Yet amid the stone chambers—filled with wooden frame walls and floor platforms, as well as blankets and makeshift beds from a variety of eras—they met no resistance. Drake tried counting rooms and beds but decided the quicker they left the place, the better.
“Nate, do you hear it?” Jada whispered, her breathing low and even, her gaze shifting about with a new degree of skittishness.
Drake nodded. They could hear the sound of running water, but not from pipes. He led the way with his flashlight, and at the rear of the warren of rooms that made up the living quarters, he found a small door that led into a natural fissure. The smell hit him even before he entered, and he knew he’d found what passed for a bathroom. Twenty feet below, a narrow river sliced through rock, rushing along an underground course it must have