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Istanbul sucks.
Well… Okay, so the architecture is gorgeous… and it was the capital of the Byzantine and Ottoman empires… and it’s got so much history behind it that Nate could search the city for decades and still not find every secret…
… well, alright. Nate supposes that Istanbul doesn’t suck. But this prison? This random piece of cement, plopped down in Who-Knows-Where, Turkey?
Nate definitely isn’t a fan. And it seems his cellmates don’t want him there any more than he does.
“Aside,” someone hisses, and Nathan has been through this enough to know to get lost. Fast.
And he’s right to move. The man gives no further warning before using the communal… facilities… to empty his bladder . (It’s a bucket. They’re expected to use a bucket. ) All things considered, Nate is lucky. Some of his cellmates don’t have the courtesy to warn him. They just go, and Nathan has to scramble away.
It bears asking why Nate is always sitting by the bucket. Nate wonders the same thing. But it seems that, in a cell containing eight inmates, space is a hard-fought commodity. No one wants to sit by the bucket. Only the loser of many, many physical altercations would sit by it.
Which Nate unfortunately is. He lost his first fight to a man with biceps the size of Nate’s torso. And after a beating like that, it didn’t take a particularly strong man to shove Nate to the Bucket Corner. Until Nate heals up from his first week in prison, he has no intention of fighting for a better location to sit and be upset in.
“Don’t worry, friend. Someone new will take your place. I’ve seen it a million times before.”
Nathan sighs. He doesn’t know how exactly to feel about Yusuf talking to him again, but the words “why me” run through his head.
“Yes,” Yusuf continues. “Most men only spend a few days in the Bucket Corner. The most I’ve ever seen was… Well, it was eight months. But that’s still not bad! Just hear me out-”
Nate stops listening. Yusuf means well, but he likes the sound of his own voice a little too much. (Yes, that’s hypocritical coming from Nate, but… This guy just really likes to talk, okay?)
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.
Saved by the dinner bell. Feels a little early for dinner, but-
“Drake!”
Uh oh.
“Drake!”
“Coming!” Nathan calls, nearly tripping over the bucket in his haste to get up. He tiptoes around his cellmates, doing his best not to step on any hands. (He’d pay for that, almost certainly.) “Finally realize that I’m innocent? Here to apologize?”
The guard guffaws, and Nate’s stomach drops to his shoes. You know it’s bad when the prison guard is guffawing. “No.” And then he provides no alternative explanation. He just pulls the cell door open and lets Nate out.
“Oh, okay,” Nathan replies, holding out his hands to be cuffed. “It’s a surprise release, right? You’re having a party for me, aren’t’cha?”
The guard doesn’t reply, locking the cell door and cuffing Nate’s hands. He silently prods Nate forward, towards the staircase.
“Playing quiet, huh? That’s okay,” Nathan assures him. “You’re probably bad at keeping secrets. Bet you can barely hold it in.”
“You talk too much.”
Oh my god, Nate thinks in horror. I’m Yusuf.
They walk down the stairs, across the prison yard, and into a nondescript gray building. Nathan hasn’t been to this building before. Absently, he wonders if this is where they keep the electric chair.
The inside of the building is just as unremarkable as the outside. Plain walls, buzzing light fixtures, and the occasional set of iron bars. But Nate has yet to find a single cell, which only makes his concern about execution grow.
“Hey, uh, this building isn’t… It’s not for death sentences or anything, right?”
Another grunt from Mr. Guard the Incredibly Unhelpful. But he does stop Nathan with a tug on his shoulder. Then he unlocks a door and pushes Nathan inside the room.
“Sit,” Mr. Guard orders.
Nate sits in the banged-up metal folding chair. He recognizes this room from every movie ever. The glass window, the telephones, the room on the other side. He’s in a visitation room.
Hope leaps in Nathan’s chest. Because who would want to talk to him? No one.
No one, save one man. Victor Sullivan. Sully, to his friends, which Nate is.
“This is a visit,” Nathan announces, and Mr. Guard remains silent. “Who’s visiting? Is it an old guy, hell of a mustache, smells like old cigars?”
“Stop talking. Sit and wait.”
“Fine,” Nate mutters. “Killjoy.”
But he’s not actually disappointed, because Sully found him. Nathan hadn’t even told Sully about this job. It was a last-second gig. By all accounts, Sully shouldn’t have noticed him missing for another week or so. But Sully is Sully. Of course he noticed. He’s the best in the biz.
Through the window, Nate can see the door open and a burly guard enter. A second person walks in behind him, and the second Nate sees the ridiculous flashlight holster on their leg, he goes dizzy with rage.
Yes, Harry Flynn is taking a seat at the window, picking up the phone and patiently waiting for Nathan to do the same.
Harry Flynn. The man who betrayed Nate. The guy who convinced Nate to steal Marco Polo’s lamp, only to set off the alarms once Nate figured out the next step in the treasure hunt.
Nate almost walks out right then and there.
But he’s been planning this moment. He’s had plenty of long nights curled up by a rusty chamber pot. Plenty of long days getting shoved aside and ordered around. Plenty of time to come up with a million and one things to say. It would really be a waste to let an opportunity like this pass him by.
Begrudgingly, Nathan picks up the phone. Glaring daggers through the glass, he hisses, “Go to hell.”
Flynn’s mask of indifference warps to one of infuriating amusement. “Oh, very clever. How long did it take you to come up with that one?”
Five seconds. Because Nate suddenly forgot his plan to tell Flynn just what an ass he was and how his ugliness rivaled that of a medieval barber and that Flynn ought to open up a fertilizer business with all the shit that came out of his mouth. No, in the moment, “go to hell” was the best Nate could do, even with fifteen rehearsed speeches in the back of his mind.
“You’re ugly.”
There we go. That’s pretty close to the original script.
“Are you going to keep throwing insults at me?”
“What are you doing here?” Nathan growls. “Did you get stuck again? Need someone with a brain to do your job for you?”
Flynn laughs like that isn’t 100% what happened the first time. “No. This is a warning.”
“I’m already in jail, Flynn. What else can you do? Spit in my nutraloaf?”
“Funny.” Though Flynn doesn’t seem at all amused, voice going flat and eyes narrowing. “No. I’m telling you to keep away.”
Nate shakes his cuffed hand, dangling pathetically from the hand holding the phone. “Yeah, I’ll do my best to keep my distance.”
“No, I’m serious,” Flynn insists. “You're in jail, but I know you. Regardless of how it happens, you will be out of here and harrassing me. I’m telling you now to leave it alone.”
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, and I appreciate the personal visit, but you flaunting your freedom kinda makes me want to find Marco Polo’s fleet more.”
“Don’t,” Flynn hisses. And for a moment, the ice melts from his eyes. Fear pulls on his lips. “I’m working with someone, and he's not… He won't hesitate, Drake. You and me, we hate each other, but we aren't out to kill anyone.”
“You're seriously underestimating how much I hate Turkish prison.”
“Don't tell me you really want to kill me.”
Nate doesn't have a genuine response, and Flynn has made his point.
“This guy isn't like us, Drake. So stay out of this.”
“Get me out of here, and I’ll consider it.”
Flynn stands. “Stay away,” he warns one last time before hanging up the phone.
Nate doesn't know who Flynn’s partner is, but whoever it is must have shaken Flynn. The guy's a scumbag, so for him to be fearful enough to visit Nate? In Istanbul? In a prison? After getting Nate arrested in the first place?
Well. His partner must be extra powerful.
But Nathan is curious now, and curiosity has never sat well with him. What could Marco Polo have hidden on that fleet?
Already, Nate begins planning a great escape, followed by a treasure hunt against a man fearsome enough to scare Harry Flynn. It's a terrible idea.
Nate can't wait.