The Sanctuary

Chapter 44

Corben forged ahead for about a mile, threading the Pathfinder through the early-afternoon traffic. On the seat next to him, Farouk writhed and groaned. The dealer kept checking his wound in disbelief, his blood-soaked hands pressing on it as Corben had told him to, all the time muttering to himself and lamenting his fate in Arabic.

Corben had one eye glued to his rearview mirror, but there was no sign of the hakeem’s men. He knew Farouk was in pain, but he needed him to hang on a little bit longer until Corben was sure they were safe. He finally veered off the main road close to the wide concrete canal of the now dry Beirut River, rumbled down a dusty alleyway, and pulled over by some shuttered old garages.

“Let me see it,” he told Farouk before reaching across and, carefully, checking his wound again. It was a clear in-and-out shot to his right flank, entering through his lower back and exiting just above his hip. Farouk wasn’t in huge pain, which probably meant his stomach and his liver hadn’t been hit, and given that he was still alive, it was a safe bet his aorta hadn’t been severed. But Corben knew there would be internal damage, and while Farouk’s bleeding wasn’t profuse, he was still losing blood.

Choices needed to be made.

Farouk’s breathing was coming in ragged, intense bursts. His eyes, wide with fear, looked to Corben for reassurance. “How is it?”

“It looks like it missed the important parts. You’re going to be fine.” Corben glanced around the car, but couldn’t find anything to give Farouk to hold against it. “Keep your hands pressed down on it. It’ll help stem the bleeding.”

Farouk put both hands on the wound and grimaced with pain. Sweat was trickling down his face, and his lips quivered as he spoke. “Do you know where the nearest hospital is?”

Which was what Corben had been considering.

“I don’t want to risk taking you to a hospital,” he told Farouk flatly. “These people have contacts everywhere. You won’t be safe there. I’m going to take you to the embassy. It’s only twenty minutes from here.”

Farouk’s expression went from perplexed to somewhat relieved. The embassy was a safe choice. They’d probably have the best doctors brought in.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, as if to shut out the world.

Corben slid the car into gear and drove off. “I need to know some things from you. Who’s after you?”

“I don’t know,” Farouk replied, wincing as the car hit a bump on the old, cracked asphalt.

“Well, you must have some idea. How did these people find out about the relics? How did they find you?”

Sinking lower into his seat, Farouk explained about Abu Barzan inviting him to broker his stash; about Hajj Ali Salloum finding a buyer; about Farouk’s saying the book with the tail-eater wasn’t part of the deal, Ali’s client wanting the whole collection, the killers showing up at Ali’s, and the power drill.

“Why didn’t you want to include the book in the sale?” Corben asked.

Farouk’s expression clouded with remorse and regret. “I knew Sitt Evelyn would want it, and that she’d help me in return.”

Corben nodded. “You were with her in Iraq when she found the underground chamber.” It was more a statement than a question.

Farouk first seemed a bit thrown that Corben knew as much, then he somewhat relaxed. “Yes. She spent a lot of time trying to understand what it meant. And when they killed Hajj Ali, I had to run, I knew that was what they were after, but I didn’t know why.”

Corben processed it quickly. It pretty much fit into his general take on what had happened, but he now had the full picture. But it left a crucial question unanswered.

“So where is it?”

“What?” Farouk seemed confused.

“The book. Where is it?”

Farouk winced, then said, “It’s in Iraq,” as if he expected Corben had known that all along.

Corben turned to him in surprise. “What?”

“Everything’s still with Abu Barzan, where else?” The words were tumbling out fast and desperate. “He wasn’t going to just hand anything over to me before I had the money to pay for it. He didn’t even bring the pieces to Baghdad, it was too dangerous to travel with them. He kept them in Mosul.”

“You told Ramez you had them,” Corben shot back.

“I told him I was selling them,” Farouk protested. “He must have assumed I had them here with me. They’re not mine.”

Corben scowled at the road ahead, thinking. He’d factored that in as a possibility, but he’d thought it more likely that Farouk had brought the book to Lebanon with him and kept it somewhere safe while he found Evelyn.

“This Abu Barzan. He’s in Iraq?”

“I think so,” Farouk answered weakly. “Probably back in Mosul.”

Corben fumed quietly, his mind racing. The option tree he’d considered before picking up Farouk had been chainsawed into obsolescence. “You have his phone number?”

“Of course.”

Corben pulled out his cell phone. “What is it?”

Farouk looked at him fearfully. “What do you want to tell him?”

“I’m not going to say anything. You’re going to talk to him. You’re going to tell him you have a buyer. That’s what he asked you for, isn’t it? Corben waved the information over with his hand. “What’s his number?”

As Corben dialed, Farouk suddenly felt uncomfortable with the man who had — or at least, so he claimed — rescued him. The same man who had, moments earlier, shoved a handgun in his face and bluffed with his life.

His head was spinning, his eyelids feeling heavier now, and the burning sensation in his midsection was getting more intense. He cursed his luck, he cursed fate and God himself and wished he could reset the clock, wished he’d never thought of Evelyn and her interest in the tail-eater, wished he’d left things well alone, passed on the goods to Ali’s buyers, flicked a kiss from his lips to his forehead in gratitude and taken the money.

Even Baghdad was better than this.

Corben listened for a moment, then handed him the phone. Farouk took it with a trembling hand. The distant, irregular whine rang in his ear.

After a couple of rings, Abu Barzan answered in his gruff, heavy smoker’s voice. “Who’s this?”

“Farouk.” He noticed that Abu Barzan’s voice had come across somewhat louder than normal, and he could hear a radio in the background. He thought he might be in a car.

“Farouk,” Abu Barzan boomed through, jovial as ever. “Where the hell are you?” He added a burst of jocular obscenities to describe his friend. “I tried calling you but your line’s dead.”

“I’m with a buyer,” Farouk said bluntly. “He wants the pieces.”

Corben glanced over at him. Somehow, Farouk managed to coax out a half-smile.

Corben drove on.

“You’re too late,” Abu Barzan informed him with a haughty chortle before throwing in another colorful insult. “I already sold them.”

The news hit Farouk like a tempest. “What do you mean, you sold them?” he flared up.

“I’m on my way to deliver them as we speak.”

Farouk’s heart rose. “So you still have them?”

“They’re right here with me.”

“Well, I’m telling you I have a buyer.” Farouk saw Corben turn at his alarmed tone and felt a surge of concern about Corben’s reaction. He tried to regain some composure and gave Corben a reassuring not-a-problem shake of the head.

“Well, sell him something else,” Abu Barzan was saying. “You’ve got a whole basement of priceless junk in that shop of yours, don’t you?”

“Listen to me,” Farouk hissed into the phone, trying not to appear perturbed and failing. “Some people are after one of the books you’re selling. Bad people. They killed Hajj Ali, they’ve killed others. They’ve kidnapped a friend of mine, a woman, because of it, and I’ve just been shot, do you understand me?”

“You’ve been shot?” More obscenities followed, though not at Farouk’s expense this time.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

Farouk coughed. “I’ll live.”

“Who’s been kidnapped then?”

“An American woman. An archaeologist, here in Beirut.”

“You’re in Beirut?”

“Yes,” Farouk replied, exasperated. “Look, these guys are serious. They’ll come after you.”

Abu Barzan shrugged. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, but it’s not my problem. I’m meeting my buyer tomorrow evening, I’ll hand them over and get paid, and then it’ll be his problem. But thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep my third eye open.”

Farouk scrunched his face and sighed heavily. He felt as if he were drowning from the inside. He wasn’t really surprised. Not only was Abu Barzan a grubby pig of a man, he was a sleazeball who’d sell his own children if he could find a buyer who wasn’t put off by their crappy genes after taking one look at him.

Farouk told Abu Barzan, “Stay on the line,” then turned to Corben, his mouth twitching with pain and frustration. “He says he’s sold them. He’s on his way to deliver them right now.”

Corben thought about it as he coaxed the car on, then said, “Does he still have the book?”

Farouk nodded and asked Abu Barzan about the book, describing it specifically. Abu Barzan replied that he thought he had it. The deal was for the entire consignment.

“Ask him how much he’s getting for the lot,” Corben told Farouk.

Farouk immediately realized it was the right play, nodded, and asked.

Abu Barzan laughed. “Your buyer’s got deep pockets?”

“Yes,” Farouk, at his wit’s end, insisted patiently.

The answer came back: “Three hundred thousand dollars. Cash.”

He told Corben and made a surprised, impressed face like That’s a huge offer.

Corben mulled it over, then said, “I’ll give him four.”

Farouk’s eyes widened. He relayed the offer.

Abu Barzan scoffed. “That was quick. This guy serious?”

“Of course he is.”

“He’d better be.” Abu Barzan’s tone was more serious now. When it came down to hard cash, he didn’t mess around. “So tell me. What’s so special about this book?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Farouk blurted angrily. “I’m just trying to save the woman’s life.”

“Spare me the soft sell, will you?” Abu Barzan took a deep, wheezy breath. “Alright. I’m interested. But I need to call my buyer. Least I can do is give him a chance to beat your guy’s offer.”

Farouk informed Corben. Corben asked him to find out how long it would take.

“He called me today,” Abu Barzan said. “I’ll call him now. What’s your number?”

Corben told Farouk to say they’d call him back in five minutes. Farouk did, then hung up as the Pathfinder turned off the main coastal highway. The foothills that harbored the embassy loomed in the distance.

Farouk curled into his seat and sucked in a deep breath, trying to push away the burning pain in his gut and taking solace in that he was still breathing and in the hope that — contrary to expectations — things might just end up better for him than they had for his friend Ali.