Raymond Khoury - The Sanctuary

She felt as if she were going to be sick.

His voice broke through her daze. “You said she lives across the street from here?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s kind of why I picked this place.”

“Okay. I need you to show me where that is. Let’s go over there now. I’ll have a quick look around, then we’ll come back here and pack your stuff up.”

Corben got out of his chair and put his hand out to help her up. Mia stood up and felt her legs go all rubbery. She clung to his arm while she regained her composure.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine. We’ll get her back.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she murmured back, thinking she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until this thing was well and truly over and she and her mother were safely ensconced in another continent.

The man in the lab coat sat back, his hawklike eyes scrutinizing Evelyn. He seemed confused by something.

“And so, this man,” he questioned acidly, “who’s desperate to sell some antiques, travels across two rather daunting borders to come and find you, even though — by your own admission — you haven’t seen him in over twenty years, you’re not a client of his, nor have you ever brokered pieces for him in the past. You see what I’m getting at?” He paused thoughtfully. “It really all comes right back down to my very first question, which is, why did he come to see you?”

Evelyn felt a chill slide down her spine. There’s no point in lying or in skirting the issue, she thought. He knows. Unsure whether she was doing herself a favor or digging her own grave, her voice faltered. “He knew I’d be interested in one of the pieces.”

His expression softened, as if a difficult barrier in their little chat had been overcome. His brows rose questioningly. “Which piece would that be?”

“A book,” she answered somberly.

“Ah.”

He nodded slowly and sat back, looking satisfied. He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “And why did he think you’d be interested?”

Evelyn cleared her throat. She told him about what happened in Al-Hillah in 1977. Getting called to the accidental discovery. The underground chambers. The remnants of what she believed was a secret society of some kind. She also told him about the Ouroboros. In the chamber, and on the book that Farouk was selling.

As she did, she studied her inquisitor’s face. Although he was clearly wholly intrigued by her story, she could tell that he already knew about the symbol. He asked if she had looked into this cabal, wanting to know what she had uncovered about them. She told him about the Brethren, about the similarities in the documents and the discrepancy in the locales. The truth was that there wasn’t much to tell. Her research had hit a wall. It was as if the cabal from the underground chamber had simply vanished.

Evelyn went quiet. She’d told him everything she knew, except for one thing. She’d kept Tom out of it. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to mention him. Tom hadn’t specifically asked her not to mention his interest to anyone. But she knew. She knew he hadn’t been truthful with her. She knew he hadn’t told her why he was really there, what had really brought him out there, what he really knew about this long-lost cabal. And right now, sitting with her wrists and ankles cuffed to a metal chair in a windowless chamber, she knew that the man facing her was after whatever it was Tom was chasing all those many years ago. And that, therefore, if the man facing her ever found out about Tom, he’d be more than interested in extending him the same invitation that he’d inflicted on her.

Thinking about it, she felt a slight stab of anger. Of betrayal. What did Tom really know? And — more to the point — did he know that others were also interested in the cabal? Others who were, shall we say, less than amiable? If Tom had told her everything he knew, would she have been any safer? Would she have done anything differently? She wasn’t sure it would have made any difference. It was all so long ago.

Despite her misgivings, and after all those years, she still felt an urge to protect him. Which was something she couldn’t quite explain. It was just…there. An instinct that defied her self-preservation instincts.

Oddly, it made her feel better, knowing she was keeping something back from her inquisitor. Knowing she was resisting him in some way. A small victory, of sorts.

Unfortunately, he seemed to sense it. Something crossed his face, then he asked, “And so you gave up on it and moved on to new areas of research?”

“Yes,” she confirmed flatly.

He studied her. She held his gaze with as candid an expression as she could muster, hoping the anxiety rushing through her wasn’t breaking through, before dropping her eyes and looking away.

“Who else knows about your find?” he asked.

The question, though expected, rattled her. She tried to stifle the unease. “No one.” That came out too defensively, she suddenly thought. Plus it was blatantly wrong, and he’d know that, for sure. “I mean, the people I worked with on the dig, the other archaeologists and the volunteers, of course,” she clumsily added. “And I asked around at the university in Baghdad, and with other contacts.” She wasn’t sure if that first “No one” had come out too quickly.

The man in the lab coat stared at her with a disturbingly penetrating gaze. It was as if he was inside her mind, she could feel him rummaging around in there, and she wanted him out. He finally nodded and leaned over. “May I?” He picked up the rubber strap.

Evelyn flinched. “What are you doing?”

He held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I’m just going to draw some blood from you. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She moved her arm left and right to try to impede him. “No, please, don’t—”

He lashed out and grabbed her by the jaw again, only this time his grip was as tight as a vise. His eyes hardened to cold steel as he leaned menacingly forward to within inches of her. He hissed out his words slowly. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.” He held her there for a breathless moment, letting the point sink in, then unclamped her and went about wrapping the rubber strap around her arm, above the elbow.

Evelyn just sat there, shocked into silence, and watched him do it.

He held her arm open and tapped it with his long, thin fingers. A vein pulsed out welcomingly. He reached over and picked up the syringe. Without even glancing at Evelyn, he pricked the needle carefully into the vein. With an efficient touch, he flicked the rubber strap off her arm to allow the blood to flow back into it. He gave it a moment, then started pulling back on the plunger slowly, sucking out her blood.

Evelyn felt the nausea rising in her throat. She looked away, to the far wall across the room, trying to block out the unpleasant sensation.

“This wasn’t a bad start,” he noted casually. “Unfortunately, I’m going to need to ask you some more pointed questions. To start with, I need to know who else knows of your interest in this lost group. I also need to know exactly what our little dealer friend told you, as far as where he got the artifacts from and, more importantly, where he’s keeping them. And finally, I need to know where to find him. Now before you answer any of my questions, I would ask you to be as forthcoming and as detailed as you possibly can. The options at my disposal for inflicting pain on you are too numerous to mention, and I would very much prefer you not to have to explore them. Besides, I really don’t want to damage you. You seem to be in reasonably good health. A lifetime of physical work that’s not too intense such as yours is probably the best regimen to follow. You could be very useful to my work. But I do need some answers, and if I have to entice the truth out of you forcibly, I suppose some localized damage won’t really affect the usefulness of the rest of you.”