Raymond Khoury - The Sanctuary

Corben shrugged. “I guess we’ll know in four hours’ time.”

“He should’ve picked up his phone,” she insisted.

Corben turned to her. “This is good. At least he’s made contact.”

Mia took in a deep breath and settled back in her seat, trying to subdue the methodical, analytic scientist inside her, but there were too many unknowns, too many possible variants, for her to switch off. “What if Farouk’s watching him? You don’t want to scare him off.”

“If he’s watching, he’ll see you,” Corben reassured her. “And that should give him some comfort, maybe even encourage him to come out.”

Mia nodded to herself and turned away, looking ahead as the street tore past. She didn’t like the silence. It allowed her to take stock of what she was actually doing, and with that came apprehension. She thought again of her mom, of what she must be feeling. She tried to calm herself by thinking forward and imagining a best-case, uneventful scenario — they pick up Ramez, Farouk calls, he’s brought in, and either they act on his information to track down the hakeem and free Evelyn, or they get the smuggled pieces and trade them for her freedom, and everyone lives happily ever after. But her mind refused to cooperate, insisting instead on fleshing out outcomes that were far less rosy and, despite her best efforts to block them, involved a lot of suffering and a disturbing number of deaths.

Corben made a right turn at the bottom of Rue Abdel Aziz onto the tail end of Bliss and turned into the circular driveway of the main entrance to the university. The Medical Gate, as it was known, was shrouded in darkness at all times of day by the sweeping canopy of a gargantuan, ancient banyan tree. He pulled right up to the cast-iron gate. Vehicular access to the campus was tightly controlled due to the local penchant for car bombs, but Corben’s Jeep had the diplomatic 104 plates that indicated it was affiliated to the U.S. embassy and enjoyed special privileges. Sure enough, the guard manning the gatehouse spotted the plates and, after a cursory glance inside the car, waved them in.

They pulled into a parking spot under a row of stately cypress trees up the road from Post Hall. Mia felt her nerves tingling as she followed Corben out of the car. She noticed him look around as if to make sure no one was watching before he opened the SUV’s tailgate. The trunk was bare, aside for a latch in its carpeted floor, which Corben unlocked. He gave the surroundings another quick once-over before opening the concealed lid. Neatly strapped into place and tucked away inside the compartment was a small armory: shotgun, submachine gun, a couple of automatics, and several boxes of rounds. The tingle grew more pronounced as Corben pulled out one of the handguns, rammed a full magazine in, and tucked it into his belt underneath his jacket.

He slammed the lid shut and seemed to spot the apprehension in her expression. “Just in case,” he reassured her.

“Good idea,” she muttered, unsure whether to feel relieved that he was armed this time.

They walked past a couple of students who were hanging out before class and entered the old stone building. There was no receptionist in the lobby — the Archaeology Department was small, with no more than a dozen or so full-time staff. Mia knew that Evelyn’s office was on the upper floor and led Corben past the empty lecture hall and the entrance to the campus museum and up the stairs.

They checked the rooms as they walked down the corridor until they came to Ramez’s office. His door was open. The assistant professor’s face lit up with alarm when he spotted them, then his expression turned to confusion as he seemed to recognize Mia.

“I’m Evelyn’s daughter.” She smiled, trying to put him at ease. “We met here before, remember? In her office?”

“Of course.” His eyes were still fearful as they darted from her to Corben and back. He wanted to mouth some more words, but Corben didn’t give him that chance and took over.

“I’m with the American embassy,” Corben informed him flatly. “We’re trying to find Evelyn, and we’re hoping you can help us. The Fuhud detectives you called up told me about the man who came to see you yesterday, Farouk. We really need to talk to him to see if he can help us secure her release.”

“He’s going to call me at noon.” Ramez’s voice quivered uncomfortably.

Corben pointed at the cell phone on the desk. “That one?”

Ramez nodded. “They said they were coming here. They said they’d tell me what to say.”

“I’d prefer it if you came with us to the embassy,” Corben said. “You’ll be safer there. Just until we bring Farouk in.”

Ramez’s eyes widened at the mention, and he took an instinctive step backwards. “Safer?”

“Just a precaution,” Corben assured him. “We don’t know how well connected these guys are, but they seem to know what they’re doing. They’re also looking for Farouk. I can’t guarantee your safety anywhere else.” He paused, clearly letting the warning sink in.

From the grim expression on Ramez’s face, it seemed to have sunk him with it.

“We should go,” Corben told him soberly as he stepped to the desk and picked up the phone. He handed it to Ramez, who took it, looked at it for a moment, and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll let the detectives know you’re with us.” He saw some lingering anxiety in the assistant professor’s eyes. “You’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Ramez glanced at Mia. She gave him a small nod and a supportive half-smile. He shrugged and nodded back with grim acceptance.

Corben led the way as they exited the building and walked back to the car. He scanned the quiet surroundings — the university’s campus was an oasis of tranquillity even during the worst of times — as he ushered Ramez into the backseat. Moments later, the big gates parted again and the big gray Cherokee rejoined the noisy streets of Beirut.

Corben waited for a couple of cars to pass before cutting across Rue Bliss in the opposite direction and heading up the big, open intersection that fronted the university’s entrance. He glanced in the mirror at Ramez and reached for his cell phone to call the Fuhud detectives. The assistant professor was staring nervously ahead, his face riven with unease — and just then, something else rushed into the mirror, a dark shadow accompanied by a strained engine growl and an earsplitting screech of tires, and a split second later, something rammed the Cherokee full force from behind.

Corben’s hands tightened against the steering wheel as the Jeep lurched forward from the collision, the power of the impact launching Mia and Ramez against their seat belts as they screamed in panic.

Corben flicked a glance through his mirror and saw the car, a large, dark Mercedes that he recognized from outside Evelyn’s apartment, fall back a bit as the Cherokee disengaged briefly from its attacker, the momentum of the hit propelling it forward, but before he could floor the pedal to try to outrun them, the charging car screamed forward and rammed the back of the Cherokee again, hitting it at a slight angle this time and sending it swerving wide and out of control. The parked cars to their right flashed past in a blur before the Cherokee’s front bumper clipped one of them and spun on itself, plowing into the small gap between two of the cars, its air bags popping open and slamming into Corben and Mia as the big SUV bulldozed through the cars in an orgy of mangled steel and exploding rubber before skidding to a lung-wrenching stop.

Less than five seconds had passed from the moment of the first impact.

Dazed, his vision blurred and his ears ringing, Corben heard the attacking car screeching to a halt somewhere nearby, off to his left. He knew they had seconds to live if they didn’t move with lightning speed. He couldn’t see anything out of the windshield, which had spider-webbed, but his own window was open and he saw the doors to the attackers’ car swing open and armed men emerging, one of them, the pockmarked man he recognized from the chase outside Evelyn’s apartment, spewing out loud orders in Arabic. Corben shot a glance at Mia, who looked shell-shocked but seemed unhurt, next to him, an air bag pinning her against her seat, and pulled out his gun. Without flinching, he put a bullet in his air bag, then one in hers. They flattened with a sudden outpouring of air. Crouching low, he swung his arm towards his window and loosed a few rounds at the hit men, sending them scattering for cover as he yelled to Mia, “Get out, that way, go!” and stabbed a finger towards her door.