Raymond Khoury - The Sanctuary

Mia felt a tightening in her chest. She knew she’d already used up whatever karmic goodwill she had coming to her in the last couple of days. Staying on was simply tempting fate, and, thinking about it, his suggestion, however deflating, made perfect sense to her. But then again, it wasn’t about rational thinking. She couldn’t leave. It was as simple as that. She knew she wasn’t safe here; she wasn’t even sure she had anything to contribute to finding her mom. But she was part of it. She felt connected not just to Evelyn, but to Ramez and Farouk and their struggle for survival. She felt connected to the city and to its people, and — there was no denying it — to the perverse and dangerous visceral elation that coursed through her when bullets were flying and when she was running for her life.

Beset by a confusing cocktail of dismay and relief, unsure about which instinct to follow, she looked at Corben. “Just do your best then,” she finally muttered, not really wanting to debate the issue right now. “I can’t ask for more.”

“You got it.” He paused, then nodded reassuringly. “We’ll get her back.”

She knew it wasn’t a certainty. Far from it.

The odds were against it.

A deep sense of loss swooped down on her, and she turned and looked out the window as the city flew past her in a sun-drenched concrete blur.

Corben found Mia a workstation in a small, unoccupied room by the press office, where she could make her calls and use the Internet.

He told her that given the urgency of Farouk’s expected call and the live state of play, he’d have someone arrange for her to stay at a hotel or in an embassy safe house, and that he’d have someone watching over her in either case. He’d also have her stuff sent over from his apartment as soon as he had a chance to go there himself, but that in the meantime, to let him know if there was anything she needed.

He left her in the annex and crossed the courtyard leading to the main villa and the ambassador’s office.

The thought of Mia discussing the Polaroids with her historian colleague flashed through his mind. It worried him slightly, but he didn’t think it was avoidable. He would have preferred it if she’d agreed to leave the country. The hakeem and his men weren’t pulling punches, regardless of the fallout. And aside from her being able to positively identify Farouk, Corben didn’t really think she could bring anything more to the table. Still, he knew she’d be staying. And it aroused mixed feelings inside him.

Despite the context, he’d enjoyed her company. She was good-looking and smart, and she was American. It made a change from the local casual companions he’d been hooking up with since he’d been posted to this little corner of the planet. Beirut didn’t lack in women — far from it, in fact, due to the huge number of men who left the country in search of a decent paycheck and a slightly reduced risk of death by shrapnel — and Corben was an attractive, available man. And with sexual electricity bouncing off the walls all across the city due to the constant — and in the case of the previous summer, realized — threat of war, his dance card was pretty well filled. But the job meant that his personal life had its limitations. Casual encounters never went beyond just that, and he knew nothing would have come out of being with Mia either, even if this thing hadn’t erupted around them. Which suited him fine.

He wasn’t exactly a nesting kind of guy.

He climbed the stairs that led up to the ambassador’s office. Although he would have preferred not to waste time on such a meeting now, he had to brief his boss on the morning’s events. He didn’t really want to confer with anyone at the embassy at all, but he couldn’t avoid the meeting. The shoot-out had been too visible, too glaring to be sidelined. So he was annoyed to discover that, as well as the head of station, the ambassador and Kirkwood would also be attending. He knew the next few hours were critical, and the last thing he needed was any unwarranted interference.

He was let in immediately, greeted the men, and took a seat facing the ambassador’s desk.

He weighed his words carefully. Which wasn’t a problem.

It was second nature to him.

He told them about Ramez’s abduction, painting Farouk as a dealer-turned-smuggler who knew Evelyn and had sought her help in selling the relics. He left out any mention of the book, and of its the connection to the hakeem, and surmised that some rival smugglers who were after the hoard had Evelyn and were after Farouk too. He told them about the call at noon, and about what he planned to do to try to get to Farouk first, in the hope of finding out who had Evelyn and having some leverage over getting her back.

None of this was ideal. He didn’t really want any interference. Even less ideal was that he wasn’t sure about Kirkwood. The man’s abrupt arrival and his keen interest had triggered some warning bells inside Corben, ones he had long ago learned to trust. He sensed the man was keeping something from them.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to look into it now.

From a window on the first floor, Kirkwood watched Corben head back to the annex.

He was already at the embassy when the call had come in informing the ambassador of the armed attack outside the university.

Another overt attempt, in broad daylight and in a crowded part of town this time.

Things were spiraling out of control.

He had to move with care.

Corben had walked him down to his office after their initial meeting with the ambassador the day before. He’d sensed that Corben wasn’t going to be particularly open or forthcoming, but then he expected that, given what the man did for a living. Obfuscation and deceit were to be expected. These guys couldn’t even share information with other law enforcement agencies. Still, Corben had agreed to let him check out the Polaroids, and seeing the photo of the codex had confirmed his suspicions. The two events — the call from the scout in Iraq, out of the blue, a little over a week ago, telling him about the book, and Evelyn’s call to the Haldane switchboard, five days later — were connected.

He played things out in his mind and didn’t doubt that whoever had kidnapped Evelyn Bishop was after the same thing he was. Someone else out there had, somehow, found out about it and was clearly willing to do whatever it took to get his hands on it.

Which complicated matters for Kirkwood.

He had some strong cards to play. But they involved trade-offs, and besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be given a chance to play them.

He pulled out his mobile phone and, making sure no one was within earshot, hit a speed-dial key. It took a few seconds for the signal to bounce off a couple of satellites before the slightly crackly, foreign ring-tone whined through. Two rings and it was answered by a man with a beefy, throaty voice.

“How’s it going?” Kirkwood asked.

“Fine, fine. It took a bit longer than expected to get across the border. So many people trying to get out of here. But it’s fine now. I’m on the way.”

“So we’re still on schedule?”

“Of course. I should be there in a few hours. We’re still meeting tomorrow night, as agreed?”

Kirkwood wondered whether a change of plans was merited, but decided to stick with what they’d agreed. The timing was probably right anyway, and besides, he didn’t really see a shortcut that didn’t present dangers or complications. “Yes. I’ll see you there. Any problems, you call me immediately.”

“There won’t be any problems,” the man answered cockily.

Kirkwood hung up, wondering if he’d made the right decision.