Raymond Khoury - The Sanctuary

In a bitter twist of fate, his grandfather died at around the same time. His parents had tried to raise Ludovico as a good Catholic, and he’d been taught, at home and in church, that death was God’s wish for us, and that He was the only giver of immortality. His grandfather had tried to lessen the effects of their teachings, and in his death, in that single, passing event, his words would come to pass. It made Ludovico realize that it was not in his nature to accept death, nor to be defeated by it. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. The grave — his own, and that of his loved ones — could wait.

Love wouldn’t conquer death. Science would.

And so, with that mind-set, his experiments became less acceptable.

They soon became illegal.

He was hounded out of the university, chased away by the imminent threat of legal action.

No laboratory in the West would touch him.

Baghdad University would, however, offer him a way out. And, eventually, lead him — or so he now hoped — to the elusive discovery that had taunted his ancestor.

With his mind spurred by the chemicals whirling inside him, he found himself going over the events of the last few days, turning them upside down and examining them from fresh angles. Despite his almost rapturous exhilaration at the prospect of getting hold of the Iraqi dealer and the book, he couldn’t avoid going back to the American archaeologist’s long-lost lover. The notion kept ambushing and undermining his serenity, as if a sensor somewhere inside him had been tripped.

And in his heightened state, another piece of the puzzle, a delicious epiphany, burst from the outer reaches of his consciousness.

How could I not have seen it before?

He ran a quick mental calculation. From what Omar had told him about her daughter’s age, the fit was certainly feasible.

More than feasible. It was perfect.

That sly bitch, he mused. She had actually kept that little gem to herself.

He sprang to his feet and strode across his study, flying across the tiles as he barked out an order to be escorted down to the cellar.

Evelyn bolted upright as soon as she heard the key jangle in the door’s lock.

She didn’t know how long she’d been in there, or even whether it was day or night. All sense of time and place had receded into irrelevance in the brutal isolation of her cell. The one thing she did know was she hadn’t been in there that long, and that, if previous kidnappings in Beirut were anything to go by, she still had a long, long way to go.

The door swung open and her inquisitor stepped in. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat this time, which Evelyn found faintly reassuring. He gave the small cell a quick scan, like a stern hotel manager surveying a guest room, then sat down at the edge of her bed.

His eyes were alive with a manic energy that was deeply unsettling. “I think you forgot to mention a small detail during our last little chat,” he told her playfully.

She wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but whatever it was, he was way too delighted at having uncovered it for it to be good.

“This roving Casanova of yours,” he said, glowering with irritating condescension. “Tom Webster. I’m amazed you still feel so strongly about him, so protectively. Given how he left you.”

He leaned in, eyeing her with relish, as if savoring her apprehension at his little mind-game, and as he did, she spotted the medallion through the folds of his buttoned shirt. The brief glimpse was all she needed to recognize the Ouroboros symbol on it, and right then, she knew there was a lot he — and Tom — had been keeping from her about the long-lost occupants of the chamber in Al-Hillah.

“Pregnant,” the hakeem rasped. “I’m not mistaken, am I? Mia…she’s his daughter, isn’t she?”

A man’s voice broke through Mia’s dour thoughts.

“You must be Mia Bishop.”

She turned. The man standing before her extended his hand. “Bill Kirkwood. I was looking for Jim?”

As she met his hand, she took in his features. He was a pleasant-looking guy, but there was something aloof in his manner, a reserved hesitance, that discomforted her. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “He left me here about an hour ago.”

“Ah.” He seemed to hover for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry about what’s happened to your mom.”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She went with “It comes with the territory, I guess.”

“Not lately, it hasn’t. Not in Lebanon. It took us all by surprise. Still, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Mia nodded and let an awkward silence settle between them.

“So I hear you had another Wild West adventure,” he ventured.

Mia shrugged. “I seem to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You could look at it that way. Then again, the fact that you were there that night and that you reported what happened to your mom could end up saving her life.”

Her face brightened. The thought brought her a hint of solace. “I hope so. You knew her?”

Kirkwood nodded. “A little. UNESCO. We’ve been funding some of her digs out here. She’s a great lady, we have nothing but the highest of respect for her, you know. And this whole thing is just so…awful. Tell me, Mia — may I call you Mia?”

“Sure.”

“How did she seem to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were the last one to see her before she was kidnapped,” Kirkwood reminded her. “Did she seem nervous about anything? Worried, maybe?”

“Not particularly. She was a bit rattled by Farouk — you know, the Iraqi dealer — his showing up out of the blue took her by surprise. But otherwise…” Her voice drifted as she noticed that his eyes had wandered to the desk and settled on the writing pad. It was covered with notes she had scribbled during her calls and littered with doodles of the Ouroboros.

Kirkwood cocked his head to one side, intrigued. “The symbol on one of the books,” he half-noted, half-asked. “From Iraq.”

Mia felt slightly rattled. “Yes,” she answered, somewhat surprised that he knew that.

“Do you know what it is?”

“It’s called an Ouroboros.” She wasn’t sure how much to say and settled for “I don’t know much about it.” She forced a smile, which she knew didn’t reach her eyes. She wondered if he noticed.

“You think that book is what the kidnappers are really after?” he asked.

She felt conflicted.

Kirkwood must have seen it, as he preempted her unease. “It’s fine. I’m working with Jim on getting Evelyn back. He told me about your chat. Said you took him to her apartment.” He paused. “We’re all on the same side here,” he added with a hint of a smile as he leaned in and studied her notes.

She relaxed and nodded. “It’s the one thing that links Evelyn, the cabal’s chambers, the book, and the hakeem. It’s got to mean something.”

A puzzled look clouded his face. “The hakeem?”

A knot formed in her throat. She knew she’d screwed up the second she’d said it. She fumbled for the right words to get her out of her spot, but they wouldn’t announce themselves. “He’s…you know, in Baghdad,” she mumbled. “Maybe you should ask Jim about that.”

Just then, mercifully, Corben showed up.

Another man was with him, younger than Corben, someone she hadn’t met before. He had short chestnut hair, a thick-set neck, and wore a navy blue suit with no tie. Corben seemed surprised to see Kirkwood here and gave him a small nod. As Kirkwood acknowledged him back, Mia caught a barely perceptible unease in Corben’s expression as he glanced down at the desk, where her doodles were in view.