Raymond Khoury - The Sanctuary

Corben motioned to the man with him. “This is Greg,” he said to Mia. “He’ll take you to the hotel whenever you’re ready and he’ll stay with you. We’re going to put you up at the Albergo. It’s a small hotel in Ashrafieh”—the Christian side of town—“you’ll be fine there.”

“Okay.” Mia nodded to Corben.

“It’s where I’m staying,” Kirkwood added, before turning to Corben. “Anything on that phone tap?”

“Nothing yet,” Corben said matter-of-factly.

“So what are you going to do?” Kirkwood asked.

“I’m driving back into town to be within striking distance.” Corben shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get a break.” He turned to Mia. “I’ll give you a call later to make sure you’re all sorted out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Corben looked at her, then nodded to the other agent as if to say, All yours.

As Corben turned to leave, Kirkwood said, “Good luck. And keep us posted.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have news.”

For some reason, Mia didn’t think Corben was too keen on following through with that. More than that, he seemed a bit wary of Kirkwood.

Which meant that she probably ought to be as well.

Kirkwood lifted the plastic lid and pulled out a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker in the lobby of the annex. He ventured a sip. Surprisingly, it wasn’t half-bad.

He replayed his little chat with Mia. It was obvious that she, and therefore Corben, knew far more than they were saying. During his briefings, Corben hadn’t said anything about the kidnappers having a specific interest in any of the artifacts, let alone mentioned the book specifically, nor had he brought up Evelyn’s discovery of the underground chamber. And yet Mia clearly knew about both.

And Corben certainly hadn’t mentioned this hakeem. Even though the man was clearly an intrinsic part of the equation.

Even more interestingly, Mia had said the hakeem was in Baghdad. He knew hakeem meant “doctor,” and the sound of that didn’t set well in his stomach.

He felt a deep-seated unease. There were agendas he didn’t know about. And the Iraqi dealer was still far from being in safe hands. He needed to know what was really going on, and the place to start was with Corben. Which wouldn’t be easy. Kirkwood’s contacts within the UN were rock solid. His contacts within the intelligence community were less so. The UN, however, did — purposefully at times, unwittingly at others — play a significant role in the Iraq war, particularly during the whole WMD debacle. Kirkwood could use his contacts to mine that vein while looking for other ways to get into the Agency’s inner workings.

He also needed to get more information regarding Mia’s background, but that would have to come through other methods. He didn’t think it would be too difficult.

He took another sip from his cup, fished his phone out of a pocket, and dialed.

Corben checked his watch. It was quarter to twelve.

Fifteen minutes to liftoff.

He’d been sitting in the Nissan Pathfinder for half an hour, waiting. He didn’t mind. He liked the peace. It gave him time to think things through calmly, methodically, and evaluate the various options that could open up. He had to have options. In his business, things rarely went exactly according to plan.

He stretched the stiffness from his bones, took a final sip from the double espresso he’d picked up, and chucked the paper cup into the back footwell. The caffeine rush was now coming onstream, and it felt good. Or maybe it was just the anticipation.

He glanced down at the seat next to him and pulled the Ruger MP9 from its case. It was an ugly little piece, but highly effective. He checked its magazine. It was filled to capacity. Thirty-two rounds. He pressed down on the uppermost cartridge, feeling the give in the springs, and rotated it slightly, making sure it was properly seated, before ramming the magazine back in. He made sure the firing selector was on FULL AUTO. In that setting, it could spit out its entire load in a little under three seconds. In the hands of a “spray-and-pray” crackhead, most if not all of those rounds would probably miss their mark. Corben, on the other hand, was experienced enough to make them count.

Three extra magazines were in the case, all fully loaded. He also wore a holstered Glock 31 on his belt. It had only seventeen rounds in it, but they were.357s that could punch through car panels as if they were paper.

He needed the firepower.

He’d thought things through and had decided that, despite the increased risks, he needed to do this alone. He was able to sell it to his station chief on the basis that Farouk was easily spookable and had to be approached with lightning speed as well as with utmost care. An army of foreign agents showing up would make him run.

He’d briefly — very briefly — considered bringing Mia along. Farouk — who’d be expecting a carload of Lebanese cops — didn’t know Corben. He had no reason to believe him or to trust him. But Mia and Farouk had locked eyes the night of Evelyn’s kidnapping. Her presence at the pickup point could definitely have given the Iraqi some comfort, but it wasn’t really an option, not given how dangerous it could be and what she’d already been through that morning. Her presence would have been inappropriate and would have severely cramped Corben’s style at a time he’d need to think fast and move faster.

Corben wasn’t about to involve the Fuhud either, not when he didn’t know whom he could trust there. He knew he’d probably be up against a carload of shooters. He just hoped he’d get to Farouk before they did and avoid turning whatever corner of Beirut the Iraqi was holed up in into another firing range.

Which was the key question, really. Where would Farouk be calling from? According to the signal from Ramez’s phone, the kidnappers were in the Malaab area, in the southern end of the city. Corben had to position himself somewhere where he’d have a chance at beating them to Farouk. He’d studied a map of the city and crossed off some areas as being unlikely hangouts for an illegal immigrant with a strong Iraqi accent and probably little money. East Beirut was one such area. The glitzy downtown too. The southern part of the city was its own fiefdom and off-limits to outsiders.

Which left West Beirut.

Corben had chosen to wait outside the Concorde multiplex. It was on a main road that bisected West Beirut diagonally and was close to other wide arteries he could use to get across town if he needed to. If the call came in from anywhere near the university, which was where Farouk was last seen, Corben would be closer to him than the goon squad, and he’d stand a decent chance of getting to him before them. Assuming they didn’t have a forward guard on hold.

He’d raided the armory for the weapons, signing out a Kevlar vest as well, which, judging from the stiffness in his back, clearly wasn’t designed for comfort. He’d also decided to use one of the cars that didn’t have embassy plates. If there was going to be trouble, he didn’t want his vehicle to be that easily identifiable.

Leila’s voice crackled through his cell phone’s Bluetooth earpiece: “We’re getting something.”

Olshansky added, “Looks like they’ve finally pulled Ramez’s phone out from whatever hole they’ve been keeping it in.”

Corben heard some voices speaking in Arabic in the background, the kidnappers coming through the speakers in Olshansky’s batcave.

The words became clearer. He pictured the man saying them, possibly the leader of the kidnappers, the one he’d seen outside Evelyn’s apartment.

Leila worked fast, speaking intermittently at each pause in the man’s voice: “He’s telling Ramez it’s almost time…. He’s asking him if he understands exactly what he needs to get Farouk to do…. Ramez’s saying he understands. Can’t really hear him properly, but he sounds terrified…. He’s reminding him that he promised to let him go if he does it…. He’s telling him he can keep his mouth shut, no one needs to know, that kind of thing.” There was a pause, then the voice came back. “The guy’s telling him not to worry, everything’s going to be alright. To be careful. Not make a mistake. His life’s in his own hands now. It’s up to him.” The man paused for a beat, then spoke again.