Corben couldn’t see what was causing the jam. He looked back. A couple of cars were pulling up beside him, but nothing was directly behind him. He slammed the gear into reverse and hit the gas.
The SUV lurched backwards and dove into the tunnel. The tunnel was too short for anyone to bother turning their headlights on, and the shift from harsh sunlight to total blackness made it difficult to tell if any cars were coming at him. It took a beat for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, he spotted a car barreling straight at him.
He cursed under his breath as he lifted his foot off the gas and guided his car as close to the side wall as he could. The oncoming car swerved to its left, causing another car behind it to brake hard to avoid it, and rushed past him, its horn blaring down the tunnel. Corben hit the gas again and guided the car back, narrowly missing another passing car and finally emerging out of the tunnel.
He kept going until he reached an upramp that led to the intersection that straddled the tunnel, then slammed on his brakes, threw the gear into drive, and flew up the ramp.
“I had to back out of the tunnel,” he yelled into his phone. “I’m heading up to the main square over it.”
Leila’s voice came rushing back. “Okay, you’re going to need to take the first right and then left after that. Just head down that road and you’ll see the fire station on your right.”
Corben followed her instructions, but the going was slow. The narrow streets were heavy with traffic, the oddly parked cars and street vendors’ carts turning it into an obstacle course. Precious seconds turned into minutes as he navigated the SUV through the mess, shouting, hitting the horn, and waving cars to one side as he plowed through until he finally reached the fire station.
“I can see the station,” he exclaimed.
“Turn right and head up that road,” Leila shot back. “The cemetery wall’s on your left. Take a left right where it ends and you’ll see a mosque about fifty yards down that street, on your right. That’s where he’ll be.”
He practically leapfrogged over the cars ahead of him and finally spotted the mosque. It squatted between some old antiques bazaars. He slowed right down as he approached it, conjuring up Farouk’s photo from Evelyn in his mind’s eye as he scanned the street for any sign of Farouk or the hakeem’s hit team.
He spotted him.
The Iraqi dealer was standing there, waiting nervously, as directed.
Chapter 43
The Iraqi was unmistakable, even in a setting where he didn’t exactly stand out. His posture — guarded, darting furtive glances up and down the street, trying to melt into the background — confirmed it for Corben.
Corben glanced at the oncoming cars and gave his mirror another check, wary of the hit team’s imminent arrival as he pulled up outside the mosque. He lowered his window as he stopped.
Farouk looked over. Corben saw that he must have noticed his interest in him, as apprehension immediately took hold of the dealer’s face before he threw a glance in the opposite direction, as if looking for salvation, and backed away a few steps.
Corben slipped out of the car, trying to move as fast as he could without alarming Farouk. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Farouk. I’m a friend of Evelyn’s. You need to come with me.”
Farouk’s eyes darted up the street and back at Corben as he continued to back away from him, the apprehension morphing into outright panic.
“Farouk, listen to me. Ramez was kidnapped this morning by the same men who took Evelyn. It’s a trap. The cops aren’t coming for you, the kidnappers are. They’re on their way here right now.”
“No,” Farouk muttered, before turning and bolting down the street.
Corben frowned and tore off after him, cutting through the swarm of pedestrians blocking his way. Farouk wasn’t moving too quickly, and Corben reeled him in fast. Farouk glanced over his shoulder before suddenly darting into an antiques bazaar. Corben followed him in.
The narrow alleyways of this miniature mall were lined with various shops only accessible from inside the bazaar. The passages were cluttered with furniture and trinkets, a few of them old, most of them forgeries manufactured locally to exacting standards. Corben glimpsed Farouk receding into the darkness to his left. He raced after him, dodging Turkish marquetry side tables and Louis XVI chairs, flying past stunned shopkeepers who yelled out after him. He reached an intersection and saw Farouk to his right, heading down a passage towards another entrance, one that gave onto a side street. Corben accelerated, drawing on every reserve of energy inside him, and closed the gap, reaching Farouk just before the exit. He leapt and grabbed him, pushing him to one side against the glass frontage of a carpet seller.
“What are you doing?” he barked at him as he shook him by his collar. “We don’t have time for this bullshit. They’ll be here any second. I’m trying to save your life.”
Farouk stared at him with petrified eyes. His lips trembled as he struggled for words. “But Ramez…”
“Ramez is dead,” Corben rasped. “You want to be next?”
Farouk’s eyes dropped numbly as he stood there and just about managed to shake his head.
“Come on,” Corben ordered as he pointed him back towards the main entrance.
Just as they turned into the passage that led up to the street, Corben spotted the pockmarked killer. He was on the sidewalk just outside the bazaar, scanning the street for any sign of his target.
Corben shoved Farouk back behind a large armoire that hogged a big chunk of the pathway and pulled out his handgun. He motioned to Farouk to stay silent and peered out. The man was still there, scowling into the street, severe displeasure radiating from his cavernous eyes.
He was also blocking Corben’s route back to his car.
Corben glanced behind him, made sure the passage was clear, and pushed Farouk back into the bazaar. They skirted the edge of the furniture displays and turned into the side alley they had taken before.
“Come on,” Corben urged him as he led him back the way they had come, towards the side entrance he had spotted earlier.
Corben poked his head out and made sure the narrow side street was clear before emerging through the cluttered displays. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the musty daylight, he prowled down the broken sidewalk, making sure Farouk was close behind, holding his gun low and close to his leg to avoid causing alarm.
He reached the street corner and sneaked a look towards the mosque. The Pathfinder was half a block down, tantalizingly close. Around fifteen yards beyond it was the head thug, still prowling outside the bazaar’s main entrance. Across the street, closer to him, Corben also spotted a double-parked Mercedes sedan. He saw the pockmarked man dart a glance at the car’s driver, who returned the signal with a shake of the head. There had to be at least one more man somewhere around, but he couldn’t see him.
He waited a beat, picked his moment, and told Farouk, “Move,” as he led him out of their cover. He walked quickly, keeping Farouk close, trying to get as much cover from the passing pedestrians as he could, his grip tightened against his weapon, his eyes scanning left and right at the targets ahead.
He was within reach of his car when a younger man with nervous eyes and a slit of a mouth emerged from a coffee shop to his right. The instant recognition was mutual. The man drew his gun and ducked back behind an old man who was stepping into the coffee shop. Corben’s hand hovered for a split second, looking for a clear shot he didn’t have. The frightened old man screamed and moved sideways against the wall. Corben’s shot was still partially blocked and he stayed his trigger finger. Instead, he did something else. He grabbed Farouk from behind and stuffed his handgun into the dealer’s neck.