“You want this, huh? You want me to kill him?” he blurted at the killer.
Corben pushed Farouk forward as he stuck behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the pockmarked man beyond the Pathfinder react to the commotion and draw his weapon. His advantage would only last a second or two more. He edged closer to the SUV and saw the killer from the coffee shop go clear of the passersby as he looked on in confusion. Corben turned his gun on him and pumped two rounds through his chest, the. 357s lifting him off his feet and slamming him backwards across tables and chairs.
“In the car, now!” he yelled to Farouk, pushing him towards the passenger door. All around, people were scurrying and diving for cover. He spotted the head thug, rushing over from the bazaar’s entrance, and loosed a couple of rounds in his direction before pulling his door open and jumping in.
Corben spurred the car to life and hit the gas. He pushed Farouk’s head down, yelling, “Stay down,” at him as the Pathfinder charged into the street, towards the parked Merc. His mind racing, he quickly decided he couldn’t just drive off. He was in a maze of narrow streets, and there was no telling how quickly the traffic would slow to a crawl, or even just stop. They’d soon catch up with them. He needed an extra advantage.
As the Pathfinder careened by the Merc, he stood on the brakes, lurching the heavy car to a screaming halt. He pulled out the Glock and swung it around. The surprised driver dived sideways as Corben unleashed three quick rounds at the Merc’s front tire, obliterating it and causing the Merc to drop downwards. That would buy them some time. He floored the pedal again and screeched off, but as the car accelerated, he spotted a fourth killer emerging from a side street on Farouk’s side, who trained his handgun at the Pathfinder and fired. The shots crunched through the car’s right side just as, in the rearview mirror, the hit team’s leader was shouting at the shooter as he caught up with him. Corben knew he’d be berating him for endangering Farouk. The hakeem needed him alive, which was why Corben had used him to distract the first shooter.
He glared ahead, trying to remember the fastest way out of the rat hole they were lost in. As he did, he heard a groan from Farouk.
He turned and saw the dealer wincing with pain, a crimson patch blossoming alarmingly from his side.
Chapter 44
Corben forged ahead for about a mile, threading the Pathfinder through the early-afternoon traffic. On the seat next to him, Farouk writhed and groaned. The dealer kept checking his wound in disbelief, his blood-soaked hands pressing on it as Corben had told him to, all the time muttering to himself and lamenting his fate in Arabic.
Corben had one eye glued to his rearview mirror, but there was no sign of the hakeem’s men. He knew Farouk was in pain, but he needed him to hang on a little bit longer until Corben was sure they were safe. He finally veered off the main road close to the wide concrete canal of the now dry Beirut River, rumbled down a dusty alleyway, and pulled over by some shuttered old garages.
“Let me see it,” he told Farouk before reaching across and, carefully, checking his wound again. It was a clear in-and-out shot to his right flank, entering through his lower back and exiting just above his hip. Farouk wasn’t in huge pain, which probably meant his stomach and his liver hadn’t been hit, and given that he was still alive, it was a safe bet his aorta hadn’t been severed. But Corben knew there would be internal damage, and while Farouk’s bleeding wasn’t profuse, he was still losing blood.
Choices needed to be made.
Farouk’s breathing was coming in ragged, intense bursts. His eyes, wide with fear, looked to Corben for reassurance. “How is it?”
“It looks like it missed the important parts. You’re going to be fine.” Corben glanced around the car, but couldn’t find anything to give Farouk to hold against it. “Keep your hands pressed down on it. It’ll help stem the bleeding.”
Farouk put both hands on the wound and grimaced with pain. Sweat was trickling down his face, and his lips quivered as he spoke. “Do you know where the nearest hospital is?”
Which was what Corben had been considering.
“I don’t want to risk taking you to a hospital,” he told Farouk flatly. “These people have contacts everywhere. You won’t be safe there. I’m going to take you to the embassy. It’s only twenty minutes from here.”
Farouk’s expression went from perplexed to somewhat relieved. The embassy was a safe choice. They’d probably have the best doctors brought in.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, as if to shut out the world.
Corben slid the car into gear and drove off. “I need to know some things from you. Who’s after you?”
“I don’t know,” Farouk replied, wincing as the car hit a bump on the old, cracked asphalt.
“Well, you must have some idea. How did these people find out about the relics? How did they find you?”
Sinking lower into his seat, Farouk explained about Abu Barzan inviting him to broker his stash; about Hajj Ali Salloum finding a buyer; about Farouk’s saying the book with the tail-eater wasn’t part of the deal, Ali’s client wanting the whole collection, the killers showing up at Ali’s, and the power drill.
“Why didn’t you want to include the book in the sale?” Corben asked.
Farouk’s expression clouded with remorse and regret. “I knew Sitt Evelyn would want it, and that she’d help me in return.”
Corben nodded. “You were with her in Iraq when she found the underground chamber.” It was more a statement than a question.
Farouk first seemed a bit thrown that Corben knew as much, then he somewhat relaxed. “Yes. She spent a lot of time trying to understand what it meant. And when they killed Hajj Ali, I had to run, I knew that was what they were after, but I didn’t know why.”
Corben processed it quickly. It pretty much fit into his general take on what had happened, but he now had the full picture. But it left a crucial question unanswered.
“So where is it?”
“What?” Farouk seemed confused.
“The book. Where is it?”
Farouk winced, then said, “It’s in Iraq,” as if he expected Corben had known that all along.
Corben turned to him in surprise. “What?”
“Everything’s still with Abu Barzan, where else?” The words were tumbling out fast and desperate. “He wasn’t going to just hand anything over to me before I had the money to pay for it. He didn’t even bring the pieces to Baghdad, it was too dangerous to travel with them. He kept them in Mosul.”
“You told Ramez you had them,” Corben shot back.
“I told him I was selling them,” Farouk protested. “He must have assumed I had them here with me. They’re not mine.”
Corben scowled at the road ahead, thinking. He’d factored that in as a possibility, but he’d thought it more likely that Farouk had brought the book to Lebanon with him and kept it somewhere safe while he found Evelyn.
“This Abu Barzan. He’s in Iraq?”
“I think so,” Farouk answered weakly. “Probably back in Mosul.”
Corben fumed quietly, his mind racing. The option tree he’d considered before picking up Farouk had been chainsawed into obsolescence. “You have his phone number?”