“Of course.”
Corben pulled out his cell phone. “What is it?”
Farouk looked at him fearfully. “What do you want to tell him?”
“I’m not going to say anything. You’re going to talk to him. You’re going to tell him you have a buyer. That’s what he asked you for, isn’t it? Corben waved the information over with his hand. “What’s his number?”
As Corben dialed, Farouk suddenly felt uncomfortable with the man who had — or at least, so he claimed — rescued him. The same man who had, moments earlier, shoved a handgun in his face and bluffed with his life.
His head was spinning, his eyelids feeling heavier now, and the burning sensation in his midsection was getting more intense. He cursed his luck, he cursed fate and God himself and wished he could reset the clock, wished he’d never thought of Evelyn and her interest in the tail-eater, wished he’d left things well alone, passed on the goods to Ali’s buyers, flicked a kiss from his lips to his forehead in gratitude and taken the money.
Even Baghdad was better than this.
Corben listened for a moment, then handed him the phone. Farouk took it with a trembling hand. The distant, irregular whine rang in his ear.
After a couple of rings, Abu Barzan answered in his gruff, heavy smoker’s voice. “Who’s this?”
“Farouk.” He noticed that Abu Barzan’s voice had come across somewhat louder than normal, and he could hear a radio in the background. He thought he might be in a car.
“Farouk,” Abu Barzan boomed through, jovial as ever. “Where the hell are you?” He added a burst of jocular obscenities to describe his friend. “I tried calling you but your line’s dead.”
“I’m with a buyer,” Farouk said bluntly. “He wants the pieces.”
Corben glanced over at him. Somehow, Farouk managed to coax out a half-smile.
Corben drove on.
“You’re too late,” Abu Barzan informed him with a haughty chortle before throwing in another colorful insult. “I already sold them.”
The news hit Farouk like a tempest. “What do you mean, you sold them?” he flared up.
“I’m on my way to deliver them as we speak.”
Farouk’s heart rose. “So you still have them?”
“They’re right here with me.”
“Well, I’m telling you I have a buyer.” Farouk saw Corben turn at his alarmed tone and felt a surge of concern about Corben’s reaction. He tried to regain some composure and gave Corben a reassuring not-a-problem shake of the head.
“Well, sell him something else,” Abu Barzan was saying. “You’ve got a whole basement of priceless junk in that shop of yours, don’t you?”
“Listen to me,” Farouk hissed into the phone, trying not to appear perturbed and failing. “Some people are after one of the books you’re selling. Bad people. They killed Hajj Ali, they’ve killed others. They’ve kidnapped a friend of mine, a woman, because of it, and I’ve just been shot, do you understand me?”
“You’ve been shot?” More obscenities followed, though not at Farouk’s expense this time.
“Yes.”
“You okay?”
Farouk coughed. “I’ll live.”
“Who’s been kidnapped then?”
“An American woman. An archaeologist, here in Beirut.”
“You’re in Beirut?”
“Yes,” Farouk replied, exasperated. “Look, these guys are serious. They’ll come after you.”
Abu Barzan shrugged. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, but it’s not my problem. I’m meeting my buyer tomorrow evening, I’ll hand them over and get paid, and then it’ll be his problem. But thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep my third eye open.”
Farouk scrunched his face and sighed heavily. He felt as if he were drowning from the inside. He wasn’t really surprised. Not only was Abu Barzan a grubby pig of a man, he was a sleazeball who’d sell his own children if he could find a buyer who wasn’t put off by their crappy genes after taking one look at him.
Farouk told Abu Barzan, “Stay on the line,” then turned to Corben, his mouth twitching with pain and frustration. “He says he’s sold them. He’s on his way to deliver them right now.”
Corben thought about it as he coaxed the car on, then said, “Does he still have the book?”
Farouk nodded and asked Abu Barzan about the book, describing it specifically. Abu Barzan replied that he thought he had it. The deal was for the entire consignment.
“Ask him how much he’s getting for the lot,” Corben told Farouk.
Farouk immediately realized it was the right play, nodded, and asked.
Abu Barzan laughed. “Your buyer’s got deep pockets?”
“Yes,” Farouk, at his wit’s end, insisted patiently.
The answer came back: “Three hundred thousand dollars. Cash.”
He told Corben and made a surprised, impressed face like That’s a huge offer.
Corben mulled it over, then said, “I’ll give him four.”
Farouk’s eyes widened. He relayed the offer.
Abu Barzan scoffed. “That was quick. This guy serious?”
“Of course he is.”
“He’d better be.” Abu Barzan’s tone was more serious now. When it came down to hard cash, he didn’t mess around. “So tell me. What’s so special about this book?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Farouk blurted angrily. “I’m just trying to save the woman’s life.”
“Spare me the soft sell, will you?” Abu Barzan took a deep, wheezy breath. “Alright. I’m interested. But I need to call my buyer. Least I can do is give him a chance to beat your guy’s offer.”
Farouk informed Corben. Corben asked him to find out how long it would take.
“He called me today,” Abu Barzan said. “I’ll call him now. What’s your number?”
Corben told Farouk to say they’d call him back in five minutes. Farouk did, then hung up as the Pathfinder turned off the main coastal highway. The foothills that harbored the embassy loomed in the distance.
Farouk curled into his seat and sucked in a deep breath, trying to push away the burning pain in his gut and taking solace in that he was still breathing and in the hope that — contrary to expectations — things might just end up better for him than they had for his friend Ali.
Chapter 45
Kirkwood leaned against a bench in the courtyard behind the annex and waited. He was raked with frustration, unable to ask the questions he needed to ask, feeling precious minutes slipping by while he could only sit back and watch helplessly. He was checking the time yet again when his phone rang.
He saw the incoming caller ID and frowned. He stood up, glancing around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, and flicked it open.
“I just got a call from an interested buyer,” Abu Barzan’s voice thundered in his ear. “He’s offering me more than you are for the collection, my friend.”
“I thought we had a deal,” Kirkwood noted irritably.
“We did, and we do. But it’s a nice offer, and I’m a businessman, you know?”
A real competing buyer, or just a shakedown? Kirkwood wondered. Either way, he had to play along. “How much is he offering?” he asked with affected patience.
“Four hundred thousand.”
Kirkwood mulled it over. Another buyer, out of the blue. Offering far more than the collection was worth. If it was the same group that held Evelyn, then getting hold of the pieces would make her expendable. To say nothing of the fact that he wasn’t about to let anyone have them either. Not that easily.
“I’ll give you five, but on one condition. We’re not playing this game again. You want to be careful here. You know I’m good for it, you won’t have a problem with me. But there are some dangerous people out there.”