“So I hear,” Abu Barzan agreed soberly. “I’ll tell you what. Make it six hundred and the whole collection’s yours. Including the book.”
Kirkwood’s chest tightened. Abu Barzan wasn’t supposed to know about the book. Kirkwood didn’t want to take the bait, nor did he want to give him the impression that paying up was that easy. He let him stew for a moment, then said, “Okay. Six hundred. But that’s a huge price and you know it.”
“Oh, believe me, I know it. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“This new buyer,” Kirkwood asked quickly. “Anything you can tell me about him?”
Abu Barzan chuckled throatily. “Sorry, my friend. Just another crazy American, like you. Trying to get his hands on that book. Maybe I should hang on to that one, what do you think?”
Kirkwood barely contained his displeasure. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he replied tersely.
Abu Barzan laughed again, mockingly. “Relax. From what I hear, it sounds like it’s cursed. I’ll be glad to get rid of it. Don’t forget the extra cash.”
And with that, he hung up.
Kirkwood stared at his phone for a moment before putting it away. He thought about the timing, and something didn’t feel right. This new bidder was specifically after the book. The only people he knew of who could have been in touch with Abu Barzan were Evelyn’s kidnappers and the Iraqi dealer Corben was trying to bring in. Had he failed? Had the kidnappers gotten hold of the man?
He walked into the main villa and climbed up to the ambassador’s office. The ambassador’s secretary informed him the ambassador would be in a meeting for another hour or so. Kirkwood thanked her. He went back out and crossed over to the annex and made his way to the press office.
Mia was still there, where he’d left her earlier. She was reading something densely worded that she had accessed on the Internet and seemed to be deeply engrossed by it. He couldn’t see a heading, and the text was too small for him to make out what it was about.
“Have you heard anything from Corben?” he asked.
“No.” Her expression was lined with concern. She checked her watch.
Kirkwood had already checked his. He knew it was past twelve o’clock. His eyes rose and met her gaze, his anxiety mirrored in her eyes.
The noon call would already have been made.
They’d know soon enough.
The Pathfinder emerged from the congested coastal strip and began its climb towards Awkar.
The SUV’s engine groaned as the wide, flat road narrowed into a series of winding bends that snaked up the foothills of Mount Lebanon. Unregulated and irregular buildings lined the road, thinning out as the climb progressed, the gaps between their stone façades widening to reveal more of the lush forests that loomed beyond.
Corben called Olshansky and gave him the number of Abu Barzan’s cell phone. He told him he needed a lock on its position, which was most likely in northern Iraq. He also told him that the phone was probably being used at that very moment, and that Corben was also after whoever was on the other end of that call.
He made sure Olshansky understood to pull out all the stops on this one.
They were now ten minutes away from the embassy, and Corben didn’t have much time to evaluate his options. He needed to call Abu Barzan back, though he suspected he already knew the outcome. Regardless, he wasn’t ready for the interference that would inevitably descend on him the minute he entered the embassy compound.
He spotted a side road he had used before, slowed down, and took it. It was a narrow lane of cratered asphalt. He followed its path, past some scattered houses and low buildings that soon gave way to the pine forest. The track leveled off before starting to head downhill in a series of tight bends. He was about a mile off the main road when he pulled over into a small clearing and killed the engine.
It was a secluded spot, cool from the dense tree cover that was occasionally pierced by ethereal rays of sunlight. It was also deathly quiet, save for the mating song of countless cicadas that echoed around them.
Farouk scanned the trees, then turned to Corben, confused. “Why are we stopping here?”
“I don’t want to make the call from the embassy.”
Farouk seemed bewildered. “Why not?”
“I’d rather get this sorted out before we get there,” Corben said calmly. “Don’t worry about it. We’re two minutes away. We’ll be there before you know it.”
He checked his watch. It was time. He picked up his phone, logged it back to the second-to-last dialed call, and hit the green button. A few seconds and it started to ring.
He handed the phone to Farouk as he heard Abu Barzan pick up on the first ring.
Farouk listened for a moment before turning to Corben, his face contorted with pain and dismay.
“His buyer’s offered six hundred.”
Corben expected as much.
He knew it would be pointless to counterbid. The relics weren’t worth anywhere near as much, which meant the buyer was definitely after the same thing he was and was probably prepared to pay what it took to get them. Still, he thought of bidding up. Whether he’d ever have to come up with the cash was a different matter. But before he could even answer, he noticed that Farouk still seemed to be listening intently to Abu Barzan.
The expression on the Iraqi’s face darkened even more. “He’s saying there’s no need for you to offer more money,” Farouk relayed, his breathing labored. “He’s saying his client’s known he was getting the pieces all along, which means that if anyone’s killing people for them, it’s obviously not his buyer. And he’s more than happy with the price. He thanks us for ramping the price up, but the deal’s done.”
Corben frowned. It was slipping away. He needed an advantage, and the only card he could play was weak, one that could work as much as it could backfire, depending on Abu Barzan’s politics, which he had no time to assess, and his propensity to be intimidated.
He decided to give it a shot. “Does he speak English?”
Farouk nodded.
“Give me the phone.”
Farouk mumbled a brief introduction, convinced Abu Barzan to stay on the line, then handed the phone to Corben. It was sticky with blood.
“I can’t outbid your client,” Corben told him, “but I’d like you to reconsider my offer.”
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Abu Barzan chortled. “I know my buyer’s real, I know I’ll have my money tomorrow, and I’ll go back to Mosul a very rich man, but I don’t know anything about you. Besides, you have an expression in America, no? Something about money talking and bullshit walking?”
“I just need you to think about a few things,” Corben told him calmly. “It’s not all about cash. I work for the U.S. government, and I can think of worse things than having us owe you a big favor. The way things are shaping up in Iraq, we’re not gonna be out of there for a while. And you might find that having a friend in the system could come in handy one of these days, you know what I’m saying?”
Abu Barzan went silent for a beat. When he came back, the relaxed mocking in his tone was gone, replaced by an icy disdain. “You think telling me you work for the American government is going to make want to help you? You think you can do things for me in Iraq?”
The politics were clear. “Better to have us owe you than be pissed off at you, that’s for sure,” Corben countered flatly, knowing that wasn’t going to work either.
“Now you’re threatening me?” Abu Barzan spat back, following it with a torrent of inspired abuse. He was on his second “Fuck you” when Corben hung up.
Farouk was staring at him with round, baffled eyes. “What did he say?”
Corben shook his head slightly. “He’s not interested.”
Farouk sighed heavily. “Then you have nothing to trade for Sitt Evelyn.”