Corben didn’t really have a choice. It was a tough decision he had to make, there and then. It was either that or jeopardize the whole endeavor. Which he wasn’t about to do. The brass ring he was reaching for was far too momentous for that.
He shook his misgivings away, and his thoughts soon migrated to something more productive. Olshansky had gotten a preliminary hit on Abu Barzan’s cell phone. It wasn’t in northern Iraq, as assumed. The phone signal was roaming somewhere in eastern Turkey, close to the Syrian border. Olshansky would need a bit of time to get a tighter lock on it. He’d told Corben that he was confident he’d be able to track down the man for him, but that working backwards to trace whomever he’d been in touch with would be harder, adding some technobabble about incompatible network systems that Corben tuned out.
The location didn’t surprise Corben. A foreign buyer wouldn’t risk venturing into Iraq to take delivery of the pieces, and Mosul — where Abu Barzan was coming from — wasn’t far from the Turkish border. Corben knew the area reasonably well. It was predominantly Kurd, on either side of the border, as was Mosul. He guessed the buyer would have arranged for the transaction to take place in Batman, Mardin, or Diyarbakir. All three had airports that were serviced by regional flights and private charters, and all were within a few hours’ drive from the Turkish/Iraqi border.
It was an exchange Corben didn’t want to miss.
Farouk’s revelation of a buyer paying over the odds for Abu Barzan’s little trove threw all of Corben’s plans into question. Up until that point, the hakeem had been Corben’s main target, the only man on his radar whom he knew to be chasing the dream with ruthless abandon. This mystery buyer was now at least as interesting to Corben as the hakeem. Somehow, he’d managed to hear about the book’s availability before the hakeem. He’d trumped him into securing it. Hell, he could well know more about it and its significance than the hakeem. The question was, was what he knew enough to make the hakeem irrelevant to Corben’s plans, or was his work incomplete? Did he have the treatment figured out already, or would he need the hakeem’s extreme resources and facilities to turn the dream into a reality?
Two targets were now in Corben’s crosshairs. One would inevitably contact him: The hakeem would assume Corben had Farouk — and the book — and would want to trade. The other would be making his way to a quiet rendezvous somewhere in eastern Turkey. Corben needed to be there for it, but he had to find a way to do it on his own terms and without involving his colleagues at the embassy. At this point, apart from the mystery buyer and Abu Barzan himself, no one else knew about the imminent transaction. He wanted to keep it that way for now, at least until he could set up his trip to Turkey on his own terms. He needed to choose his words carefully if he was going to pull it off without attracting undue attention.
Either way, the endgame was near.
Kirkwood studied Corben’s face as he listened to the agent’s briefing with deepening unease.
Things hadn’t gone according to plan. Admittedly, Corben had been winging it. There were never any guarantees that they’d be able to intercept the call to Ramez, much less actually beat the kidnappers to Farouk. Corben had done remarkably well to get hold of the Iraqi before them, and he’d almost pulled it off, if it hadn’t been for an unlucky round that had found its way into Farouk’s side.
He scanned the other faces around the room. The ambassador and Hayflick, the station chief, were also listening intently as Corben presented his thought process with impressive clarity.
“So what are we left with?” the ambassador asked. “Do we know where he stashed the pieces Bishop’s kidnappers are after?”
Corben shook his head. “I didn’t have time to get that from him. He was in shock, just rambling incoherently in Arabic before his body gave up on him.”
The ambassador nodded glumly.
Kirkwood kept his eyes locked on Corben. He wondered if Corben also knew that there was no stash to be found. The call from Abu Barzan had raised some troubling questions in Kirkwood’s mind, and since Farouk hadn’t been grabbed by the kidnappers, the other bidder wasn’t one of them. Which meant it was someone else. And the timing was too coincidental to discount the possibility that the other bidder was linked to Corben, if it wasn’t actually him.
Which threw up some disturbing realizations.
One was that Corben was, quite possibly, well aware of the forthcoming Turkish transaction. The other was that, given the ulterior agenda he seemed to be pursuing, getting Evelyn back safely might not exactly be a priority for him.
“You think the kidnappers will get in touch?” Kirkwood probed.
“They’ve got to,” Corben speculated. “Right now, they think we’ve got Farouk, which means they’ve got to assume we also have his stash. And that’s what they’re after. I’ve got to think they’ll make contact and offer to trade Evelyn for it. At least, I’m hoping they do. Right now, it’s looking like our only chance of getting her back.”
A sobering silence descended on the room.
Not good enough, Kirkwood thought. He wasn’t comfortable with the wait-and-pray strategy, nor with the potential danger of a bluff trade if they did call. He needed to instigate things. “We need to send them a signal,” he suggested. “A message. Let them know we’re ready to trade.” He turned to the ambassador. “Maybe you could make a statement to the press. Something along the lines of ‘We’re waiting for word from the kidnappers so that we can work things out and give them what they need to bring this matter to a mutually beneficial conclusion.’ That kind of thing.”
The ambassador’s expression clouded. “You know our policy on negotiating with terrorists openly. You want me to go on TV and invite them to make a trade?”
“They’re not terrorists,” Kirkwood reminded him. “They’re antiquity smugglers.”
“Come on, Bill. It’s a nuance no one’s going to pick up on. For most people who’ll be watching, they’re one and the same.”
Kirkwood frowned with frustration. “What about the Bishop girl? A daughter making an emotional plea for the return of her mother.”
“I don’t see a problem with that,” the ambassador conceded. “Okay. I’ll set something up. But it’s going to be tricky to pull off a bluff like that, given that we don’t have the pieces.”
“If we get that call and they want to trade, we’ll get her back, regardless,” Hayflick assured him. “We can set it up so it’s to our advantage.”
Kirkwood turned to Corben. He thought he spotted a hint of discomfort in his hardened expression, but the agent’s face wasn’t giving much away. He just acknowledged Kirkwood’s suggestion with a small, thoughtful nod.
At the back of Kirkwood’s mind, something else was vying for attention. More and more, he was feeling it would be inevitable. He and his partners were all in agreement on this. Do your best to get Evelyn out without exposing the project. But if you have to, then use the book. Not having seen the book yet, he wasn’t sure that giving it up would expose anything, but it could jeopardize their work and put a legacy that was hundreds of years in the making at risk.
It wasn’t a decision he had to make just yet. It was irrelevant as long as the kidnappers hadn’t made contact.
He felt a silent vibration in his pocket and fished out his phone. He glanced at the caller ID. It was his main contact at the UN. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he apologized to the others as he got out of his seat and stepped away from the table.
The blunt voice on the other end went straight to the point.