“I’ll keep it with me,” Omar said. “For now.”
Corben smiled. It didn’t even try to find his eyes. “Intal rayyis, ya Omar.” You’re the boss.
Movement caught his eye as two dusty SUVs drove up to meet them. Omar waved them over and yelled out an order to his men to load up.
Within minutes, they were on their way.
The King Air was met on the tarmac by one of Kirkwood’s security consultants. Typically ex-SAS or Special Forces operatives, their services were in high demand since the chaos had overwhelmed Iraq. Per Kirkwood’s request, he and Mia were able to disembark in a remote corner of the small airfield, away from prying eyes. They sat in the back of the car that was there waiting for them, a Toyota Land Cruiser with heavily smoked windows, while the hired gun, an Australian who gave his name as Bryan, took their passports in to be stamped at the small terminal. Moments later, they breezed out of the airport compound and were headed to their meeting with Abu Barzan.
“You’ve made contact with him?” Kirkwood asked the Australian.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He was a bit put out by the change of venue, but I told him it was just a safety precaution. One of my guys is there, with him.”
Mia listened to the exchange with slight puzzlement. “What change of venue? He knows you’re coming?”
“I had him moved this morning,” Kirkwood told her. “Just in case Corben and the others were onto him.”
Something about it wasn’t sitting well with her. “Is he under guard or something? I mean, aren’t you worried he’ll just bail on you?”
Kirkwood seemed to read her suspicions. “I’ll explain everything when we’re with him, I promise.”
The two dusty SUVs made their way across a narrow concrete bridge and climbed up towards Diyarbakir.
The city had grown to become the Kurdish capital of eastern Turkey. The ancient town, squatting on its elevated mound, was surrounded by a massive Byzantine defensive wall. Only the Great Wall of China was bigger. Built of large blocks of black basalt, it housed five imposing gates that led into the old town and had sixteen keeps dotted around its circumference. Newer buildings crawled down its outer ridge and spilled out into the plain around it.
From the back of the lead vehicle, Corben studied his captors. Omar was seated next to him, studying the GPS coordinates on his handheld screen, with one of his men riding shotgun next to the local driver. The back car had Omar’s two remaining henchmen, and another driver.
He was wondering if he’d get lucky before his bluff was called, when his cell phone suddenly warbled. Omar checked its screen, then handed it to Corben as he pulled out his handgun and pressed its nozzle against Corben’s neck.
“Be careful what you say.”
Corben ignored the comment and just took the phone. He glanced at its screen. It was Olshansky.
“Where the hell are you?” his techie asked. “I got a really weird ring-tone on your phone.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Corben countered. “What have you got for me?”
Olshansky sounded excited. “The NSA’s got a lock on your Swiss mystery caller. You’re not going to believe this.”
Corben eyed Omar coolly. “He’s in Turkey,” he told Olshansky, his voice flat.
“Not just in Turkey, my friend,” Olshansky enthused. “He’s in Diyarbakir.”
“Where in Diyarbakir?”
“Last lock I have placed him at the airport — no, hang on. He’s just crossed cells. He’s on his way into the city.” Olshansky’s tone changed to concern. “Hey, are you alright?”
“I’m great. Just let me know when he stops moving.” Corben brusquely hung up, spinning around to scan the roads out his window. “Is this the airport road?” he asked Omar.
Omar relayed the question to the driver in Arabic. The driver nodded.
Corben turned and checked the road behind them. It was empty. “Get your driver to pull over somewhere discreet. Our buyer’s on his way in.”
Chapter 56
The sun-drenched landscape between the airport and the elevated city was barren and desolate. Mia and Kirkwood’s driver had to stop several times as villagers in tattered clothing meandered across the road with herds of sheep and goats, the languid processions escorted by squadrons of flies and trailing an acrid stench.
The Land Cruiser eventually reached the concrete bridge and headed up to the city. The buildings lining the approach were a haphazard, unruly mix of old and new, cheaply built, many further defaced by half-torn election posters and the garish signage of the shops that occupied the street level. The road was crowded with pickup trucks and overloaded sedans carrying everything from watermelons to refrigerators.
The driver threaded his way through the congested obstacle course. Neither he, nor his passengers, noticed the two dusty SUVs that were parked along their route, shielded by a large tanker truck that was unloading water.
As the Land Cruiser glided past Corben’s SUV, something about it snagged his attention. It was reasonably clean, it was in good condition, and though he couldn’t make out much behind its smoked windows, he’d caught a glimpse of the man in the front passenger seat as the car had been heading towards them, a fair-skinned man with sandy-colored hair wearing black shades.
That had to be the target. Hardly any cars had driven in from the direction of the airport, and this guy wasn’t local.
“There.” He pointed it out to Omar. “That’s our buyer. Follow him.”
Omar ordered the driver to do so. The two SUVs pulled out and slithered forward, keeping two or three cars between them and the Land Cruiser.
Corben’s muscles tightened with anticipation. He wasn’t sure it was the buyer’s vehicle, but he sensed he’d gotten it right. Regardless, he’d soon get a lock from Olshansky on the buyer’s final destination.
He glanced over at Omar. The hakeem’s man gave him a small nod before his lifeless eyes swiveled back to take in their quarry.
The Land Cruiser tunneled through a vast stone gate and entered the old city. The houses here were much older, lower, and were built of distinctive alternating bands of white stone and reddish black basalt. Mosques abounded, their minarets spearing the dense townscape. The uneven, cracked sidewalks were crowded with men, most of them in the traditional baggy black trousers, and women in white headscarves. Narrow, dark streets radiated away from the main road, sheltering children who played in the shade.
The two SUVs shadowed the Land Cruiser from a safe distance. They stopped around the corner of a big market as their target pulled up outside a house adjacent to it.
Two men waited outside. One was an Arab, the other a Westerner. Both looked as if they were packing. Omar asked the driver where they were. The driver explained that this was the Hassan Pasha Ham, an old caravanserai that now housed souvenir shops and carpet merchants.
Corben wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on the Land Cruiser as its doors swung open.
The fair-haired man emerged first, scanning the surroundings with practiced eyes. The shades and the holster bulge under his khaki desert jacket told Corben the man was a hired gun. He exchanged a couple of words with the Westerner waiting outside the house as the Land Cruiser’s rear doors opened.
Corben spotted Mia step out first. And if that wasn’t enough, the sight of Kirkwood following her tripped the remaining circuits in his brain into overdrive.
He’d been expecting to see Webster. His mind rushed to process the development. Clearly, Webster and Kirkwood were working together. Which explained a lot about Kirkwood’s appearance in Beirut, and his interest.