The Sanctuary

by Raymond Khoury

  THE BRIEF CELL-PHONE RING echoed through the apartment and roused Mia from an almost comatose sleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling groggy. She wasn’t sure what time it was. The room was completely dark, the outside world ruthlessly blotted out by roller shutters. She noticed some sunlight creeping in from under the bedroom door and realized it was morning.

  She was surprised at how deeply she’d been gone, given the circumstances. She ran her hands through her hair, pulled on her pants, and stumbled out of the bedroom to find Corben in the kitchen. He was already dressed and was talking into the phone while stuffing some files—including the one he’d taken from Evelyn’s apartment—into his briefcase.

  His body language, focused and urgent, sent a spasm of dread down Mia’s spine.

  He saw her and tilted the phone upwards, away from his mouth. In a low but firm voice, he said, “We’ve got to go.” His steely expression filled in the rest. They had to go now. Her questions would have to wait.

  She’d hardly managed to get her shoes on before they were heading down in the elevator to the underground garage. Corben filled her in as they hurried into his Cherokee, and within minutes they were rushing towards the university.

  “They’re sending a couple of men over,” Corben concluded, “but I’d rather have Ramez in our custody than in theirs when that call comes in.”

  He checked his watch. Mia checked hers. “So this Farouk’s supposed to call him at noon?”

  Corben nodded. “We’ve got about four hours.”

  Mia’s mind was racing ahead questioningly, a surge of adrenaline flooding her senses. “So why wasn’t he picking up his phone last night when you tried calling him? What if it had been Farouk? What if he’s changed his mind, or something’s happened to him?”

  Corben shrugged. “I guess we’ll know in four hours’ time.”

  “He should’ve picked up his phone,” she insisted.

  Corben turned to her. “This is good. At least he’s made contact.”

  Mia took in a deep breath and settled back in her seat, trying to subdue the methodical, analytic scientist inside her, but there were too many unknowns, too many possible variants, for her to switch off. “What if Farouk’s watching him? You don’t want to scare him off.”

  “If he’s watching, he’ll see you,” Corben reassured her. “And that should give him some comfort, maybe even encourage him to come out.”

  Mia nodded to herself and turned away, looking ahead as the street tore past. She didn’t like the silence. It allowed her to take stock of what she was actually doing, and with that came apprehension. She thought again of her mom, of what she must be feeling. She tried to calm herself by thinking forward and imagining a best-case, uneventful scenario—they pick up Ramez, Farouk calls, he’s brought in, and either they act on his information to track down the hakeem and free Evelyn, or they get the smuggled pieces and trade them for her freedom, and everyone lives happily ever after. But her mind refused to cooperate, insisting instead on fleshing out outcomes that were far less rosy and, despite her best efforts to block them, involved a lot of suffering and a disturbing number of deaths.

  Corben made a right turn at the bottom of Rue Abdel Aziz onto the tail end of Bliss and turned into the circular driveway of the main entrance to the university. The Medical Gate, as it was known, was shrouded in darkness at all times of day by the sweeping canopy of a gargantuan, ancient banyan tree. He pulled right up to the cast-iron gate. Vehicular access to the campus was tightly controlled due to the local penchant for car bombs, but Corben’s Jeep had the diplomatic 104 plates that indicated it was affiliated to the U.S. embassy and enjoyed special privileges. Sure enough, the guard manning the gatehouse spotted the plates and, after a cursory glance inside the car, waved them in.

  They pulled into a parking spot under a row of stately cypress trees up the road from Post Hall. Mia felt her nerves tingling as she followed Corben out of the car. She noticed him look around as if to make sure no one was watching before he opened the SUV’s tailgate. The trunk was bare, aside for a latch in its carpeted floor, which Corben unlocked. He gave the surroundings another quick once-over before opening the concealed lid. Neatly strapped into place and tucked away inside the compartment was a small armory: shotgun, submachine gun, a couple of automatics, and several boxes of rounds. The tingle grew more pronounced as Corben pulled out one of the handguns, rammed a full magazine in, and tucked it into his belt underneath his jacket.

  He slammed the lid shut and seemed to spot the apprehension in her expression. “Just in case,” he reassured her.

  “Good idea,” she muttered, unsure whether to feel relieved that he was armed this time.

  They walked past a couple of students who were hanging out before class and entered the old stone building. There was no receptionist in the lobby—the Archaeology Department was small, with no more than a dozen or so full-time staff. Mia knew that Evelyn’s office was on the upper floor and led Corben past the empty lecture hall and the entrance to the campus museum and up the stairs.

  They checked the rooms as they walked down the corridor until they came to Ramez’s office. His door was open. The assistant professor’s face lit up with alarm when he spotted them, then his expression turned to confusion as he seemed to recognize Mia.

  “I’m Evelyn’s daughter.” She smiled, trying to put him at ease. “We met here before, remember? In her office?”

  “Of course.” His eyes were still fearful as they darted from her to Corben and back. He wanted to mouth some more words, but Corben didn’t give him that chance and took over.

  “I’m with the American embassy,” Corben informed him flatly. “We’re trying to find Evelyn, and we’re hoping you can help us. The Fuhud detectives you called up told me about the man who came to see you yesterday, Farouk. We really need to talk to him to see if he can help us secure her release.”

  “He’s going to call me at noon.” Ramez’s voice quivered uncomfortably.

  Corben pointed at the cell phone on the desk. “That one?”

  Ramez nodded. “They said they were coming here. They said they’d tell me what to say.”

  “I’d prefer it if you came with us to the embassy,” Corben said. “You’ll be safer there. Just until we bring Farouk in.”

  Ramez’s eyes widened at the mention, and he took an instinctive step backwards. “Safer?”

  “Just a precaution,” Corben assured him. “We don’t know how well connected these guys are, but they seem to know what they’re doing. They’re also looking for Farouk. I can’t guarantee your safety anywhere else.” He paused, clearly letting the warning sink in.

  From the grim expression on Ramez’s face, it seemed to have sunk him with it.

  “We should go,” Corben told him soberly as he stepped to the desk and picked up the phone. He handed it to Ramez, who took it, looked at it for a moment, and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll let the detectives know you’re with us.” He saw some lingering anxiety in the assistant professor’s eyes. “You’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

  Ramez glanced at Mia. She gave him a small nod and a supportive half-smile. He shrugged and nodded back with grim acceptance.

  Corben led the way as they exited the building and walked back to the car. He scanned the quiet surroundings—the university’s campus was an oasis of tranquillity even during the worst of times—as he ushered Ramez into the backseat. Moments later, the big gates parted again and the big gray Cherokee rejoined the noisy streets of Beirut.

  Corben waited for a couple of cars to pass before cutting across Rue Bliss in the opposite direction and heading up the big, open intersection that fronted the university’s entrance. He glanced in the mirror at Ramez and reached for his cell phone to call the Fuhud detectives. The assistant professor was staring nervously ahead, his face riven with unease—and just then, something else rushed into the mirror, a dark shadow accompanied by a strained engine growl and an earsplitting screech of tire
s, and a split second later, something rammed the Cherokee full force from behind.

  Chapter 34

  C orben’s hands tightened against the steering wheel as the Jeep lurched forward from the collision, the power of the impact launching Mia and Ramez against their seat belts as they screamed in panic.

  Corben flicked a glance through his mirror and saw the car, a large, dark Mercedes that he recognized from outside Evelyn’s apartment, fall back a bit as the Cherokee disengaged briefly from its attacker, the momentum of the hit propelling it forward, but before he could floor the pedal to try to outrun them, the charging car screamed forward and rammed the back of the Cherokee again, hitting it at a slight angle this time and sending it swerving wide and out of control. The parked cars to their right flashed past in a blur before the Cherokee’s front bumper clipped one of them and spun on itself, plowing into the small gap between two of the cars, its air bags popping open and slamming into Corben and Mia as the big SUV bulldozed through the cars in an orgy of mangled steel and exploding rubber before skidding to a lung-wrenching stop.

  Less than five seconds had passed from the moment of the first impact.

  Dazed, his vision blurred and his ears ringing, Corben heard the attacking car screeching to a halt somewhere nearby, off to his left. He knew they had seconds to live if they didn’t move with lightning speed. He couldn’t see anything out of the windshield, which had spider-webbed, but his own window was open and he saw the doors to the attackers’ car swing open and armed men emerging, one of them, the pockmarked man he recognized from the chase outside Evelyn’s apartment, spewing out loud orders in Arabic. Corben shot a glance at Mia, who looked shell-shocked but seemed unhurt, next to him, an air bag pinning her against her seat, and pulled out his gun. Without flinching, he put a bullet in his air bag, then one in hers. They flattened with a sudden outpouring of air. Crouching low, he swung his arm towards his window and loosed a few rounds at the hit men, sending them scattering for cover as he yelled to Mia, “Get out, that way, go!” and stabbed a finger towards her door.

  Mia unclipped her seat belt and tugged at the door latch desperately. The door wouldn’t open, its frame bent from the collision. “It’s stuck,” she shouted back as she pushed, putting her weight into it. “It won’t open!”

  “Get it open now or we’re dead,” Corben yelled as he fired out his window again, peppering the street around them with bullets, buying them a few more seconds. “Ramez, get out of the car, away from the street,” he ordered. He edged upwards for a peek over the headrest of his seat, towards the back of the car, and saw the tips of Ramez’s fingers poking up from the back, shivering nervously. “Ramez,” he shouted again, but the assistant professor didn’t answer him, instead muttering something angrily in Arabic that Corben couldn’t make out.

  Mia slammed her shoulder into the door and it groaned open a couple of inches. She kicked and pushed at it until it was wide enough for them to climb out. “Okay,” she screamed.

  Corben herded her out frantically, yelling, “Get out and stay low,” as he fired a few more rounds before crawling across the seat behind her, head down, and slithering out of the car headfirst onto the sidewalk. “Ramez,” he shouted as he pounded on the back door. He craned his head up to look into the car, but had to duck down, cursing, as a volley of bullets crunched into the other side of the car and splattered against the wall behind him.

  He heard the leader of the killers shout something out in Arabic—“We need him alive, don’t kill the professor”—and a second later Ramez screamed back in Arabic, “I’m coming out, don’t shoot!”

  Corben yelled, “No!” as he heard the opposite passenger door creak open. He spun to Mia, ordered her, “Stay down,” clenched the gun in both fists, and took in a deep breath before springing upwards, finger on the trigger, only to find Ramez, his hands raised, stumbling away from the Cherokee, towards two of the killers who had now emerged from their cover. The sight down the nozzle of Corben’s handgun found one of them and he loosed a couple of rounds. The man snapped backwards and yelped in pain as his shoulder erupted in a red puff of blood. Corben swung across to fire at the other man but hesitated for a split second as Ramez was in his line of fire, and before he could find the shot, the pockmarked leader of the hit team swung out from his cover and fired back. Corben ducked down as the rounds hammered their way into the car’s bent panels like rivets while others sizzled past, skimming the stranded SUV’s roof and biting into the wall beyond.

  Mia and Corben huddled against the Cherokee and crouched low, with their backs against the car, Corben scanning left and right, mind racing frantically, Mia watching him with her heart in her throat.

  He heard some more hurried orders in Arabic—“Finish them off, hurry, we have to move”—and tensed up as he peeked over the doorsill and glimpsed two of the killers converging on the Cherokee, one from either side, while Ramez was being shoved into the big sedan by the leader. Corben took in a big gulp of air, raised a cautioning finger at Mia, and waited a split second, listening carefully to the rushing, approaching footsteps before rolling to his side, towards the back of the beached SUV, and, staying low, raising his gun to fire from under the vehicle at the feet of one of the killers who was now less than ten feet away. He steadied his grip and ripped out three quick shots and saw bursts of blood erupt from the man’s ankles before he toppled over, screaming in agony.

  The move took the other killer by surprise. He freaked out, unleashing a ferocious barrage of bullets at the SUV, cursing maniacally at the top of his voice as the rounds tore through the metal and the seats and exploded any remaining windows, before the gang’s leader ordered him back to the car with a fierce yell. The crazed shooter kept cursing out loud and firing as he retreated to the sedan.

  Corben felt his jaw muscles tighten as he waited for him to turn and climb in, figuring that would give him the opening to take him out. Sure enough, the wild firing stopped a couple of seconds later. Corben visualized him getting into the car, and just when he imagined the man would be most vulnerable, half into the car, he darted out from behind the SUV and fired, only the car’s door was already swinging shut, and more worrying, the man whose ankles he’d obliterated was turning to face him and raising his submachine gun at him. Corben quickly dropped to one side and fired off four rounds into the writhing man’s chest and skull before watching the Merc tearing down the street until it disappeared from view around a corner.

  Corben got up, the staccato beating of his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears. He stepped out into the street and checked the downed killer. There was little doubt that the man was dead. He looked around him, taking in the otherworldly, deathly silence after the ear-shattering chaos of only seconds ago, and called out to Mia, “You okay?”

  Mia emerged from behind the SUV, covered in dust and with deadened eyes, but otherwise intact. “Yeah,” she said, nodding as she came around the battered car and joined him.

  The whole experience had been mind-blowingly brief and intense, and she felt shell-shocked and yet, oddly, desensitized. The crash, the bullets—she felt strangely dissociated from it, as if it had happened to someone else. It was all such a blur, a confusing, manic storm, one that she’d somehow survived.

  She saw the dead killer lying in the middle of the road and wanted to turn away, but couldn’t, not immediately. Something made her get closer to it. She took a long, cold look at his body—one of his feet had been sheared right off at the ankle, a bloody mess splattered on the asphalt around it—and at his hard, lifeless face, before glancing up at Corben.

  He looked at her, as if trying to suss out how she was feeling. Somehow, she didn’t feel devastated. She didn’t feel scared, she didn’t feel like crying. She felt different.

  She felt angry.

  And right there and then, standing in the middle of that dusty road, with blood pooling under the dead killer and steam pouring out of the SUV’s engine and stunned civilians emerging from every corner and convergi
ng on them in shocked silence, what she wanted most in the world was to make sure the bastards that did this, the bastards who had kidnapped her mother and killed those soldiers and had now also taken away Ramez, the pathological psychopaths who destroyed lives and rode roughshod over this city as if it were their little fiefdom, meting out pain and suffering with galling indifference, were stopped with—to use an expression for whose meaning she now had a whole new appreciation—extreme prejudice.

  Chapter 35

  C orben had just finished checking the dead killer’s body for anything that would lead back to the hakeem, or for a cell phone—neither of which he found—when the Fuhud detectives barreled in.

  With them there to arrange for carting off the dead body and the wrecked Cherokee, he was good to go. He didn’t want to hang around there any longer than he had to, and he didn’t have to. Filling in the detectives was a courtesy, to keep them sweet, but the clock was ticking. Farouk would be calling Ramez in less than four hours’ time, and with Ramez in the hands of the enemy, Corben had to move fast.

  He recovered his briefcase, and not holding out much hope, he checked the back of the Cherokee for Ramez’s phone in case it had fallen out of his pocket in the chaos. It wasn’t there. He dropped to one knee and swept his eye under the car too, but there was no sign of it there either. He made sure the weapons cache in the trunk was solidly locked, and after giving the two detectives a clipped briefing of what had happened and telling them to clear the area as quickly as possible and not to release anything to the press just yet, he turned down their offer of a ride and, instead, hailed a passing taxi to take him and Mia up to the embassy in Awkar.

  MIA LOOKED BACK at the receding scene of the shoot-out through the rear windshield of the taxi as it drove off towards East Beirut and the hills beyond.