The man’s gaze seemed to drill through Ali’s skull, but he maintained his smile. “You wouldn’t be holding me up for more money?”
“If you don’t want to make a deal, tough.”
Ali was still fuming over his confrontation with Carina. His anger had dulled his street smarts; otherwise, he might have sensed the menace in the quiet tone when the man whispered, “I must have the statue.”
For the first time, Ali noticed the disproportionately large hands that dangled from long, powerful-looking arms.
“I was just giving you a hard time,” Ali said with a toothy smile. “Blame it on that Italian bitch. I’ll call the warehouse on my hand radio and have the statue sent over.”
He started toward the sitting area.
“Wait,” the man said. Ali froze in midstep. The man’s grin grew even wider as he picked up the pocket radio Ali had left on the table. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Ali lunged toward the seating platform and slipped his hand under a cushion. His fingers closed on the grip of his Beretta and slipped the pistol out from its hiding place.
The man moved with the swiftness of a hunting cheetah. He tossed the radio aside, grabbed Ali under the chin from behind, and twisted his arm. The pistol dropped from Ali’s hand, his body bent backward like a horseshoe on an anvil.
“Tell me where to find the Navigator and I’ll let you go. If you don’t, I’ll snap your spine.”
Ali was a tough man but not a particularly courageous one. He needed only a few seconds of exquisite pain to convince him that no piece of art was worth his life. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you,” he gasped. He spit out a location.
The man stopped twisting his arm. The pain eased up. Ali’s hand drifted down to the dagger in his ankle sheath. As soon as he got free, he’d carve this creep like a pig. He never got the chance. The man’s free hand joined the other under his chin and the fingers began to squeeze. The knee came up at the same time and dug into the small of his back.
“What are you doing? I thought we had a deal,” Ali said, barely able to get the words out.
He was almost unconscious when he felt a dull snap. The grip on his chin loosened. Ali’s head lolled on his chest like a rag doll’s and he slumped to the floor. The man stepped over the still-twitching body and pushed aside the hanging rug that hid a back door to the building. Moments later, he disappeared in the maze of alleyways. It took him almost to dawn to make his way back to his hotel. He stood in the window, watching the smoke rise over the wounded city, and made a call on his satellite phone.
His benefactor’s mellifluous voice came on the phone immediately.
“I’ve been waiting for your call, Adriano,” he said.
“Sorry for the delay, sir. There were unexpected difficulties.”
Adriano described every detail of his encounter with Ali. His benefactor would know if he were lying or shading the truth.
“I’m very disappointed, Adriano.”
“I know, sir. I was under orders not to let the Navigator fall into anyone else’s hands. This seemed to be the only way.”
“You were absolutely right to follow orders. It is important that we find the object first. We have waited nearly three thousand years. A little more time won’t matter.”
Adriano breathed a sigh of relief. He had been trained not to feel pain or fear, but he was well aware of the fate of those who displeased his benefactor. “Do you want me to try to track it down?”
“No. I’ll try to go through international channels once more. It’s becoming too dangerous there for you.”
“I’ve made arrangements to leave the country through Syria.”
“Good.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “This woman, Carina Mechadi, may prove useful.”
“In what way, sir?”
“We shall see, Adriano. We shall see.”
The line went dead.
He grabbed his bag and closed the hotel-room door behind him. He planned to meet an oil smuggler who had promised to get him out of Iraq. In accordance with his standing orders to leave no trace of his passing, he would, of course, dispatch the man to Allah once he was safe across the border.
He smiled as he savored the prospect.