High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  Rather than sit, she faced the front grounds from behind a wall of windows and watched the motorcycle security arrive. Outside, Ali talked to Karim and Fares. She pulled her binoculars from her shoulder bag and read his lips. Later she’d ask Kord about him.

  Two Mercedes limos pulled into place. According to tradition, each consecutive car lessened in luxury based on the passengers’ status. Which high-dollar limo transported a possible traitor? It made no difference which vehicle Prince Omar rode in when someone he trusted might have designs to kill him.

  She replaced her binoculars and processed the case. So many questions and she refused to see another dead body. Unfortunately the body count usually rose before it leveled off.

  One step at a time, and most likely behind the men.

  ON THE WAY TO MD ANDERSON, Monica rode in the second limo. Ali drove the first car with Prince Omar and Kord. Wasi was her driver, Saad rode in the front, and Princess Gharam slept on the opposite side. Monica had wanted time to chat with the woman, but it didn’t happen. Her noble features matched the photo in her file, a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and large brown eyes, yet so fragile.

  Monica read a briefing on hospital policy for non-US patients and the documents related to Princess Gharam. Dr. Wesley Carlson, a highly acclaimed cancer specialist, would be in charge of her treatment. The prince had preregistered his mother prior to US arrival and faxed signed documents. MD Anderson provided interpreters, if needed, to help the prince and his mother understand medical language and procedures. The hospital adhered to Muslim dietary requirements and offered a prayer room. If the prince needed restaurant recommendations, housing, the attention of Consul General al-Fakeeh, or transportation, the hospital offered resources to help make the stay easier. That had to offer a measure of comfort to the royal family in the midst of uncertainty.

  Princess Gharam, a thin woman, used a wheelchair to enter the hospital. Her diagnosis was grim, but the clinical trials gave her a chance to send the disease into remission. She had a serene look about her, but when she stared ahead, her dark eyes emanated fear. While she and the prince met with hospital personnel behind closed doors of the international patients’ office, Ali and Wasi stood guard outside. Monica had no plans to irritate either of them, especially Ali, who kept glancing her way.

  She sat across from Kord in the waiting area, the best position to see those walking by. She observed the movement of everyone around her—doctors, nurses, staff, and visitors.

  No one escaped her inspection. The killer had been successful twice, and she doubted that person had any thought of giving up. Kord appeared on alert too. Not one glimpse at his phone or an indulgence in conversation.

  When the waiting area was empty, she moved to his side while keeping her focus around them. “I have a few questions,” she whispered.

  His gaze never wavered. “Figured you would.”

  “Actually, a lot of questions.”

  He swung his brown eyes her way for a brief second, and she caught their intensity. Definitely a distraction from her responsibilities. “My relationship with the prince? My escapades in the Middle East?”

  “So you have a sense of humor.”

  “Light side is rare. Usually nose to the grindstone.”

  “In our business, that can keep us alive. Is Princess Gharam a fighter?”

  “She’s an exceptional woman. Courageous.”

  “From experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good to know. Tell me about Ali.”

  “He and Zain are cousins. Grew up together. Why?”

  “While waiting for the motorcade earlier, I read his lips when he talked to another bodyguard.”

  “What did he say?”

  “‘This is over when I say it’s over.’”

  No signs of concern creased his features. “Could be legit, spoken in anger about the murder.”

  “True. Or it might be an admission of guilt.”

  “Impossible.” Kord never looked her way. “I told you I know these men.”

  “I’m checking backgrounds on all of them. Are you going to ask Ali what he meant or am I?”

  He glanced at Ali. “You’re right. All bases need to be covered. I’ll handle it now.”

  She hoped his friendship with Prince Omar and his men didn’t sign a death warrant for all of them. But she’d been there. Knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone she trusted. “We can make this task force work,” she said. “It’s not my intent to be difficult—just do my job. You have the advantage in your relationship with Prince Omar.”

  “Are you trying to placate me?” But his words weren’t harsh. “Monica, we have the weight of two agencies on our shoulders. Intel drips into our phones like water, and while we need to read it, it’s not up to us to decipher every piece of info. The world is watching the US to see how the tragedy sorts out. You have your methods, and I have mine. In the meantime, we have to work together.” He stood and walked to Ali.

  Monica sat alone in the hospital lobby for nearly two hours while Princess Gharam was being settled into her room. Prince Omar had requested Kord to join him on the floor where his mother would be staying. A little difficult for Monica to befriend the woman when she was barred from the scene.

  She had no idea what Kord said to Ali about his earlier statement. Neither did she have Ali’s response because both men had their backs to her.

  If not for her vigil on the elevator door and checking her phone for updates, she’d slip off to the ladies’ room to wash her face and brush her teeth. Kord . . . he could have dumped acid on her outside Prince Omar’s and the doctor’s meeting or with her question about Ali. She respected, valued his treatment of her. Maybe they were off to a semi-good start.

  Finally Prince Omar and his chosen men exited the elevators to drive back to the Saud mansion. Again she’d ride in the second limo with Wasi and Saad. Traffic had thinned with rush hour behind them.

  The lights of the mansion signaled Monica’s weariness. Evening shadows crept across the grounds and blanketed the beauty, like the hijab Princess Gharam and the other women from Saudi Arabia wore. A quick power nap sounded tempting, but it would be hours before she gave in to any semblance of sleep. Too many specifics to work out.

  The limos stopped in front of the home, where Karim and Fares stood guard, and passengers left all vehicles. Jeff and SAC Thomas emerged from their cars, where they’d been awaiting the prince’s arrival. New intel or a formality?

  Once inside, Prince Omar requested a meeting with those involved with his security while dinner preparations were under way. Right now she’d take a BLT—well, maybe a turkey, lettuce, and tomato, since the Muslim diet refrained from pork. She hadn’t eaten since half a bagel with blackberry pecan jam this morning, but she’d consumed more cups of coffee than she cared to count.

  In the foyer, she waited with Kord for instructions. She scrolled through intel on her phone for updates while Kord studied his. She assumed he was catching up too.

  He glanced up. “Want to talk?”

  “I prefer privacy.”

  “The sitting room?” He gestured the way.

  “Been there before.”

  The open windows of the sitting area ushered in darkness, and she closed the drapes while Kord snapped on a light. Once they were seated on chairs more comfortable than the mattress on her bed, she formed her words carefully with the knowledge of hidden recording devices. “How long have you known Prince Omar?”

  “Over six years.”

  “And the man who was killed today, Zain, you’ve known him equally as long?”

  “I have.”

  She added kindness to her words. “I need to get my interrogation hat on. You don’t offer much info. Thanks for telling me about the danger you two experienced.”

  “Not the first time.”

  He’d reverted to his stoic mode. “Perhaps when we have a spare moment, you’ll tell me more stories.”

  “Maybe,” he said.
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  “I thought if we discussed what happened, something might trigger an idea about who is at the helm.”

  “Fire away.”

  She gave him a half smile for his pun. “Have you considered how the situation six years ago with Prince Omar and Zain could have influenced today?”

  “I doubt the crimes are connected because the killers from back then are dead, but a formidable enemy waits for an opportunity to strike. Here are the details on what I told you before. Six years ago, I had an assignment in Saudi that involved US holdings. Bombers killed two American businessmen and kidnapped a third along with a Saudi government official. Within twenty-four hours, the two kidnapped victims were beheaded. The bodies were hung outside Riyadh. Although diplomatic relations between the two countries seemed to be worsening, the US and Saudi Arabia wanted the crimes rectified. We believed ISIS was responsible. I look Mideastern and grew up in Iraq, so the language and accent were familiar. I posed as a naturalized American citizen with a military background who was discontent with US policies. I asked questions and voiced my discontent with the US. I got inside the terrorist group.”

  Impressive. Kord just added another rung to her ladder of respect.

  “Shortly afterward, members of ISIS kidnapped one of Prince Omar’s sons and his second wife. I promised Prince Omar I’d return his family. Zain and I worked to free them. We were chased into a cave in the middle of the desert and managed to hide there.”

  He spoke as though giving directions to the nearest McDonald’s. “We needed water. I knew of a well near the camp. Took the risk, not knowing Zain had followed me. Got myself caught by two men. They were ready to behead me when Zain arrived and ended their plans. We slipped back to the cave with water and a little food until the Saudis rescued us and killed the terrorists. Zain and I remained fast friends, and Prince Omar and I have kept in contact ever since. He’s as close as a brother.”

  Did the CIA or FBI have reservations about Kord’s alliances? “You saved a young prince and his mother. You infiltrated ISIS. Are you certain the past isn’t linked to the present?”

  He leaned his head back on the chair. “I’ve thought about it. Like I said, that retaliation would have happened a long time ago. Doesn’t mean I’m not burning brain cells looking for leads. Since this morning, I’ve mentally checked off some people and highlighted others. Right now I need a one-on-one with Prince Omar.”

  “When?”

  “First chance I get. Sometime tonight.”

  “I’d like to be present, but I also know he won’t be open to having a woman there. I’m counting on you to brief me.” She wanted the info now, but they both did. “What did Ali say?”

  “He wants revenge for Zain’s murder. And he saw you at the window with binoculars.”

  She expected it. “Do you believe him?”

  “In our business, everyone is a suspect. He’s a good man.”

  She’d keep her thoughts to herself for now until she had Ali’s background.

  “Monica, there are others who despise us and the Saudis.”

  “An internal attempt by the Sunnis?”

  “Wahhabism is the practicing form of Islam. Doesn’t prevent the Sunnis from protesting.”

  She’d considered the same. “I’ve seen the list of names. If we narrow those down to Houston with possible terrorist affiliations, we have a half dozen who could be in the middle of it or have information.”

  “The FBI is engaging them in interviews as we speak. Terrorists’ cells seldom leave a cyber or paper trail.”

  “Except on the deep web,” she said. “ISIS has recruited those with computer skills.”

  “The FBI and CIA are digging into encrypted networks.” Kord looked at her, but his gaze was distant.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I have a call in to an informant to see if he can learn the killer’s identity. He has a family and wants them safe in the US.”

  “I’m suspicious of a fistful of countries as well as factions within the US,” she said. “Maybe I’ll learn something when I talk to the princesses. Anything there?”

  “Could be.”

  “What about the other bodyguards and the press secretary or entourage?”

  “One.”

  “Who—?”

  Ali filled the doorway, his massive frame like a grizzly. “Prince Omar is ready to see you now. I’ll escort your assistant to the women’s quarters.”

  “Ali, I respectfully request that Prince Omar allow Miss Alden to be a part of this discussion. SAC Thomas and Jeff Carlton value her expertise.”

  “I’ll request permission.” The bodyguard disappeared.

  “Thank you.” She was starting to like Kord.

  “I may owe you a favor before we’re finished.”

  Ali returned in less than ten minutes. “Miss Alden is permitted.”

  MONICA FOLLOWED KORD AND ALI down a wide marble hallway hosting alcoves containing gold-etched vases and ancient swords, priceless collector items from around the world. They continued to a massive natatorium. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from gawking.

  Above the Olympic-size pool with a huge fountain were rooms with ornate metal balconies, possibly guest suites. Who had three crystal chandeliers overlooking a swimming pool? Four tiers of candle-like lighting were a bit more than she was accustomed to.

  Around the pool were seating areas situated for privacy, reminding her of a five-star hotel. Maybe six. To her right, SAC Thomas and Jeff were talking with two bodyguards. She should be aware of their conversation. This boys-only club needed to end. For that matter, she hadn’t seen the princesses. No surprise. Been caught in the middle of cultural differences more than once.

  A long, glass-topped table had been set with bowls of fresh fruit, dried dates, and nuts. Two Saudi men in traditional white brought trays of coffee and cups, the nutty aroma of the brew tugging at her senses. Food and drink would energize her mind and body.

  Prince Omar took his place at the head of the table with Ali on his right and Malik al-Kazaz, his press secretary, on the left. Kord managed a coveted spot beside Ali. On the remainder of the right were Jeff, Inman, and Saad. On the left beside Malik sat Wasi, SAC Thomas, Karim, and Fares, which meant the front door was armed with technology and not physical men. Monica squeezed into a chair on the far left. That was fine—allowed her to observe every man present, specifically the Saudis. Her gut told her one of them despised Prince Omar and helped plot his assassination. All trails led to a hole in the prince’s security. She’d be observing all of them until she figured out which one was in the same bull pen with a killer.

  Ali clenched his jaw. His stiffened body indicated bitterness, anger, or possibly something else.

  Inman’s scar had her attention. How had he gotten it?

  Saad appeared too young to be a bodyguard. But looks could be deceiving. A pretty-boy type who could be deadly? He’d been with the prince’s bodyguards less than a year.

  Malik al-Kazaz focused on the prince. The press secretary knew every detail of the prince’s life, a man whose background was squeaky clean.

  Wasi had yet to show any pleasantries. His background indicated a quick temper.

  Karim kept his attention fixed on the entrance into the natatorium. According to her report, more than once he’d stopped intruders from gaining access to the prince and his family.

  Fares reminded her of a bulldog, and she sensed he didn’t appreciate sitting next to her. A barrel chest bulged through his suit.

  The bodyguards were trained to protect at all costs, experts in hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, body language—just as she and Kord were.

  “Appetizers have been served. Then we’ll exchange information,” Prince Omar said. “The day’s been too long.”

  A man poured coffee, beginning with the prince. Monica absorbed it all like a dry sponge. Her past missions in the Middle East had been in pits of poverty among those who wanted her—and everything she stood for—to die. This might not b
e any different.

  Prince Omar turned to Kord. “My oldest son texted me and asked about you.”

  The relationship between the men, brought on by danger, had produced a close friendship. Unique and logical. Kord had referred to Prince Omar as a brother, so what about his own family? She’d ask when given the opportunity. Analyzing a person’s behavior always began with a thorough knowledge of background and family history. She needed to trust him, but that might be impossible.

  “Hard to believe he’s seventeen now,” Kord said.

  Prince Omar chuckled. “My son would like to take you riding. He has quite an interest in the Arabians.”

  Kord smiled, and it was genuine. “Tell him I’d be honored. He showed much bravery back then for a boy of twelve. I’m sure his horsemanship reflects it. When this is over, I’ll visit Riyadh.”

  “Good. You’re not married, my friend. Come to my country, and you can have four wives.”

  Those at the table laughed, but Monica found nothing humorous in the statement. What woman in her right mind wanted to share her husband with three other women? For that matter, why would a man want to deal with four wives? No doubt the more women, the more sons. Heirs.

  “Been too busy to look for a wife,” Kord said.

  “Ah, another reason to live in Saudi Arabia. I’ll find a suitable woman for you.”

  “I’m picky.”

  “No problem. Give me your requirements.”

  The men finished their coffee, which was an outstanding Arabic blend, brewed strong. A few swallows and zip bolted into her veins.

  While they ate, Monica again contemplated each Saudi in the entourage. She wanted to know their friends, family, siblings, immediate family members’ occupations, health history, blood type, school records, grades, teachers, professors, everything.

  Two cups of coffee and a small plate of dates and nuts later, her attention shifted to the prince, who announced his readiness to begin the official meeting.

  “Ali, we’re saddened as you are for Zain’s death. Heartbreaking to lose a friend and cousin.” The kindness in Prince Omar’s voice touched her. Unexpected. “We all grew up together, and I grieve with you.” He leaned toward Ali. “I vow vengeance.”