High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  The prince and Dr. Carlson held a private meeting in Princess Gharam’s room. In the meantime, Kord questioned each man for formalities and Monica took notes. The real intel would be revealed later on today.

  All seven men were seen in the presence of others.

  None of the men had witnessed anything suspicious.

  Each man willingly handed over his mobile phone. No texts or calls to follow up.

  The men followed Wahhabism.

  Body language raised few questions, but those who objected to questioning did so respectfully. Except Ali.

  “This is an insult,” Ali said. “Loyalty is earned by service, not by ridiculous interrogation.” He blew out his anger. “For the prince, I will answer you.”

  None of his responses caused concern, but Ali remained hostile. Kord couldn’t blame Ali for grieving Zain’s death. Every man handled sorrow differently. As long as his method didn’t involve more deaths.

  When the interviews were completed, Kord and Monica discussed their vague findings beyond earshot of others. Someone who’d been trained in deceit was among them.

  “The consul general wanted to discuss another matter, but we were interrupted when his office called,” Kord said.

  “Call him.”

  He pressed in the number and then Speaker. “Consul General al-Fakeeh, has a new driver been assigned to you?”

  “Yes. I’m on my way to my office. Do you have a new development?”

  “No, sir. We’re working through interviews. You’d mentioned another topic earlier.”

  “Prince Omar has a reputation for being a little reckless when it comes to his safety. He likes to take matters into his own hands. I encouraged him to cooperate explicitly with the US regarding Zain’s death and to take heed for another possible assassination attempt. I also asked him to refrain from public appearances. I doubt he’ll take my advice.”

  “Thank you.” Kord well understood Prince Omar’s unpredictable behavior. “I’ll remind him of your precautions.”

  “Perhaps he’d send his sisters home.”

  The thought had entered Kord’s mind. “I’ll do my best.” When the call was completed, he glanced at Monica.

  “What’s driving you crazy?” she said.

  “Prince Omar forgets his phone, and the situation may have saved his and the consul general’s life, while another man is killed.”

  “Picking at me too. Any of his men could have more than one phone. Coincidences are not in my vocabulary.”

  “Wondered where you stood with the faith thing.”

  “I deal in facts and solid leads. My faith is how I live my life, in obedience to God. The supernatural and chance can weave together, but I’m no expert on the subject.”

  He expected her to quote Scripture. Maybe he needed to put aside his stereotypical view on Christians. He’d read the Bible as well as the Quran, Hindu teachings, and Buddhism. None of it made sense. Kord took a quick look around to ensure they maintained privacy. “Why did Prince Omar leave his phone behind?”

  She blinked. “Unintentional? Wanted solitude to speak with his mother? A bodyguard picked his pocket?”

  “Didn’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Interrupted from what? Kord, what are you implying?”

  “Not sure, but I intend to find out. If I’m spending too many brain cells with this, I’ll admit it.”

  “Boils down to who in his entourage wants him dead.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Let’s discuss this later when you reach your conclusions because I have an opinion.”

  “Will I want to hear it?”

  “Probably not.”

  AT THE SAUD HOME, Kord requested a private meeting with Prince Omar. The past two days of chaotic events had them all sifting through facts and opinions. Until they were able to narrow the list of those with motive, the protection detail took the role of defense. He’d do whatever it took to stop the killer and stand in the way of a bullet. Not a good position for Kord or the prince and his men, especially with rising tempers and suspicions.

  Prince Omar gestured for him to sit in his office beside a small table that offered coffee, fruit, and dates. Kord welcomed the caffeine to fuel his mind, but he passed on the food.

  “Has the man who posed as Consul General al-Fakeeh’s driver been apprehended?” Prince Omar said.

  “No, Amir. A limo matching the description of the one at the hospital was found a few blocks away in a parking garage. Inside were the man’s clothes and a fake beard. Doubtful we find fingerprints.” He pressed his lips together to avoid audible irritation. But why hide his feelings? “Consul General al-Fakeeh and I worked with an FBI sketch artist. I don’t think it will push us ahead in finding the man. Only a fool would show his real face, and we came up empty with facial recognition from the hospital’s security cameras.”

  “I’ve never seen you cynical.”

  “And you?”

  “The men you interviewed are currently attending their duties, so they’re cleared?”

  “For the moment.”

  He sighed. “My mother’s treatment begins tomorrow. I wanted her shielded from this, but she’s a smart woman. Quite capable of putting information together.”

  To be suffering from cancer and know her son was in danger had to be depressing. “I’m sorry. Were you able to calm her?”

  “Dr. Carlson prescribed a sedative.” Prince Omar took a drink of his coffee.

  “After today, don’t you think it best to send your sisters home?”

  “Mother would be very upset, enough to hinder her recovery.”

  “How would she react if they were killed?”

  Prince Omar stood and paced the room. “Fatima and Yasmine are my responsibility, and—”

  “They have a father.”

  “He’s more concerned with his younger children.”

  “There must be someone who’d protect them until you return.”

  Prince Omar stopped his pacing. “No one in whom I’d feel confident with the current turmoil. For now, they will remain with me.” He made his way to his chair and eased down. “I want to talk to you as a friend.”

  “What else is going on?”

  “You know I’m here to arrange leases for oil reserves. It’s important to the economic future of my country, and I will do everything I can to make sure the negotiations are positive. Too long the world has seen me as Prince Omar who spends money on Western indulgences and expensive race cars.” He smiled. “And I do value my collection.” He leaned forward. “I want my reputation changed to be Prince Omar bin Talal, the man who helped bring business prosperity to his country. It’s wrong for me to pray and not follow the Quran. No more carrying the title of a playboy.” He folded his hands. “I want to leave a legacy like King Abdullah. His reforms and economic policies have kept our country moving forward. The energy minister has made strides in balancing supply and demand. My desire is to offer support in every way possible. Many of my countries’ leaders are working to lower the unemployment rate while adding more women to the workforce. Lessening our dependency on oil means leasing from our reserves. For me, no sacrifice is too large.”

  “What are your plans to make this happen other than meetings with Shell and Exxon?”

  “Two additional things: I’m arranging an invitation-only press conference here at the home to make the announcement of Saudi Arabia working more closely with our American business friends. Secondly, I’m hosting an event at the rodeo with many oil and gas executives. There I’ll announce the negotiations in progress to buy a US company that focuses on shale.”

  “Excellent news, but I’m sure the conservatives are—”

  “Highly critical. That’s at home. I left the opposition there. Then I walk into a snake pit.”

  Kord placed his cup on the table, thoughts swirling with the prince’s announcement. The ideals were exemplary. But he’d heard the rumors, and many Saudi citizens were not happy to work for less money while the country built it
s economy. More suspects in the plot. “Who else is aware besides Malik?”

  “Ali.”

  “Do you think they would have sabotaged your plans?”

  “When happenings like today make little sense, I must look to any possible adversary. But not Ali or Malik. They’d die for me. They understand I’ll give my life to make positive changes for my country.”

  “Why aren’t the business appointments on your itinerary?”

  “Malik hasn’t confirmed all of them. He’s making arrangements for a press conference on Saturday afternoon to announce my goodwill, and the invitations for the rodeo event were sent an hour before leaving Riyadh. That’s a week from Thursday. If the meeting with the consul general had taken place at his office, I would have made him aware of the press conference and rodeo event.”

  “How long have you known Malik?”

  “Since he was a boy. He’s dedicated to his profession.”

  Malik’s position put him in the thick of the prince’s affairs. If compromised, his relationship with the prince—the goings-on of personal, business, and social affairs—placed Prince Omar at the mercy of a killer. The nightmare repeated in Kord’s mind. Two failed attempts . . . If Malik was the mole, why hadn’t he succeeded? In Saudi, he’d have more of an opportunity with so many others to take the blame. Unless Malik was determined to destroy the relationship between Saudi Arabia and the US. But the prince scoured intel and background for all his bodyguards and staff. He’d have picked up on anything questionable.

  What about Ali? He was at the top of Monica’s list. Kord’s suspicions needed to be explored.

  “And when did you plan to tell your other bodyguards about the two events?” Kord said.

  “When everything was in place. Remember last May when I attended the Offshore Technology Conference? All the hours we spent talking at dinner and then later?”

  Kord chuckled. “Until sunrise.”

  “I didn’t drink.”

  “Right.”

  “Neither did you. But I’ve never seen you drink alcohol.” Prince Omar paused. “The thought occurred to me then about how I was failing my family with my lifestyle. Since then, I’ve dedicated my life to being a prince who is sincere in what he says and does.”

  “I’ve never doubted your loyalty to your country and those you love.”

  “Others must see the new man so they will put aside my former reputation.” Prince Omar raised a brow. “Have you thought more about following Allah?”

  The prince had spoken to him on more than one occasion about Islam, but Kord still searched for answers. “I’m reading and thinking.”

  “Feeding the mind.” He stretched his back—obviously tired with little time for rest. “My country’s betterment is another reason why I must be seen respectfully in your city. When others see me, they see every Saudi citizen. While my mother is undergoing treatments, Malik will arrange business luncheons. Another opportunity for me to be seen without my past habits. But these will be short excursions to repair my name. Business negotiations of oil leases are vital.”

  “Amir, the more you are exposed, the greater the chances of a killer’s success.”

  “Hiding is for cowards. I refuse to leave the country or stay in this house like a prisoner.”

  “I understand but I don’t agree,” Kord said. “And I promise I’ll find who’s behind these crimes.”

  “To me, it all points to Iran. How better to destroy our alliance than to assassinate a Saudi prince on US soil. Think of their position if diplomatic relations fail between our countries. Our united efforts of foreign policy are destroyed. Syria has less opposition to their policies. Yemen’s rebel movement succeeds. Oil. The position of the Sunni—you know these things.”

  “But they must be proved with solid evidence. And they know if exposed, you’d launch all-out war.”

  “We cannot fail in finding the assassins.” His words were filled with determination. “I’ll send you any findings. Nothing more to discuss about the matter until more intel arrives.”

  “I need to get some work done.” Kord rose to make his exit, but the prince called to him.

  “Your assistant handles herself well.”

  “I’ll tell her you complimented her.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  Kord realized where the conversation was going. “Yes, Amir. Monica is not my type. She’s a crack shot, and if I ever make her mad, I’m a dead man. Too headstrong.”

  Prince Omar raised a finger. “I said similar words about my second wife.”

  DURING THE LATE AFTERNOON, Monica processed what had been drop-shipped into her life since Tuesday. While the household quieted for Asr, she walked to the window of her bedroom and admired the incredible scenery. The view was breathtaking, no matter what window of the home. Fountains sprayed like sparkling crystal, and the vibrant-green grass and shrubbery blending with spring’s display of color reminded her of a painting. How such beauty in a respite could carry a sinister air wasn’t unusual, just regrettable.

  Dark-blue storm clouds rolled into view.

  She took a moment to pray for all those within the house to see a woman who conducted herself in a respectful manner. The need for wisdom dominated her thoughts and discernment. She added thankfulness for God’s presence and a plea to curb her tongue.

  She wanted to forget about Liam and the damage he’d inflicted upon countless lives. Why did Jeff bring up his name and link him to Kord? Her new partner hadn’t shown any of the man’s traits—no charming side mixed with brooding. No lies about how he longed to make the world a better place. No feigned desire to serve God. No promises of a future together with her. No late-night scribblings of the house they’d build together. No writing their vows. No lists of what they’d name their children.

  Why couldn’t she get past it?

  Since Liam’s betrayal, the male gender frightened her, pushed her into a corner where she doubted her abilities. Didn’t help that she worked in a male-dominated career. She’d created more walls and added mortar to the existing ones. Jeff once called Liam the “unfortunate incident.” He’d been more than an unfortunate incident—he’d been a gruesome degradation of a greedy man.

  Her nightmares reminded her of the miserable mess and how she’d fallen prey to Liam’s manipulation. Night after night she relived it in vivid color. Mostly red.

  God promised to help her get past the memories, but first she had to stop punishing herself and allow Him to work.

  A text landed in her secure phone, interrupting her preoccupation.

  From Kord. Can u meet me on the W terrace? 3 things 2 discuss.

  OMW

  Attached to the text was a link to Prince Omar’s informant report and another to the security footage at MD Anderson.

  Monica left her scarf behind. If she ran into the prince, at least her arms and legs were covered. Outside the home, Kord stood near potted flowers and plants. A great shot for a photographer. She caught herself and reined in the attraction that couldn’t go any further than a flirtatious thought. Hadn’t she just admitted the whole male population prevented her from moving forward in any relationship?

  He waved and joined her. “Up for a walk?”

  “Sure.” They ventured toward a far corner of the property near a clump of oak trees. A white marble bench seemed to invite them.

  Once seated, Kord grabbed his phone. “I sent you a file.”

  Monica read the intel from the prince’s informant. “The man gives three names, all Iranians. I’ll forward this to Jeff to check them out too.”

  “I doubt they are still alive.”

  “I’d rather know who was behind this. Adding to the body count is not my style.”

  “Take a look at the security footage,” Kord said.

  She reflected on the images of the person authorities believed was responsible for three deaths. Relaxed. Observant. Wore gloves. Most criminals worked alone, but due to the nature of international terrorism, she banke
d on a conspiracy. She replayed the footage outside the hospital entrance three times.

  “Do you see anything unusual other than the man knows where every camera is located, just like at the high school?” he said.

  “He either knows how to utilize a disguise or the scheme has more than one player.”

  “My analysis too.” Kord pointed to a taxi driver who’d spoken to the killer. The man was Caucasian. Six foot. Red hair. “Can you read what he said to the killer?”

  “Zoom in.” The footage rolled just enough for her to make out two words. “He said, ‘Morning, sir.’ Nothing there unless that was a code for something. Has he been questioned?”

  “Yes, and released. He checked out.”

  She read additional investigation reports. “What’s your take on the FBI interviews here in Houston? I see they’ve conducted four—three Iranian men and one woman from Syria who’ve been on our watch list.”

  “All had alibis for yesterday and this morning. National and international interviews are in progress. Early reports show nothing substantial. Surveillance teams are in place.”

  She considered the strong possibility of another attempt and a driving force propelling her to find the killer.

  A cardinal fluttered into the treetops.

  Monarch butterflies tasted spring flowers.

  She didn’t have to end this case herself, but being honest hadn’t stopped the need to prove her value. Her insides burned.

  “You mentioned three matters,” she said. “Curiosity is getting the best of me, and patience is not part of my operating system.”

  “Who is in our line of work?”

  She gave him a thumbs-up. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’d like for you to help me figure something out.”

  “If I can.”

  “In talking to Fatima and Yasmine, did either of them bring up my name?”

  Okay, she’d play. “Does this have to do with your Romeo role?”

  “I didn’t tell you everything. Fatima thought I was in love with her.”

  Now she understood Fatima’s animosity. “Are you telling me you two had an affair?” She shook her head. “That would be punishable by death.”