High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

“Just because they’re bigger and stronger doesn’t mean we can’t overpower them.”

  Yasmine reached out to Monica. “I want to learn. If the offer is for me too, I’ll request permission from my brother.”

  “By all means. Every woman, regardless of her religion or culture, needs to have the skills necessary to keep her from harm.”

  Fatima rose and returned to her bedroom.

  “My chances of becoming her friend are zero,” Monica said. “She’s a beautiful woman, and from her accomplishments, she’s highly intelligent.” Would Yasmine open up about her sister?

  “The problem is not you,” Yasmine whispered. “She’s very unhappy.”

  “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nothing will make her happy but the impossible. She’s been in love with Mr. Davidson for years. Seeing him here is difficult.”

  The prince would hear every word. Would he confront Kord about his sister’s feelings?

  “And since he’s training me, I spend a lot of time with him.” Monica kept her voice low.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. She fears our brother may have arranged a marriage to a man she despises while her heart is for another.”

  How would Monica ever win Fatima over?

  Kord sat with Prince Omar alone in his office and discussed personal times together, avoiding critical matters at hand. The prince’s phone alerted him to a text. He read it and handed the phone to Kord. A photo of Princess Gharam covered in blood filled the screen. A caption read, Cancer won’t kill her. I will. U 2 will soon b dead.

  Taking a pad of paper, the prince wrote and pushed it Kord’s way. Your theory about a phone hack may be correct.

  Kord motioned for them to leave the office. Once the door closed, anger creased the prince’s features, and rightly so. Saudi men shielded their women from evil. The threat against Princess Gharam had come as a personal blow, as though he’d failed in his responsibilities.

  “It’s Photoshopped,” Kord said.

  “True, but I’m ensuring my mother is all right. May I use your phone?” When Kord handed him the device, he selected numbers. “This is Omar. Is my mother resting comfortably?” he said in Arabic. “Tell her I called. I’m requesting another bodyguard for her detail, but keep it from her.” He ended the call and phoned another number. After introducing himself, he continued. “It is imperative I speak to Consul General al-Fakeeh.” A sweep of sadness crossed his face. “Yes, good evening, Nasser. I need additional protection for my mother. Can you send a trusted man to the hospital immediately?” He paused. “Thank you.”

  “I think the extra precautionary measures are in order,” Kord said.

  “I’d like for you to talk to Miss Alden. Make sure my sisters are all right. If you’re correct about the theory of my phone being hacked, theirs may be too. Ask her to collect their phones per my request. No explanation need be given.”

  Kord contacted Monica and explained what had happened.

  “Hold on while I take this in my bedroom.” A few moments later, she responded. “Yasmine and I are talking in the common area. Fatima is in her room. Please tell Prince Omar I will do as he asks.”

  “Thanks.” Kord would have rather confiscated them, but he’d not embarrass the prince by insisting. “We’ll want to run diagnostics. Can you meet me on the covered terrace in fifteen minutes? Bring the phones with you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “These people have no idea who they’re messing with. Friday afternoon, this guy’s toast.” The call ended, Kord processed the now stronger possibility of a hacker planting a virus in the prince’s phone.

  A crack of thunder rattled the windows of the mansion.

  WITH THE GROUNDS DRENCHED in water and dark shadows, Monica walked with Kord along the path they’d trod earlier. Unlike her initial impression of him, she was beginning to enjoy his company and respect his input to the team. Her stomach tingled. Oh, my goodness, she was attracted to him.

  Strange. Frightening. And she refused to think about it.

  She’d given Kord Fatima’s phone, but Yasmine asked to wait until the morning because hers was charging.

  The rain had let up, but the weather forecasters predicted another downpour around midnight. In the northwest part of the city, Cypress Creek had flowed from its banks and into homes. Nature’s fury was no respecter of persons—the rich and the poor needed boats to navigate many of the streets.

  The weather added to her wariness about the mission. She’d been threatened by big dogs before, and it always caused two responses—caution and persistence in finding the coward who tossed warnings but refused to expose himself for a head-on fight.

  Kord needed to hear the latest from the CIA. “I have news. CIA intel came in from our sources in the Middle East about thirty minutes ago. It confirmed what your informant claimed,” she said. “The plot to kill Prince Omar has been in existence since his announcement to bring his mother to MD Anderson. Right now I want to know who. The motive, whether it be religion, honor, politics, or whatever, can crawl out of the woodwork later.”

  “My informant will be back with me as soon as he has a name. I’m thinking religious dissenters.”

  “Because of Wahhabi interpretation of Islamic law?” she said. “Or are you rethinking the conservatives’ opposition to the leasing of oil reserves?”

  “Both. But none of the prince’s men are tied to those groups.”

  “That we know of.” Her thoughts lingered on the one man who weighed in the heaviest. “If Ali is part of the scheme, Zain’s death would still have made him angry.”

  “I was in the limo and he didn’t attempt to stop Zain or me.”

  “I feel like my hands are tied, and I’m babysitting when I could be running down terrorist affiliations.”

  “You and I are action people. Our roles here can be frustrating unless we can determine if someone has betrayed him, and who.”

  They stared back at the mansion. The yellow lights shining through the windows appeared to imitate the owners’ gold.

  “Prince Omar has people searching for the ID on a phone hacking, just like we are,” he said. “The expertise of this operation scrapes some of the scum we’ve suspected off our shoes and zeros in on the internal picture. Which may be exactly what the killers want.”

  God, we need Your help before others are killed. “Who has the ability to orchestrate an operation of this size and be assured of not failing? Saudi Arabia isn’t known for its leniency to lawbreakers. Will they execute before we have time to question any of their suspects?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Thought you might have a little clout.”

  “I wish. Friday can’t get here fast enough. I’d like to chain the prince to his office. But he’d interpret our request as a coward’s mentality. If the rumors of a mole are designed to send us in the opposite direction, we’re looking at more deaths, and the repercussions could be worldwide.”

  Kord wasn’t exaggerating. The severity of what Saudi Arabia could do in the name of revenge paved the way to massive unrest across the Middle East. “We’re fools not to explore how many people are involved. At this point we have an assassin and a hacker or mole. If the motive is to crush the Saud family and cause it to implode for a new regime, we’re looking at an architectural blueprint for multiple disasters.”

  He studied her. Was he mulling over her words or developing his own strategy?

  “What are you thinking?” she said.

  “The assassin has tried twice and failed. Means taking more chances.” Kord shook his head.

  She warmed as frustration poured into her blood. “With all of modern technology, there has to be a way to detect a virus on his phone without alerting the killer.”

  “Do you want to underestimate the virus’s ability?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Prince Omar believes his goals are worth any sacrifice.”

  “The lives of loved ones?” she said. “His pride is
worth watching more deaths? Another tragedy where the US will be held responsible? The conservatives are blaming us for Zain.”

  “I know, Monica. We need intel and evidence now.”

  Long after midnight, Monica wrestled with data, faces, and names. The enemies anticipated a payoff of some kind. Who fought alongside them in the US? None of these terrorists worked alone. Ultimately the motive wove greed into the mix. It always did.

  She stared at the ceiling while sleep evaded her. A click sounded. Tossing back the blanket, she grabbed her weapon and crept to her bedroom door. In the common area, her eyes adjusted to the dark, but nothing seized her attention.

  Her imagination?

  Doubtful.

  The door to the hallway wasn’t open, so the sound had likely come from one of the princesses’ bedrooms. Monica made her way to Fatima’s room. She gently tried the knob. Locked. She crept to Yasmine’s door. The knob turned easily. An empty bed. Where was she going this time of night? And alone?

  She rushed back to the common area windows and peered out over the grounds. Prince Omar’s bodyguards walked the perimeter of the property. She shoved patience into her stance. A shadowed figure stole across the area. Then movement in the oak trees captured her attention. She hurried to her bedroom and snatched her night vision goggles from her shoulder bag. Moments later, she once again observed the treed area, where she and Kord had met earlier. Two people stood within the oaks. Together. A man and woman in a definite embrace.

  Where were Yasmine’s brains? Who had persuaded her into meeting a man in secret?

  She stuck her weapon inside her back waistband and grabbed a jacket on the way out. Down the stairs and around to the rear of the house. Once outside, she walked toward the pair hiding in the trees. Monica paused to observe the two.

  “When, Malik?” Yasmine whispered.

  “Soon. Your brother has business here and can’t be interrupted.”

  “I love you.”

  “And I long to make you my wife.”

  Monica entered into their tryst. “Does Prince Omar approve of this meeting?”

  Malik turned to her. “This is none of your business.”

  “When a killer is on the loose, yes.” She pulled her phone from her pocket.

  “Miss Alden, we can talk,” he said. “Yasmine and I are speaking of our future.”

  “Shouldn’t your first discussion be with her brother or father?”

  “Please, Miss Alden.” Yasmine’s voice quivered.

  Monica despised the use of strong-arm tactics on a seventeen-year-old. “You and I will go back to the house together.”

  “The prince will never believe you,” Malik said. “You’re nothing but Kord’s servant.”

  “And you’re not in Saudi Arabia. Yasmine, now, before I change my mind.”

  They walked in silence to the rear of the home. Yasmine knew the cost of being caught, much higher for her than for Malik. Why slip away and risk her brother’s anger? Monica would wait and ask the girl those very questions.

  In Yasmine’s dark bedroom, she snapped on the bedside lamp, and compassion for the young woman dressed in black swept over her. Yasmine closed the door behind her and eased onto her bed while Monica took a chair.

  “Yasmine, if I saw you, then others might have too. I can only imagine the seriousness of your brother learning about your careless actions. What is going on between you and Malik?”

  Yasmine trembled. “I can’t say anything.”

  “Unfortunately, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to contact Prince Omar. Which is it?”

  KORD READ FBI UPDATES on his phone, reviewing every e-mail linked with Arabic chatter regarding the Saud family. The FBI’s terrorism division actively monitored enemy online conversations, and he needed to know the latest intel. US enemies commended the assassination attempts aimed at Prince Omar and offered support for those working against the West, but Kord wanted insight specifically to the plans—and why.

  An update came in about an e-mail that, according to the sender’s IP address, was coming from Malik al-Kazaz, the press secretary.

  Prince Omar and those like him will be crushed like the ahle-Kitab. Prince Omar will not leave US soil alive. Allah has given him into our hands. We know every move he makes while he stumbles into a sniper’s path. He’s a fool to trust the ones close to him. Many will be killed. Soon he will be under our feet.

  Malik—a loyal and trusted cousin of Prince Omar? A man who had risen to his position within the last nine years? He made the detailed arrangements for all events.

  The enemy didn’t need to send a virus into the prince’s phone when his most trusted man had betrayed him.

  Uneasiness punched Kord in the gut, and he stopped his thoughts midstream. With the anonymity observed since Tuesday, why would Malik deliberately identify himself? Had the enemy set him up?

  He reread Malik’s background. If the man was working with anyone, only one documented item pointed to him. The man had a stellar reputation.

  What better man to lead an assassination attempt?

  But why put himself in a vulnerable position online?

  Kord slipped his Glock inside his jacket and left his suite. He wasn’t waiting for FBI confirmation before he confronted Malik. Being awakened at 2:15 a.m. might test the press secretary’s quiet temperament. Why should Kord give him an opportunity to leave or carry out a plan to kill the prince?

  Outside Malik’s door, he rapped several times. “This is Kord. I need a word with you.” He waited fifteen long seconds and repeated.

  “Is Prince Omar in danger?”

  “You tell me. I have questions. Face-to-face.”

  Silence.

  “Should I find a bodyguard?”

  The door opened, and Malik stared at him. Fully clothed. “Come in.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you armed?”

  Malik frowned. “My weapon is beside my bed.”

  “See that it stays there. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Once the door shut behind them, Malik ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not shocked you’ve figured me out. I should have been more discreet. Does the prince know?”

  Discreet? “Do you want him here? I can arrange it.”

  “I prefer this stay between you and me. I’d be a fool to have others learn about my actions.”

  “I’m surprised at your openness, considering your fate. Once we’ve finished with your confession, you’ll be under arrest.”

  Malik startled. “For what? You have no jurisdiction over what I’ve done. Prince Omar may have my head, but not you.”

  “Murder on US soil. A scheme against Prince Omar. Be glad I’m making the arrest instead of one of the prince’s bodyguards.”

  Malik stepped back and held up his palm. “I had nothing to do with the plot to kill the prince. Are you an idiot? I’m loyal. Why am I even a suspect?”

  “A stupid question, don’t you think? I read intercepted e-mails.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The assassination attempt. An e-mail calling for Prince Omar’s death came from your IP address.”

  He raised his shoulders. “You have the wrong man. I too have an enemy.”

  “Then what did you confess to?”

  “Nothing you’d understand.”

  “Your role as the press secretary means you have more knowledge about what is happening in Prince Omar’s life than anyone else.”

  “I’d never lower myself to betray a man I respect.”

  “Your background shows a trip to Mosul in January. What was the nature of the ten-day visit?”

  “My cousin lives there, and I wanted to persuade him to return to Saudi Arabia as a favor to my father. Prince Omar knows this.”

  That could be verified. “Were you successful?”

  “He moved back to Riyadh with his family.”

  “What’s his occupation?”


  “A baker. I can give you his name.”

  “I’d like it now.”

  “Rashid Dagher.”

  Kord typed the name into his phone.

  Malik shook his head while his hands remained in full view. “We aren’t speaking about the same matter. Saudi intel says the plot against the prince is internal, but that doesn’t mean me.”

  Kord pointed to a chair. “Sit down and explain what you’ve done.”

  Malik complied. His face mirrored granite. “I’ve been seeing Yasmine.”

  Was Kord supposed to swallow this?

  Malik continued. “My intentions are to ask for Yasmine’s hand in marriage. I should have done so before now.”

  Kord didn’t know whether to believe Malik or bang his head into a wall. But he wasn’t a fool, and Malik had violated trust, a serious offense. “You’re guilty of seeing Yasmine without a chaperone?”

  He nodded. “Please keep this private. I promise you: tomorrow I’ll speak to Prince Omar. He could very well beat her. You know how this will look to her family.”

  Kord knew of the disciplinary actions for women, an accepted practice in the Saudi culture. Wrong. Insanely wrong.

  Malik glanced around. “There’s no need for you to waste time with this when you have more serious items to tend to.”

  It wasn’t wasting time. Kord’s mission was to find a killer, and what choice did he have but to bring all information to the surface? “I’d like to ask her for myself.”

  “You have my word. She’ll be upset. Besides, what else is needed?”

  “In the US, we want to hear from every man and woman who may be involved in a crime. If you want to discard our procedures, I can take you immediately into custody as a person of interest in the plot to assassinate Prince Omar. You choose.”

  “You’ll overlook what you’ve discovered?” Malik whispered as though his secret had ears.

  “Would she rather you be arrested for murder? I’ll wake Monica and have her escort Yasmine to meet us in the kitchen.”

  Malik rubbed his face. “This is not how I planned to seek Yasmine for my wife. Prince Omar will learn of it.”

  “If she doesn’t back up your story, you’re facing a lot more than loss of a woman to warm your bed.”