by DiAnn Mills
“You’ve broken my heart and now you’ll break his. Might damage US relations.”
His teasing caused her to groan. An international incident because she refused marriage to a Saudi bodyguard? “The culture is killing my operative skills.”
“He welcomes you as a challenge. Claims you’re fearless and beautiful.”
A slow rise of heat crept up her face. “Couldn’t you have said something to his inquiry?”
“I did. Told him you’d be hard to tame. And you were a Christian.”
How had she encouraged Ali? “Thanks for the warning. Does he want my father’s name for the bride price?”
“Never know. Look, Monica, he might pop the question tonight. You’re lucky because he’s not married. You’d be number one wife.”
“And the FBI is about to lose one of its prize agents.”
“I forgot you’re a crack shot.” Still he made her wait for nearly a minute. “Okay, I’ll help you out with this. Knqdr walakin ma’yimkinlish.”
“‘I am able but it is not possible for me.’” She laughed at the translation. “Like, ‘No thanks, I could iron your shirts but it ain’t gonna happen’?”
“Exactly.”
“All right. I need to meet with him and get this handled.” Actually, she felt sorry for Ali. She closed her laptop. “I’ll take this to my room before the meeting.”
“Enjoy your stroll,” he said.
“I’m sure it will be memorable.”
“Where will this happen?”
“The spot where I defused the bomb.”
“I bet he lost his heart when you cut the final wire.”
She wanted to smack away his smirk.
Once she’d secured her laptop upstairs, she made her way to the designated meeting spot. The sound of insects greeted her, and a dog barked in the distance. The earthy smell of evening teased her nostrils. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it. Ali’s huge frame towered over the plot of ground that had nearly been their final resting place. She waved and walked his way.
“Hope I haven’t caused you to wait,” she said.
“Not at all.”
“Curiosity has gotten the best of me. Is there an update on the assassin attempt? New info? Something I can help you with?”
“Walk with me.”
“Sure.” Her heart thudded as fiercely as if he’d held a weapon on her. She’d prefer the gun. She joined him and prayed for a text, a call, the Second Coming—anything to interrupt them.
A soft breeze of optimism blew her way. Kord could be wrong in his assumption. They stopped in front of the white marble bench where she and Kord had discussed the case.
“Would you like to sit?” he said.
Get it done. “I can.”
He eased onto one end, and she slid as far to the opposite side as possible.
“Miss Alden, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. Although initially I was skeptical of your abilities—”
And gender, but she’d not say it.
“—since then, I’ve seen you act boldly with no thought of danger. Your skills are exemplary. And I’ve also come to appreciate your beauty.”
“Thank you. I value you as a friend too.”
“Are you engaged to be married?”
She faced him head-on but without eye contact. “No.”
His shoulders settled. “I’m pleased with the news.”
“Ali, I’m not looking for a husband.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
Manufacturing an excuse would lead her down a path of trouble. “Not so long ago, I was engaged. I’m being honest with you. He lied to me, a horrible betrayal. Not sure I can ever trust again, so I’m waiting for God to heal my heart. And I’m a follower of Jesus.”
“A great prophet.”
“But I believe He is the Son of God.”
He looked at her with a tilt of his head. “What will change your mind about me?”
“Nothing. Sometimes I think I will be single for the rest of my life. It’s useless to give me any more thought.”
“There must be something I can do.”
“I’ve acquired an expression in Arabic: Knqdr walakin ma’yimkinlish.”
“I’m not easily shaken. How do I win you?”
“Can we be friends? Or is this not permitted?”
“We are bodyguards for Prince Omar. We must have respect for each other, and friendship is valuable.”
She smiled in the shadows. “Ali, I’m honored. You have so many beautiful and talented women in your country.”
“But they aren’t you. I’m quite wealthy and you’d not want for anything.” He paused for a moment. “My home is empty. If you change your mind, I’ll still be interested.”
His phone vibrated, and he answered. “Yes, Amir.” Ali was an imposing figure for sure, and a handsome man for another woman.
“I’ll escort her.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Now what?
“Miss Alden, Prince Omar is summoning you.”
MONICA RESPONDED to Ali’s statement by standing from the bench. Most likely Prince Omar had questions about what he’d overheard in her conversation with Fatima and Yasmine. Or the natatorium. “I’m ready.”
“And you will consider my offer of marriage?”
“I promise you I value our friendship.”
They walked toward the house. “How long have you worked with the FBI?” Ali said.
“Not long.”
“The prince told me you’re CIA.”
She sighed. Was nothing secret?
“It’s all right. I understand the secrecy and undercover work for a government.”
“Were you testing my honesty?”
He chuckled. “I was testing your loyalty to the US.”
Once inside Prince Omar’s office, Ali stood near the door, and she waited in a chair that resembled a museum piece. As expected, he offered both of them coffee, and she accepted the hospitality.
“The rain has stopped,” he said.
Pleasantries. “Giving people an opportunity to begin cleaning up their homes and businesses.”
“Have you ever been caught in rising water?”
Was he posing a trick question? “I’ve assisted those who were in need.”
“A wise woman. Miss Alden, thank you for your kindness to my sisters.”
“I’m sincere. They are fine women.”
“As you are aware, conversations are available to me.”
Great way to put eavesdropping into perspective.
“If you’d like to instruct my sisters in the art of self-defense, I approve on the condition I be apprised of what is being taught and their progress.” He waved his hand. “Specifically, an evaluation of their skills.”
“I’ll complete one for each of them.” She avoided his face.
“As a courtesy to me, please continue to encourage Fatima and Yasmine to be strong. Our mother is not well. I’ve seen the test results, and my sisters must be able to handle the grief.”
“Most certainly.” Would he address his sisters’ broken hearts over lost love?
“Thank you for saving the lives of my family and friends. Before the evening is over, I will speak to Fatima and Yasmine, let them know they can relax. With Parvin Shah’s death, we can carry on.”
She moistened her lips. “I respectfully disagree, Prince Omar. We have no idea how many others are working against you.”
“Our responsibilities take us many places. I don’t want them to be worried about me. Your country and mine will not let this rest until the murderers are found.” He took a sip of coffee. “What is your professional view of Parvin Shah?”
“She didn’t have the typical characteristics of most terrorists. Extremely neat. Her behavior patterns followed the same order with attention to detail in the killings. Whoever recruited Shah approached her with a logical reason to kill. Intel claims money. The person would have known her background and provided something of value.”
/> “Has your ability to remember the things you’ve seen given you any additional insights?”
“The MO of female terrorists. They’re in the minority, but their involvement has killed hundreds of innocent people. She may be dead, but we don’t know who was giving her orders. Or who trained her. It’s unlikely she saved enough money at her job to live on for two months, and her financials are minimal.”
He steepled his fingers. “Do you have a name of who could have taken her place?”
Another test of her loyalty to the US, like Ali. “If I had a suspect, that person would be in custody. Between both countries, we will make arrests and destroy this plot. We just don’t know how soon.”
“Kord said the same.”
Her phone sounded with a text.
“Take it,” the prince said.
She read the message from the CIA. Kord would have received the same intel from the FBI. “Prince Omar, your phone was infected with a virus that copied all your contact information. Everything available on your phone. A recording device too.”
He muttered a phrase in Arabic, one she recognized. “This explains Zain’s death and those that followed.” He tapped his hand on his knee.
“Malik is still a suspect, but I could be wrong,” she said. “I know you’ve been retracing your steps there to help determine when and where.”
Prince Omar turned to Ali. “Make sure Kord and Miss Alden have all they need. Also, what’s the status of Malik’s cousin Rashid Dagher, regarding his son, Youssof?”
“Rashid hasn’t heard from him since he left for Iraq and fears he’s dead.”
“Why?”
“The father could be giving an excuse to avoid further questioning. Stating his son is a good man and he fears his death sounds better than betrayal. Amir, we have the father in custody.”
Prince Omar huffed. “Miss Alden, do you have intel about either man?”
“We haven’t located Youssof either.” At the first opportunity, she wanted to recheck for a link between Parvin Shah and the Daghers and Malik al-Kazaz.
Prince Omar lifted his chin as though thinking. “If one of them is guilty, then the plot could spread to Iraq. But if they have chosen Iran over Saudi Arabia, that paves the way for violence. We need information now.” He turned to Monica. “I want to speak to Kord again tonight. You are free to leave.” Before Monica could stand, he spoke again. “One more thing. Have you accepted Ali’s proposal?”
Heat raced up her neck, the second time this evening. Ali stood within feet of her. “I’m honored, but I declined.”
“Understandable with what happened to you in the past. You are a spirited woman, and Ali recognizes the quality.” He smiled. “So does Kord.”
For once since she stepped into this mission, she was grateful not to look a man in the eye.
Back in her room, Monica flipped on her laptop and shook off Ali’s proposal and Prince Omar’s final words. No way would anyone pick out a husband for her except God, and she was sure neither Ali nor Kord was on His list for a lifelong companion. Besides, she wasn’t looking.
How much did Prince Omar know about Liam? She shuddered at the thought of Kord knowing the ink stain on her career . . . and heart. Of course he’d seen the documented portion about how she’d killed an agent who’d used biological warfare in Africa. But she’d said far too much to Fatima and Yasmine knowing the prince would hear. She hoped her transparency worked positively for the case.
Digging her fingers into her palms, she longed to understand why God allowed her to feel such hurt and shame. Would she ever be able to deal with the past? Tuck it away? No matter how much prayer or Scripture hit her senses, she’d never see good from such evil this side of heaven.
Get over it, Monica. If you weren’t capable, you wouldn’t be on the mission.
She sent a request for more intel regarding the four persons with questionable backgrounds. Who else ran the streets with a weapon aimed at Prince Omar and his family? In the morning, he planned to visit his mother with Fatima and Yasmine. If only the man would stay put.
Ali, as the new press secretary, announced the prince refused to make a statement about Parvin Shah until there was more information. To ease the media’s onslaught of questions, Ali scheduled a private press conference at two tomorrow at the Saud home. That would allow the prince to speak about his goal of forging a better relationship between Saudi Arabia and the US.
Monica had no illusions about assassination plots. Failure only increased determination. Terrorists didn’t burn brain cells worrying about the body count for either side. They’d march forward until permanently stopped.
She closed her eyes and relived today for anything she might have missed. Shah had worn an expensive men’s suit. Monica swiped across her phone to see the pics snapped before HPD and the ambulance arrived. She couldn’t make out the suit brand, but it dripped with money. Unlikely Macy’s carried it. She texted Jeff and copied Kord.
Shah wore hi $ suit. Find brand. Probably bought in last 3-4 months.
On it
And list of Houston retailers who sell the brand.
By normal calculations, she should be craving sleep. Instead her mind repeated facts and questions about who had designs to kill.
WHEN THIS CASE ENDED, Monica intended to take a vacation to Yellowstone National Park. Rent a cabin, hike, take pics of buffalo, create memes for no one but herself, marvel at Old Faithful, fly-fish, and find time to sleep for a week. Or venture home and relax in the slower pace of rural Ohio. Until then, she’d catch a few hours’ rest at a time. At 3:00 a.m. Saturday, her head hit the pillow with a soft thud, only to be jarred upright again at 6:15 when her personal cell phone rang to the old tune of “Bad Boys.” Stumbling out of bed, she snatched it from inside her purse. Lori.
“Are you okay?”
“The question is you.”
“Why?”
“A man walked in right after we opened. Wanted to know about the short blonde. Said you and he’d been talking. When I told him you weren’t here, he asked for your number. I told him I couldn’t give it without your permission. Wanted to know when you’d be working. Told him you were on vacation. He said I was lying. Wanted to know how to find you. Again, I refused. He said to tell you he wasn’t stupid. You would pay. I called the police, but he left before they arrived.”
“I’m sure it was nothing. Maybe an admirer.”
“Doubt it.”
“Take a deep breath. Don’t worry about the guy unless he comes back. Had you seen him before?”
“No. Hope never again. He did write his number on a napkin, but I was nervous and forgot to give it to the police.”
The café camera would have his pic, but she needed the number. “Would you hold on to it for me?”
“Sure. Don’t you think I should give it to the police?”
“Not unless he returns. Why not stick it in the safe?”
“Good idea. Are you in town?”
“In and out.”
“I’m sorry to bother you. Afraid for your safety. The guy was freaky.”
“I’m fine, but I have no clue about him. You gave his description to the police?”
“Down to his bushy eyebrows.”
“An old man?”
“Our age, maybe. Dark-skinned. Medium height. I’ll let you go. Take care, sweet friend. Praying for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
Monica texted Jeff for the police report. She also wanted the camera footage inside Coffee Gone Dark. Was it just a coffee drinker who had a crush on a blonde? Or could the wrong person have figured out her cover? She’d be a fool to discount it, especially after Parvin Shah’s death.
Fully awake, Monica needed to sleep for a little while or she’d be worthless the rest of the day. She forced her mind into submission.
Her cell phone rang. Kord.
“How about a stroll in the garden?” he said. “I’m too wired to think about sleeping.”
“Looks
like we’ll both survive on coffee today.”
“Meet you in the kitchen.”
After slipping into jeans and a sweatshirt, and tucking her weapon into her waistband along with a scarf in case they ran into bodyguards, she walked to the lower level and found Kord downing a bottle of water. They stepped out into the chilly early morning air. For once it wasn’t raining.
“Want to race to the gate?” she said.
“Nope. I want to clear my head, not lose to a girl.”
“So sad. Kord, the enemy is no longer ahead of us. They’re working on old information that ended with Shah’s death.”
“With all HPD, the FBI, and the CIA are doing, why haven’t we nailed this?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I asked Ali to reroute the limos for every excursion. And to arrange new bulletproof vehicles for each time we leave here. He’s sending the FBI any security footage of Prince Omar in Riyadh since the announcement was made of his trip to Houston.”
“What about his plans to lease oil reserves?”
He nodded. “I’ll add to it and include all those who were present when discussions were held. Saudi security is tight, so they should have it ready shortly.”
“I want to be walking the streets,” she said. “We’re both hands-on types.”
“Another reason why I wanted to talk.”
“Am I being interrogated?”
“I have a new mission.”
“Which is?”
“To haul you down off the ledge.”
Her heart thudded. “I’m on solid ground.”
“Not every mission works the way we intend,” Kord said.
“I’ve had my share of failures. Perfectionism is in my blood.”
“Try a transfusion. We aren’t 100 percent successful or right every time. The truth is, Liam Fielder played you from the start, and you didn’t lose that round. You won.”
So he had the complete file. “Really? How many innocent people were killed before he was brought down? I counted each man, woman, and child in that village, looked into their blank faces. None of them deserved the excruciating death.”
“Monica, that was his doing.” He’d used that same gentle tone with Princess Gharam.
“Still my fault for not seeing through his lies. When were you going to tell me you’d been briefed about that business? Or is this a result of overhearing me talking to Fatima and Yasmine?”
