High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  “We’ve seen her in action,” Kord said.

  Prince Omar chuckled. “Her spirit keeps her alive.”

  MONICA GAZED OUT THE WINDOW of her room into the early evening shadows. She fought sleep and her tummy growled. The best way to heal and climb out of the bed was to follow the doctor’s advice. He’d said she needed a week inside the house. Right. She’d sleep, move around a bit, eat, and work this case from her head and laptop.

  Fatima walked in carrying a golden tray of fruit, a type of soup, and bread.

  “You are an angel,” Monica whispered. “I’m embarrassed about how long it took in the shower. My tears. And your helping me into pajamas.”

  She set the tray across Monica’s lap. “Humility builds inner strength.”

  “I’ll not forget those words, and I’m grateful to be clean.”

  “My sister and I cried with you.”

  Yasmine entered the room. “Our brother, Mr. Davidson, and Ali would like a word with you. Fatima and I will wait in our rooms until they leave.”

  In her pajamas. Sleepy. Weak. Under the influence of a sleeping pill. But she smelled better, and her hair was clean. She glanced at the food and picked up a date. “I’m ready.”

  The men walked in stiffly and gathered at the foot of the bed. A rather comical procession.

  “I’m not armed and dangerous,” she said.

  “Neither have you lost your sense of humor.” Kord grinned, and her pulse sped.

  “You look better than when you arrived.” Ali spoke in the gentle tone he used only for her.

  “Thank you all for taking care of me. I’m a horrible patient.”

  “We’re not surprised, Miss Alden,” the prince said. “High-level achievers have difficulty when situations slow them down.”

  “I’ll try harder to be civil.” A cough rose in her chest, and it went on far too long. Drat, it hurt.

  “The doctor gave us your instructions, and we have an antibiotic prescription to fill. I’ll talk to my sisters about a regimen to help you regain your energy.”

  Her eyes moistened, and she warred against her emotions. “Prince Omar, I’m supposed to be protecting you, not allowing you to hover over me. Would you rather I be replaced?”

  “Not at all. I’ve grown fond of you. We all have.” He looked at Kord. “I’ll leave you to speak with Miss Alden while Ali and I prepare ourselves for the hospital trip.”

  “Is Princess Gharam okay?” If only she could crawl out of this bed and join them. But she had an idea, something she could accomplish while stuck recuperating.

  “My mother is fair, but we’re not visiting her. Youssof Dagher is conscious, and I have questions for him. Mind the doctor, Miss Alden. That’s a royal order.”

  Prince Omar and Ali left her and Kord alone. She wanted answers, but he pointed to her plate.

  “Eat, and I’ll talk before you fall asleep.”

  She blew out her frustration, so unladylike. When had she ever second-guessed appropriate behavior? “I hate taking meds.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  She bit into a piece of warm bread. “I’m listening.”

  “I recorded what little was said.” He reached for his phone. “Sending it to you now.”

  She grasped the spoon for the soup. Her hands trembled like a decrepit old woman’s, and she quickly laid it down. Kord would not see her this way.

  “Monica—” his voice was soft—“I can help you.”

  She blinked. Despised herself. “No thanks.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. You can depend on me, and you need nourishment.”

  She peered into his brown eyes and almost agreed. Almost. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

  He laughed. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “Always.” The word slipped out before she could stop it.

  He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “You should be kissed every day. I’m heading out without my partner, and I don’t like it. So eat, sleep, and take your meds.”

  “I appreciate your putting up with me.” For a moment she forgot about the burden of this mission weighing on them.

  Many times she wished she’d never set eyes on Kord, but he kept crawling closer to her heart. Pushing away was the only thing within her control, but she welcomed him at the same time.

  She believed in the power of God working in the world. But why hadn’t He stopped her before she made mistakes with Liam?

  Before Monica fell asleep, she called Jeff. With her brain refusing to fire on all cylinders, she’d make more sense using the phone than typing meaningless words.

  “How are you feeling?” Jeff said.

  “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever asked. Or is it because I have a job to do?”

  “Monica, they destroyed the mold with you. You always find a way to fight back, no matter what’s hit you.”

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  “Not when I hear you have double pneumonia. And I can’t relax or concentrate for worrying. You should be in the hospital.”

  “Sorry and thanks. I’m okay. In bed at the Saud home. Taking meds, drinking liquids, and sleeping. The doctor brought in an IV bag and one of the princesses changes it.”

  He sighed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Rashid Dagher is in Saudi custody. His son Youssof won’t talk to Kord. Are the women in the family ready for their men to die?”

  “They’ve been interrogated and said nothing.”

  “By another woman?”

  “Not a bad idea. We don’t have a woman on the ground there.”

  “What about me?”

  “You can’t travel in your condition.”

  “I’m not suggesting that. I’d like to conduct a video interview with Rashid Dagher’s wife and daughters. Need to ask Prince Omar’s permission and request he arrange it.”

  “And you feel confident in talking to these women?”

  “We need answers before another person is killed.”

  “Or gets pneumonia in all this cold rain.”

  She smiled. “I’m working on it. Anyway, those women need a dose of reality.”

  “Go for it, Monica.”

  ALI DROVE PRINCE OMAR and Kord to Memorial Hermann hospital through light traffic. Rain no longer fell, and the weather forecasters claimed clear skies for the rest of the day. Kord could use the same positive forecast for this case.

  He feared the prince and Ali would consider using strong-arm tactics to extract information from Youssof. Couldn’t happen, although he didn’t blame them.

  His phone rang. Odd—it was Monica. He snatched it to his ear. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “Almost there. Can you put this on speaker?” she said, a little weakly in his estimation.

  He pressed the button. “Done.”

  “Is Prince Omar beside you?”

  “Yes, Miss Alden,” the prince said.

  “I’d like to request a video interview session with Rashid Dagher’s wife and daughters. They’ve insisted they know nothing about the assassination attempt, but they might talk to another woman.”

  “We have thorough interrogators.”

  “Are any of them women?” she said.

  “It could be arranged.”

  “Are any of them trained CIA operatives?” Her words grew slow. Yet the woman he cared about proved relentless.

  “I feel confident we can convince Youssof Dagher to give us names and details.”

  “If he shuts down, I’d like an opportunity to talk to the women. My findings could confirm anything you learn.”

  “She has a good point,” Kord said. “I’m hoping Youssof is willing to talk, but we need intel.”

  The prince glanced out the window. “All right. I’ll make the arrangements if our efforts aren’t successful.”

  “As soon as possible, Prince Omar. Just wake me.” She disconnected the call.

  “Thank you,” Kord said.

  “We’ll see. My sisters are fond of her, and she has a
way with women.”

  Neither Kord nor Ali said a word.

  Kord observed Youssof in the hospital bed. His eyes seemed glued shut, the young man’s flesh twisted and raw. More dead than alive. His vitals weren’t positive, a drop in blood pressure and a temp of 99.9. Had he thought about the consequences of his actions? What kind of monster had recruited him as a child?

  “Youssof,” Kord said.

  Silence.

  “Youssof, this is Special Agent Kord Davidson.”

  His eyelids attempted to open. “I hear you.” A hoarse whisper.

  “Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal and his bodyguard Ali Dukali are with me. The prince would like to speak with you.”

  “No.”

  “You’re sending your father to his death,” the prince said low. “We also have your mother and sisters. I can make the call for their deaths now. Your choice.”

  He dragged his tongue over blistered lips. “Innocent.”

  “Your mother? Sisters?”

  He shook his head. “All.”

  “Then who’s responsible?”

  “Parvin Shah.”

  “You’re wasting your breath. I could ask Mr. Davidson to step out of the room. You and my bodyguard could come to an agreement.”

  Youssof moaned.

  “That’s better. I’m assuming you’re willing to save your family. Who’s behind the assassination plot?”

  “Iran.”

  “Interesting. Intel claims Saudi, but an Iranian was hired to carry out the plot.”

  A tall nurse entered the room, more like a Norwegian Helga. “This is the ICU, gentlemen. Your time for visiting is up.” Kord showed his badge, but she’d not be persuaded. “I don’t care who you are. This man needs rest.” The woman was as big as Ali.

  Prince Omar ignored her. “You’re saying an Iranian?”

  Youssof slightly nodded.

  “Born in the US or naturalized?”

  Youssof stared up as though mocking him. “You’ll free my family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Naturalized Iranian.”

  “Gentlemen.” The nurse’s voice rose. “Shall I call security?”

  Kord whipped around. “We are federal security, and this man is in custody.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me your business. My responsibility is the patient in my care.”

  “Houston?” Prince Omar said to Youssof.

  Again he nodded.

  Prince Omar leaned over Youssof’s body. “For your father and family, a name?”

  “Parvin Shah.”

  “Who else worked with her?”

  “That does it,” the nurse said. “I’m calling security.”

  Kord waved her away, and she huffed out of the room. Prince Omar repeated his question.

  “Me. I initiated the plot.”

  “Why?”

  “Conservatives.”

  The lease of oil and gas reserves.

  “Who else is involved?”

  “They will kill my family.”

  “I’m able to protect them.”

  “Parvin’s brother took over. No name.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Never saw him.”

  “We’re done here,” Prince Omar said.

  “My father? Family?”

  “When we have the name of who you’re working with, your family will be released and protected. You’re a fool if you think I believe you spearheaded the plot.” He exited the room with Kord and Ali, passed the nurses’ station, and went to the elevators.

  Inside the limo with Ali driving, Kord spoke. “Nasim died for what he knew, and he specifically said a Saudi initiated the assassination. The prince’s source indicated Iranians were enlisted to carry it out. Parvin Shah and Youssof Dagher may be on the payroll, but they aren’t the ones who put this scheme together.”

  Ali snorted. “Shows how much his family means to him. But we have a lead to run down. Shah’s brother through a contact in Iran. Already notified our people.”

  “I’ve done the same,” Kord said. “Prince Omar, give Monica a chance to interview the women. We’re looking for possibly another shooter or shooters from late last night. The real killer or killers just might show up at Youssof’s hospital door, and we’ll be ready to make an arrest.”

  KORD THREW A SWEATY TOWEL into a bin at the workout room of the Saud mansion. He’d finished a five-mile run on the treadmill. His left arm protested from the flesh wound, and he couldn’t lift weights. Exercise stoked his mind to work harder on the criminal activities surrounding Prince Omar. Yet firing neurons hadn’t given him the answers he needed. Parvin Shah had died with answers, and Youssof Dagher’s family was condemned if he breathed a word of truth. Did Shah have a brother here in Houston or was Youssof lying?

  His phone alerted him to a call—HPD. “Special Agent Davidson.”

  The officer introduced himself as the one who’d reported a security cam picking up the license plate of a car that had left the area of the Coffee Gone Dark café. “Wanted to give you an update. Officers found the car abandoned in an alley three blocks from the incident. It was swept clean.”

  Kord thanked him before laying his phone aside. Youssof hadn’t worked alone, and whoever else attacked him and Monica last night was still out there.

  He’d hoped Prince Omar and Ali might scare Youssof into spilling his guts. But the young man’s brainwashing stopped him from exposing those who barked the orders. Kord walked into the workout room shower while his thoughts explored the who and why.

  On the return trip from the hospital, the prince shared he’d be in Houston for at least three more weeks. Longer if his mother survived. With the attacks since the prince’s arrival, every day brought new problems, deadly ones. Enemies in the Middle East ridiculed the US and Saudi Arabia for not ending the assassination attempts, calling their investigative skills inferior and laying groundwork for the two countries to turn against each other.

  “With the investigation showing progress, I’m postponing sending my sisters home,” the prince said. “Especially with my mother’s dwindling health.”

  The word indecisive crossed Kord’s mind.

  Prince Omar had arranged the video interview with Youssof’s mother and her two daughters for the following morning, evening in Riyadh.

  Concern about Monica’s health, her perfectionism, and especially what he’d learned about Liam Fielder hit hard. People and mistakes went hand in hand, a part of the human DNA. He’d made his share. For Monica, he saw a woman hurting and unable to forgive herself. Choices and consequences balanced the scales and forced a person to grow stronger or slide downhill.

  Kord asked himself if he wanted to help her crawl out of the misery hidden behind those blue eyes. His attraction to her took him down a road he wanted to avoid—the thought of family. While he feared the temptation of turning to alcohol when life overwhelmed him, he also promised himself it wouldn’t happen. He’d never tasted the stuff. Never intended to. The picture of a falling-down drunk out of control and making a fool of himself wasn’t worth it.

  He was hunting for the purpose of life. Like discovering the motivation of a criminal, he craved a reason to crawl out of bed each morning. One day, he wouldn’t have this job, and he didn’t want to be still searching, investing his self-worth in his work. God had become more real as he explored who or what set the standards for right and wrong. But he was plagued with confusion. The injustices in this world warred against the possibility of a loving God. He wanted to understand the origin of creation, and what it meant for him.

  How many times had he deliberated the meaning of life? If all he had to look forward to was a cold grave, wouldn’t it be better to have faith in a God who claimed life eternal?

  Dealing with his feelings for Monica meant exploring why he wanted what he swore he didn’t, a battle of his heart. Liam played a huge role as the fiancé who’d used her and spit her out. Yet Kord sensed her hurt went deeper than Liam—something else added
mortar around her heart. Kord saw the guarded look that went beyond betrayal—a primal fear. He wanted to help even if he didn’t understand the depth of why. For sure she wasn’t aware of what he sensed or she’d unload her S&W on him.

  He wanted to help her end the turmoil. Then he had to stop debating the reality of God. Stop putting it off.

  God, if You’re real, show me. I want to find meaning in my life. If it’s not You, I don’t know where to look.

  At 7:30 p.m. Monica woke, groggy but stronger. Then reality choked her. The doctor had insisted the IVs be in place through Tuesday, and he stated it would be Friday or Saturday before she felt better. Not Thursday for the rodeo event. What a wrench in her protection detail.

  No matter, she’d manage her responsibilities without the doctor’s permission.

  All the think time with no action hammered at her typical pace. Parvin Shah and Youssof Dagher . . . Neither appeared to have the aptitude to pull off the assassination. What had been determined after the second interview with Youssof?

  She loathed lying in bed as an invalid. A knock sounded at the door in the common area. She heard Fatima and Prince Omar. A moment later, Kord stood alone in the doorway to her room.

  “The prince is having coffee with his sisters, so we can talk.”

  “I could use the company.”

  “The company or me?” He grinned.

  She treasured the sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to damage your ego.”

  “Let’s start with the latest updates.”

  She’d like to capture his smile and bring it out on rainy days. “Same thing.”

  He moved into the room and pulled a chair to her bed. “How’s the coughing?”

  “Manageable.”

  He pointed to the meds on her nightstand. “Do you need—?”

  She shook her head, then broke into a cough that ripped at her stomach muscles. Finally she could speak. “Tell me about Youssof.”

  “He’s not doing well. My guess is he’s given up the will to live. He’s permanently disfigured and condemned to spend the rest of his life in jail.”

  “What happened with the prince?”

  “Prince Omar talked to him, threatened his family. He confirmed what little we already have: internal Saudi with an Iranian assassin.” Kord told her about the threat to Youssof’s family if he revealed any names and about Parvin Shah’s no-name brother.