MONICA WOKE FOR THE THIRD TIME since she’d fallen asleep, a habit when in the middle of an assignment. She listened and heard nothing. Tossing off her blanket, she walked to the common area, where a dim lamp bathed the room in an amber glow. She retrieved a bottle of water from a small fridge masked as a cabinet and took a long drink. A bit of a scratchy throat bothered her, and the cool liquid felt good.
Beside the door rested a tote bag with her first name on it. Jeff’s handwriting. Surely the bodyguards hadn’t allowed him to leave this here? But no other women were in the house. She carried the bag into her room and pulled out a few clothing items that would help in her pursuit of acceptance —two pairs of dress slacks, one black and the other charcoal gray. Two long-sleeved blouses, one in cream and another in navy. All had Dillard’s tags. He’d stuck in additional cover items from a previous job. She laid the clothes aside.
Now to see what went on while the rest of the household slept. She grabbed her binoculars and crept back to the common area. Snapping off the lamp, she tiptoed to a window facing the side grounds. The beauty soothed her soul. Majestic. Peaceful. Unfortunately looks could be deceiving.
Two men in Saudi dress talked near a rear fountain, but their backs hid their faces. She waited about five minutes until the men walked away in opposite directions. A side view of each man indicated one was Ali, who had lost a cousin and friend in Zain. The second was the press secretary, Malik al-Kazaz.
Loyal members of Prince Omar’s entourage deep in conversation in the dead of night. Or part of a conspiracy to kill him?
Monica woke at 6:00 a.m. As usual, questions fought for space in her mind, and she craved answers. None of the intel analyzed during the night had produced a solid clue.
Before rising, she praised God for His gift of life and asked for wisdom in all she attempted. Her prayer always settled on the same truth. She’d killed a man. Was her deed vengeance or duty? Guilt and shame were cruel partners.
Refusing to think about it any further, she walked to the bathroom for a shower.
Fatima and Yasmine had already prayed the Fajr, the predawn first prayer of the day, and would soon be in the midst of the sunrise prayer. The Dhuhr was the noon prayer, the Asr in late afternoon, the Maghrib at sunset, and the Isha in the evening. So glad she’d invested in learning about Wahhabism, so different from her own beliefs.
Glancing at the clothes, she questioned again who’d delivered them. Waking for every sound was part of her MO. She texted Jeff.
Were u inside the women’s quarters?
His response flew into her phone as though he’d been waiting for her. I gave them 2 Kord.
OK
She liked the idea of Kord slipping inside the women’s quarters even less. She texted him.
Thanx 4 taking the delivery from Jeff. How did u get inside?
Door unlocked. Problem?
No
Kord gloated over his ability not to wake her, and she refused to respond.
Get over your ruffled feelings, Monica. From now on she’d make sure her door was open at night.
Today began early. She must react efficiently and effectively. The prince’s schedule started at eight, when the consul general arrived for an hour-long meeting. She doubted her attendance would meet the prince’s approval, but Kord might hear the goings-on and relay the conversation. Perhaps the bodyguards would speak to her. Sounded good in theory.
After buttoning the blouse’s high neckline, she opened the door from her bedroom to the common area. She heard Arabic conversation, and then Fatima and Yasmine greeted her. Again they were dressed in runway attire.
A large silver server held a feast. Fatima rolled it near a sofa and two chairs. The sights and aromas tempted Monica —fresh coffee, a carafe of hot water, a chest of assorted teas, dates, olives, various cheeses, and hot breads.
“Breakfast has been brought to us this morning,” Fatima said. “My brother would like for you to join us.”
Being a woman on this assignment left her out of the loop. Yet getting close to Prince Omar’s sisters meant learning their opinions about the events besieging their family.
A few minutes into the meal, Monica turned to the sisters. “Thank you for including me. The prince’s invitation to share breakfast with you is a beautiful way to start the day. The cheeses and hot breads are delicious.” She poured another cup of rich coffee. She must find the source of these beans. “Prince Omar is a good brother.”
Seventeen-year-old Yasmine smiled, her face bathed in youth. “Omar takes excellent care of us.”
“I wish your visit to the US was not laced with tragedy.”
“We’re optimistic the clinical trials for our mother will be successful.”
“I wish healing for Princess Gharam too,” Monica said. “This is a trying time for all of you.”
“Thank you. Fatima and I are glad to be here.”
So proper. Monica turned to the older sister. “Do you have special interests or hobbies?”
“I sketch landscapes,” Fatima said. “I find it relaxing.”
“That’s wonderful. Perhaps I can observe your techniques while you’re here.”
“If there’s time.” Fatima took a bite of warm bread.
“Yasmine, what about you?” Monica said.
The younger sister’s dark eyes sparkled. Her thick hair hung below her shoulders, and her delicate features gave her an exotic look. “I play piano.”
“I’d love to hear you.”
Yasmine blushed. “There’s a music room on this floor. Perhaps I can play for you.”
“Excellent. What do you want to see and do while in Houston?”
“Shopping at the Galleria. A trip to Starbucks. I’d like to see horses, and I know the Houston Rodeo is an attraction. Once Mother makes progress, I’ll ask Omar what we can do.”
“You would love the rodeo. One of my favorite events is the livestock show that allows boys and girls an opportunity to earn money for their education. Some are able to display and compete with their animals. Bull and bronco riding is a thrill. Were you wanting to attend a concert?”
She nodded. “My brother would have to select one he feels is suitable.”
In their culture, men protected the women. “My father gave me strict rules to live by while growing up. At the time, his demands angered me, but then I realized his guidelines were because he loved me. After I came to my senses, I listened and obeyed.” Monica recalled a bit of rebellion. “Not all the time, but I did better.”
“What caused you to be obedient?”
“I rode in a car with an intoxicated driver. We were in an accident, and my arm was broken. The pain and close encounter with death served as a reminder of my father’s words to never ride in a car when the driver had been drinking.”
“I see. Why did you decide to work with an assistant press secretary who is really FBI?”
How did she answer that? “Kord is an excellent teacher, and I’m learning much from him.”
Fatima coughed. Fake. Okay, what did the older sister know? Or had Monica’s nearness to Kord prompted the green monster into action? Fatima was a lovely woman, a mirror of her mother. “What would you like to do while in Houston?”
“What do you recommend?” Hostility brewed stronger in Fatima’s words than the coffee.
“The options depend on your interests.”
Fatima stiffened her back. “Yasmine and I are to assist in Mother’s care. Entertainment has not been discussed.”
“But I’ve spoken to Omar, and he’s planning outings for us.” Yasmine’s voice grew shrill. “Must you always spoil things because you’re angry with our brother?”
Monica mentally highlighted the question.
Fatima rose from the elegant sofa. “Hush, Sister. Miss Alden dare not hear your immature whining. She is not one of us.”
“I apologize for upsetting you,” Monica said. “Can we enjoy our breakfast and each other’s company?”
“I think not.” Fatima whirled around and walked away. The door to her room slammed shut.
Monica questioned the anger again. “Yasmine, I’m sorry.”
“No need. She’s grieving a loss.”
“Your mother? MD Anderson is highly successful in treating cancer.”
“Another matter. She’s not happy one of Omar’s friends is here.”
“A bodyguard?”
Yasmine sighed.
“Who? Can I help?”
Yasmine moistened her lips and reached for a date. “Are your parents in the city?”
Maybe Yasmine would open up at another time. “They live in Ohio, as well as my four brothers.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes, but my work is here.” Or wherever the CIA sent her.
Yasmine chatted on about her brother assuring her of seeing the sights of the city. No more mention of Fatima.
The animosity between siblings raised some questions, but Monica doubted she’d get answers from Fatima. Last night, the older sister displayed hospitality and a willingness to help Monica dress appropriately. What happened between then and now?
Monica kept a pleasant demeanor intact. The problem lay with Kord. He’d neglected to tell her a few things about him and Fatima.