IN THE PRIVACY OF HER BEDROOM, Monica used her laptop to study security footage from the cameras located near Frozen Rock. Unfortunately nothing showed evidence of anyone involved at the crime scene. Kord had been the first to rush forward when Zain stumbled and fell. The camera caught the anguish on Kord’s face and the way his reflexes swung into action. She paused the video and peered intently into her partner’s face. A scowl etched his features. The anger that motivated him to find the killer was equal to his responsibility as an agent. A double hit for whoever was behind the attack. She had her own reasons to ensure no more victims, and hers were about redeeming her past mistakes.
She moved on to what needed to be probed —every angle of activity inside and outside Paramount High School. Although Kord and other investigators were reviewing the same footage, each had a different perspective. Teachers, students, and construction workers had been interviewed, but none had anything more to report than what they already knew. All the remarks and opinions would be tossed into a pot of ideas until something substantial surfaced.
Theoretically it all sounded good.
Techs would take hours to scrutinize each moment, but she could scan through it now for her own take. The time stamp on the school footage in the parking lot began two hours before the crime. She zoomed in on every face —a professional hit man had his plan memorized, reviewed it mentally, and put it into action. High probability the shooter worked alone on the rooftop to carry out the assassination. But he could belong to a terrorist group, and pulling the trigger was his role.
She paused the video overview and closed her eyes, putting herself into the mind of the killer. . . . He’d parked a vehicle that had easy access to the side street of the school. Exited, grabbed a toolbox, panned the area for police officers, and walked toward an entrance. On the way, he asked the teen for directions to the janitors’ office. Made his way there. Met Chip inside. Lured him to the back room, probably by force. Took his shirt and keys. Murdered him. Unlocked the door leading to the rooftop. There he assembled the sniper rifle and pulled the trigger on Zain, thinking he was the prince. Monica calculated twenty to twenty-five minutes if the killer knew the precise time the prince’s entourage planned to stop for ice cream. Impossible to follow the limos and position himself before Zain walked toward the shop.
Her phone alerted her to a text.
Ready 4 MD Anderson?
Monica had lost track of time. She closed her laptop and locked it in a metal case. Shoving the device into a closet, she grabbed her weapon and tucked it into her back waistband. After slinging her jacket over her shoulder, she ensured her earbud was in the pocket and hurried down the stairway.
Outside, three bodyguards stood beside Prince Omar’s limo. Monica wanted to question them, examine their answers, but the prince and bodyguards might not value her conversation unless they initiated it. Consul General al-Fakeeh waited with them, and he offered her a nod. Points for his side.
She rode in the rear of Prince Omar’s second vehicle with Wasi and Saad, leaving Fares and Karim to protect the Saud home. The Lexus behind them transported the consul general. He’d requested to see Prince Omar’s mother, and once he visited her, he’d leave for his office with Prince Omar.
Later she’d tell Kord the consul general had been most respectful, obviously well-versed in Western ways. He could be a liaison in working through the protection detail.
In the eighteen-minute drive to the hospital, she studied the vehicles around her, memorizing license plates out of habit. The vehicles reached the medical center, renowned for its advances in technology to promote healing. Perhaps the professionals here could help Prince Omar’s mother.
This afternoon during the prince’s downtime, she had many things to confirm with Kord, beginning with whom he or the FBI suspected of carrying out the plot to kill the prince.
As they turned onto Holcombe, she texted Kord. Would u ask Prince Omar if I can visit Princess Gharam?
Her question wasn’t inappropriate as long as she filtered it through Kord. A few minutes later, he responded.
A brief mtg 2 introduce yourself as my assistant. Nothing else.
Ok. Thanks.
She is unaware of ur protection detail.
At the hospital, Monica sat outside the office door where the other men gathered with Dr. Carlson and two other physicians. She stepped into her people-watching mode. At times she wanted to say, “Stand up straight” or “Cute children” or “Great smile.” Tough habit to break. She continued for thirty minutes until Kord exited.
“I’ll escort you to see Princess Gharam,” he said. “The prince has another meeting for a second opinion on her condition.”
She joined him en route to the elevator. “Bad news?”
“The cancer has metastasized to other organs and her brain. This morning they started testing her body’s ability to handle the trial drugs. Dr. Carlson recommends a double mastectomy. He doesn’t sound very optimistic about her recovery. Just buying time.” He sighed. “Prince Omar wants to be sure he’s making the right decision.”
She mulled over how the culture protected their women, made sure they were properly taken care of. “I assume he’ll determine the treatment, perhaps without consulting her.”
“Possibly so.”
“What if she believes the surgery is necessary and he thinks otherwise?”
Kord glanced at her. “What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t survive under his rein, and I do mean r-e-i-n.”
“The truth is, if the surgery and treatments lengthen her life for one day, she wants it. Her children mean everything to her. The prince has seen her suffering, and it’s a tough decision.”
“When is the surgery scheduled?”
“Monday —if she gains strength.”
The elevator doors opened, and they entered what looked like a hotel suite. The prince had spared no cost for his mother’s stay. The furnishings and traditionally styled decor in soft shades of cream and healing shades of green caught Monica’s attention and calmed her. The princess definitely needed an environment conducive to healing.
“Before we talk to her, I need to update you,” Kord said. “My informant heard there’s a mole in the prince’s house.”
“Betrayal fits with how the sniper knew when to be in position.”
“I agree.”
“How did Prince Omar respond to the possibility of one of his men being a part of the assassination plot?”
“Staunchly denied his men’s involvement.”
“Not surprised.”
Inside Princess Gharam’s room, a nurse wearing a hijab tended her. The familiar clothing and another woman to possibly share prayer times must be comforting.
Kord approached her bed. “Princess Gharam, it’s good to see you. As salaam alaikum.”
She returned the greeting. Exhaustion deepened the lines around her eyes.
“I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Monica Alden,” he said. “She’s my assistant.”
The princess turned to Monica and held out her hand. Monica held it gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I apologize for sleeping yesterday in the limo.”
“Not at all. You need rest.”
“My son said you’d be helping Kord.”
“I’m honored,” Monica said. “It’s a wonderful opportunity to learn from the best.”
“He’s been such a good friend to Omar.”
“We all need friends to walk through life.”
“I will remember your words.”
“Princess Gharam, I’m praying for you.” Healing, physically and spiritually.
“Thank you.” A wisp of Fatima and Yasmine graced her smile.
Monica sensed relief the woman hadn’t questioned the origin of her beliefs. So hard to choose when to announce her faith in Jesus and when to establish friendship.
“Princess Gharam,” Kord said, “we can stay but a few minutes. You need your rest, and Prince Omar will be here soon. Promise me you’ll do all you can for the days ahead.”
“I’m fighting. I want to look happy for Omar and my daughters. It saddens them when I’m weak and in pain.” She hesitated and a wave of discomfort passed over her face. “I want to hear what the treatments will be. Not knowing is a little frightening. I’d rather be prepared for what’s to come.”
“Overseeing your care shows Prince Omar’s love.” Kord spoke tenderly. “If you like, we can visit you another time.”
“I’d enjoy that very much. Perhaps I’ll feel better when you see me again. I miss my daughters today. Every moment is precious.”
Monica kept her composure despite the sadness and ultimate reality of the woman’s illness. What would she do in the same situation? She thrived on good health and despised the idea of being bedridden.