HANDS IN HIS POCKETS, Kord walked along a stone path that wound around the rear of the property leading to the patio of the Saud home. The business of arranging a meeting with Fatima rumbled through his mind, much like thunder in the distance. He believed in honesty, which meant having a long talk with Prince Omar about what didn’t happen five years ago.
The other situation was how the sniper had Prince Omar’s schedule. Who had access other than Malik and Ali? Who in Riyadh?
Gray clouds gathered and the scent of rain met his nostrils with a few drops of moisture. Houston’s ground had hit the saturation point, and many neighborhoods were flooded. If the water level continued to rise, Prince Omar might have difficulty keeping to his plans. But if the weather prohibited his getting out to meetings, then bring on more rain.
Kord had left Monica on the bench, and if she delayed, she’d be drenched. Her final comment held logic. Someone in the household could have been forced to assist the killer. Not an impossibility. But that meant taking a strong look at Fatima and Yasmine —another reason to bring Prince Omar into the loop about what didn’t happen —and more questioning of the bodyguards and staff. The FBI were running data on all the calls the entourage had made, and so far nothing had materialized as suspicious. The who, how, and why pierced his thoughts.
“Kord.”
He turned to see Monica racing toward him. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head and made a breathless stop at his side. Her flushed face was . . . very attractive. “I have an idea,” she said. “Got a few minutes?”
“We’re about to get wet.”
“I’d rather talk in the open.”
She usually made sense, which drove him nuts. “Go for it.”
“The FBI checked all the cell phones belonging to Prince Omar’s men, and they were cleared. Just got the CIA report for the numbers called and received.”
He yanked his phone from his pocket.
“Haven’t sent it yet. Let me finish. Authorities have researched the prince’s laptop and found nothing. But what about his iPad or tablet? What about his cell phone?”
“He has tight security on his devices.” A bolt of adrenaline hit Kord. “He uses his iPhone for everything —e-mail, texts, notes —and has downloaded apps to help him manage business affairs.”
“So his schedule is on his phone?”
“Right.” His mind whirled. “No one inspected it —didn’t seem necessary.”
“We need to take a look. The problem could be there. What if a virus was planted on his iPhone?”
He rubbed his face and reflected on the earlier foiled plan. A near-field communication hack would allow a person to obtain Prince Omar’s private information —even hear all that was being said within the phone’s mic range. “At the hospital, he left his phone in the limo, and his decision to cancel the trip to the consul general’s office occurred later inside.”
“That aspect is why I want to investigate the possibility of a virus. It’s a legitimate means for our killer to obtain information. Hacking a mobile device through wireless technology isn’t rocket science.”
“We need to talk to Prince Omar.”
“Barging in and giving our theory could tip off the killer. We need to think this through.”
“If you’re right, why not set a trap?”
She grinned. “Telepathy is the first sign of an operative.”
Monica was really getting under his skin, in a way he’d never imagined. When this was over, he wanted to see more of her. A lot more.
When Kord learned Prince Omar and Malik were in a meeting, he texted Ali and asked to speak with him privately in the rear yard. Monica didn’t approve, but Kord observed him and saw a man loyal to Prince Omar. When he and Ali talked, he’d explain the private meeting. While he waited with Monica, Ali approached them.
“What’s the secrecy?” Ali said.
“We have a possible theory to test.” Kord explained Monica’s idea of a phone virus. “We need your help to give him a note in privacy. No one else can be privy to the conversation.” He handed Ali a slip of paper requesting Prince Omar’s presence.
Ali snorted. “That would explain the how.”
“He’s to leave his phone and Apple Watch behind,” Kord said and glanced at Monica.
“Not a word can pass between you and Prince Omar,” she said.
Ali disappeared. Within three minutes he returned with the prince. Malik was nowhere around.
“Kord,” Prince Omar began, “my phone and watch are on my desk. If you’re right, I’ll have the head of whoever is responsible.”
“We all will.” Kord had no doubt the fate of the killer lay in the hands of an enraged Saudi prince.
“How does this kind of thing happen?”
“The guilty man could have been standing next to you and sent a virus.”
“It would have happened in Riyadh.” He clenched his fist. “Even planted by one of my men.”
“Is your schedule, since the announcement about this trip, documented anywhere besides your phone?”
“Malik and Zain. Would you like Zain’s phone?”
“Yes, Amir. I want to know where you’ve been and who was present,” Kord said. “No one but the four of us can be aware of this.”
“Sounds like a difficult process for a suspicion. But I’ll cooperate. I want to be part of the plan to catch him.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“I live with those who want me dead. No argument, my friend. As your note said, a trap will catch him. I’ve lost Zain, and I will not lose you.”
Kord had faced opposition with the prince in the past and experienced his stubbornness. “With all due respect, I prefer allowing the killer to think I’m you. You can hear the story when he’s in custody. Let me do what I’m trained to do.”
“I agree with Kord,” Ali said. “He and Miss Alden know how to defend themselves.” He raised his chin. “She does handle herself well, and I hope we can be more civil to each other. We have an important job to do.”
Kord hid his surprise.
“Thank you,” she said. “I agree our duties require us to be amiable.”
Prince Omar drew in a breath, a common sign of his reflections. “All right. The killer and his accomplices must be apprehended.” He turned to Monica. “Thank you for taking care of my sisters. I’m grateful.”
“You’re welcome.” She respectfully avoided his gaze.
The prince focused on Kord. “What are your thoughts?”
He allowed his satisfaction to fuel the setup. “First of all. Be aware of anything you say around your phone or watch. I prefer you use new ones or put those aside until we’ve worked through our theory.”
The prince nodded.
“In the past, you enjoyed Morton’s steak house. I’ll reserve the location across from the Galleria for a late-afternoon meal with a few of your bodyguards. Not just a boardroom, but the entire restaurant for safety reasons. It’s fairly quiet during this time, and I’ll state you desire privacy. I’ll be dressed as you. With your approval, the FBI and CIA can move into action. FBI agents will act as staff to ensure no one is hurt. Monica will pose as the hostess.”
“Include me,” Ali said. “Someone has to keep Kord safe.”
Kord chuckled. “Who’s keeping you from a bullet?”
“Me,” Monica said. “I’m a better shot.”
“When will this occur?” the prince said.
“As soon as possible. The moment I receive your permission, arrangements will be made. The luncheon plans will need to be made in the presence of your phone and watch.”
“Take care of it now. I’ll pay whatever’s required.”
“Prince Omar, your money is not the problem, but keeping you alive is. The FBI needs to check your devices for a virus. I’ve put them off until after Friday afternoon. I know that’s your holy day —”
“Do it.”
“Okay. Until then, we play it safe.”
Twenty minutes later, Kord received the go-ahead. Target was Friday afternoon at two thirty.