ONCE MONICA AND KORD returned to the Saud home and shared dinner, he with his boys’ club and she with the girls’ club, the two met in the natatorium with their laptops. They chose two chairs by the pool’s edge. She hoped the bubbling waterfall distorted their conversation. No one else was around, but ears were always listening. Sheer stubbornness and an intense desire for privacy caused her to hide her words and thoughts. If she wanted the prince to hear a remark, she’d make sure he heard it.
“Do you have the taxi driver’s interview?” she said. “If not, I’ll send mine.”
“Got it.”
Sitting next to him made her nervous. This mission deserved her 100 percent focus, but between an attractive agent and a persistent headache, she was scattered.
They pulled up the feed. The driver, a Caucasian, gave his name and address to a pair of agents. His background checked out —Houstonian. Father of two teens. Lived in the southwest part of town. Worked for Yellow Cab fifteen years. A team of agents was working on the taxi and interviewing personnel.
Kord and Monica played the interview on his laptop.
“Was today the first time you’ve picked up Parvin Shah?” an agent said.
“I picked up men, not a woman. But I’ve been called to the address three other times. It’s in the company’s log.”
Kord paused the video. “Two of those dates match up with the prince’s arrival and the following day at MD Anderson.” He allowed it to continue.
“You say this address,” the agent said. “You mean the apartment building.”
“Yes, sir.”
“According to your log, the calls were made from the same phone.”
“Each time the caller requested me specifically.”
That could have been to eliminate him when she finished her assignment.
“Can you describe the men?”
He tilted his head. “Today was a Hispanic businessman. Before Middle Eastern, I guess. Maybe Indian or Pakistani.”
“How were you paid?”
“Cash.”
“Where did you take these men?”
“First time was a Westheimer address. Second at the front of the family court building. The third, today, was the Barnes & Noble near the Galleria.” He pointed to a file in front of the agent. “I’m sure you have the dates and times right there.”
“We do, and two of the pickups correspond to crimes.”
Monica held up a finger, and Kord paused the video again. “Everything points to Parvin Shah. We need to dig deeper for bank records, alias names, city surveillance cam reports.” She shook her head. “We needed her alive. What about her library card?”
“History and current writings about Iran and Saudi Arabia. And before you ask, techs are working on security camera footage corresponding to when she checked out books.” He resumed the video with the taxi driver.
“Did you have a conversation with the men?” the agent said.
“Just where they wanted to go.”
“Anything more you can tell me?”
“Today the man seemed angry, agitated.”
“How so?”
“Slammed the door when he got in. When I greeted him, he didn’t nod. Before the car stopped, he tossed me a twenty and left.”
The interview ended. Monica waited for Kord to offer feedback.
“Had Shah been nervous with what she’d planned?” he said. “She’d killed before. If she failed, what were the repercussions?” He studied her. “Thoughts?”
“She had less than a thousand dollars in the bank and no cash in her apartment, which says overseas account and a labyrinth of names. Her agitation could be because the prince’s phone had been silent and then the luncheon scheduled.”
Their phones alerted them to an update. The FIG —Field Intelligence Group —had run footage from the high school, Saud home, restaurant, and hospital through facial recognition software to compare images. Analysis confirmed Parvin Shah had been the driver of the food delivery truck, but nothing else matched.
“It’s one checkmark,” he said. “We have the instrument of one of those involved, but I doubt Parvin Shah is the one who ordered the hits.”
Using a secure program, Monica typed criteria to narrow the list of known Middle Eastern female terrorists: sniper skills, disguise master, around five foot six, conversant in Spanish. With the ongoing training of extreme Islamic terrorists around the world, the number of females involved had increased to roughly 20 percent. The woman she’d killed today wasn’t among the names or photos.
She deliberated the rising use and growing force of female terrorists, especially when the average person believed men were the real foes. A female easily gained access to public places where they looked harmless. Females were less likely to be suspected of killing others, allowing them to sneak in and out of targeted areas and resume a normal life. When working in Africa, Monica watched a female terrorist feeding a toddler ice cream, and then an hour later, she blew up a café. Women were known to be more radical than men, and they were drawn into a cause and adventure just like men, enforcing radical doctrine on other women while recruiting them for suicide bombings. Reasons for their enlistment varied. Some European women joined the fight simply because their dress was criticized. So many reports and facts swarmed in Monica’s head, but it was difficult to nail Parvin Shah —Iranian and probably paid by a Saudi to assassinate Prince Omar.
Investigators were on it, but she wanted answers now. Nothing new there.
“Where are you?” Kord said.
She glanced up from her laptop. “Thinking about female terrorists and their growing numbers. Parvin Shah fits the mold. The male clothes and accessories in her closet point to a single conspiracy, but that’s ludicrous. Track with me a moment. Let’s assume a man enlisted her, a man whom she was emotionally tied to —a lover or husband. He saw to her training and convinced her to carry out an assassination against Prince Omar. So who is the man? The scheme is too high level, and as you indicated, we only have a checkmark in a playbook.”
He studied her. “Ali said the mirror was secure to the wall. He started to give up, thinking nothing was there. He persisted and found the passport. I’m going with the idea she intended to use it when she completed the kill.”
“And today’s date was not marked on her calendar or on the original schedule. She could have been apprehensive about moving forward.”
Kord left his laptop on the chair and walked a few feet to the pool. “She was Iranian, an enemy of Saudi Arabia.” He shoved his hands into his pant pockets and looked out over the water.
“Now where are you?” she said.
He swung her way, his gaze on her but his attention elsewhere. “The list of questions with no answers. Malik’s denial of his involvement, but he’s been implicated. Was it to throw off the real mole? He’ll be released tomorrow. Prince Omar has made arrangements for him to fly home commercially.”
“Do you think Malik’s hiding something?”
“Why? He knows what he’s facing in Riyadh.”
“My point,” Monica said. “Would he rather face death than tell the truth?”
“Depends if he’s protecting someone or a cause. His story hasn’t changed.”
“Yasmine is a pitiful mess. I may need to rethink my approach with her to see if she’s concealing anything, either knowingly or not.”
“Do it. Any comments he made to her are useful.”
Monica smiled. “How is Prince Omar handling this?”
“He’s no fool, and he’s been on the phone constantly to his people.”
Her cell rang and she recognized Ali’s number. “Hi, Ali. Is there a problem?”
“Are you available for a walk in thirty minutes?”
“That’s fine. Will Kord be joining us?”
“He has a meeting with Prince Omar.”
What was this about? “Where will I find you?”
“Where you disarmed the bomb.”
“All right. See you then.”
Ali ended the call. His request tapped at her curiosity. Why her and not her partner? She looked at Kord, who grinned back. “What did you and Ali cook up?”
He lifted a brow. “I’m innocent.”
“I think you have some explaining to do.”
“What did he say?”
“Asked me to join him for a walk.”
Kord laughed —far too long and hard. A joke?
“What’s so funny?”
“He told me this afternoon he’s interested in you as potential wife material.”
How did this happen? “Why didn’t you tell him I had a boyfriend or something?” she whispered. “We nearly killed each other at the hospital.”
The grin stayed intact. “I thought you might be flattered. Think of the press. The wedding would have international coverage.”
“When I’m not with the CIA, I’m a woman. I get my nails done, enjoy bubble baths, get my hair cut. I have more shoes than I’ll ever wear. I bake and give it away. I decorate. I weigh myself every day and count calories. But I’m not looking for a husband.” Now why had she made such a fuss?
“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.”