KORD MET AGENT RICHARDSON in the waiting area of the ICU burn care unit. Together they walked to Youssof Dagher’s room. The man had also suffered multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and a concussion.
Kord turned to Richardson. “Thanks for joining me on this one.”
“Glad to. What’s the status on this guy?”
“Barely alive. Treating him with aggressive pain management. Awake but hasn’t spoken.”
“He’s in the best place for burn treatment.”
“His attitude might be the determining factor. Not much of a future for him,” Kord said. “An exchange of a hospital bed for a cell cot. And that’s if his cohorts don’t get to him first.”
“With the charges against him, why would he want to live?”
“We can try a few promises.”
“True. How’s Miss Alden?”
“Sleeping.”
“Will she be replaced?”
“Don’t think so. By the time I get back to the Saud home, she’ll be sprinting.”
“Impressive. Odd, I hadn’t met her before.”
“From the DC office. You’ve seen what we have of Youssof Dagher’s file?”
“Choice piece of work. Saudi living in Iraq and possibly working for the Iranians or Saudi conservatives in an assassination plot.”
“We’ll see if he’s ready to open up.”
The two agents showed their IDs to the officers guarding Dagher’s room and stepped inside. Screens beeped in time to the man’s heartbeat, displaying vitals and showing his oxygen levels. Two IV bags hung from a pole, providing antibiotics and fluids. Gauze covered some areas, while creams were spread over his exposed face and neck. Huge blisters and seared flesh were the biggest source of agony.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Dagher.” Kord closed the door. “We’re from the FBI, and we have a few questions about what led to your unfortunate accident. I’m Agent Davidson, and this is Agent Richardson.” He spoke Arabic. “I’m recording our conversation, so I encourage you to cooperate. Would you like to talk in English or Arabic?”
He glared at Kord from charred flesh, a body that would never be the same. Surprising he was alive.
Kord and Richardson grabbed chairs and set them on each side of the bed. “English is my preference,” Kord said. “Mr. Dagher, you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble. Illegally entering the US, attempted murder, resisting arrest, and more. We’d like to help.”
“No use for you,” the man whispered in English.
“That’s understandable, since you tried to kill my partner and me early this morning. But I’ll give you a pass on the murder charges in exchange for information.”
“Nothing.”
“Your address?”
“You’re FBI. You find out.”
“What about your phone?”
“Burned.”
“Your gun was uncovered but not a phone.”
Youssof sneered through twisted lips. “Too bad.”
“Targeting members of the Saudi royal family on American soil? Not smart.”
The man spit at Kord, but the spittle fell a little short and landed on the white sheets. “Alkalb algharbia.”
“So you know what my enemies call me. But this Western dog is smart.” Kord allowed silence to deepen the tension. “Listen closely. If I remove the guards outside and announce to the media you’ve given us names, you’re a dead man.”
No response.
“I could help you, but you have to work with us.” When Youssof remained mute, Kord took his strategy up a notch. “Messing with you is a waste of time, and I’m tired of your games. We know you’re part of a plot against Prince Omar and his family. Who else is involved?”
“No proof.” Every word was forced and slow.
“Since Prince Omar arrived, we’ve discovered a few things. A sniper killed a bodyguard and a janitor at a high school. Someone killed the consul general’s driver. We found a bomb designed to blow up the Saud family planted in a box of fruit and vegetables. In fact, one of your people, Parvin Shah, is dead. Bet you miss her —or him, depending on how she was dressed.”
Silence.
“How did you gain access to the US?”
“Walked.”
Prince Omar’s words about how Saudi Arabia protected their borders swept across his mind. Kord sighed and looked at Youssof. “Prince Omar has requested the opportunity to question you alone, take you home to Riyadh, and I’m in the mood to agree. He has a private jet. Smooth ride all the way to Saudi Arabia. He’d throw you a nice welcome party.”
“My father?”
“He’s in Saudi custody.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Not my problem,” Kord said. “This is the way your crimes have played out. You’re under arrest and being charged with knowingly and intentionally conspiring, confederating, and agreeing to kill Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal while in the United States. You’re also charged with three additional counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder of federal officers.”
Richardson interrupted him. “Kord, you told me you wanted to reduce the charges, help our friend out here.”
He shrugged. “Names of those involved would help. Youssof doesn’t talk much. Too bad when the fate of his father and family is at stake.”
“Parvin Shah,” Youssof managed.
“She’s dead, and we found evidence implicating her neatly arranged in her apartment. That’s all over the media. Old news. Give us something else.”
Youssof stared. “I have nothing —” he sucked in a breath —“to tell you.”
“Your choice, given your father’s facing execution for sedition.”
He closed his eyes. “He’s innocent.”
“Then you’d better find the truth, along with names,” Kord said. “Were you working with Parvin Shah?”
He nodded, eyes still clamped shut.
“Who recruited her?”
“I did.”
“How?”
“Before she left Iran.”
“You were active at thirteen and living in Iraq?”
“I started . . . young.”
Kord wouldn’t question this since suicide bombers were sometimes as young as eleven. “You recruited an Iranian woman?”
“Yes.”
“Were you her lover, too?”
“Until she came here. Parvin traveled back and forth to Iraq.”
“Who gave her orders?”
“Me.” His words grew weaker, and Kord stood to ensure he caught every one.
“Who sent a virus to Prince Omar’s phone?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“In Riyadh.”
“What about your cousin Malik?”
“Loyal to prince.”
“Parvin Shah had two expensive men’s suits in her closet. Who paid for them?”
“I did.”
“Where were the purchases made?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Who set her up, planted evidence in her apartment?”
Youssof gasped from a visible surge of pain. “Don’t know.”
“So she was set up?” Kord was pulling straws on this one, but he and Monica had noted Parvin’s detail.
Youssof squeezed his eyes shut.
“Please clarify.”
Richardson waved his hand. “Kord, we have better things to do. He’s our man.”
“I’m letting the charges stand, but I’ll give him one more chance tomorrow. If he changes his mind, he can let the police officers know.”
“He could be dead then.”
“So will his father.”
While walking with Richardson through the hospital corridor, Kord received a text that gave both men Youssof’s address at a Marriott property north of downtown.
“I’ve got the sweep,” Richardson said. “I’ll call as soon as I have something.”