TUESDAY MORNING, Monica rolled out of bed in a fetal position —the most comfortable —and found maneuvering to the bathroom and dressing a little easier than the previous day. Dragging the IV pole irritated her. She unhooked the bag. The doctor claimed he’d remove it today. Couldn’t happen soon enough.
Last night’s kitchen meeting had sapped her. How long until she was back to full speed? She swallowed her meds and slid the thermometer into her mouth: 100.2.
What was wrong with her body? The doctor said exhaustion had weakened her, but she was tired of the temp game.
Three Tylenol to curb the heat.
Now to brush her teeth. She bent and gasped at the ache in her stomach from all the coughing. Yesterday she’d managed the task standing up. Sending a brush through her hair proved equally hard on muscles she normally took for granted. At least she was ambidextrous.
After hooking back to the IV pole, she moved to the common area, but the princesses weren’t there. They’d long since finished breakfast, but a plate of fruit, bread, and coffee awaited her. A text flew into her phone from Ali.
Prince Omar would like to see you.
B right down.
I’ll be in the hallway.
Best the meeting be now. A nap would chase her until she gave in. Outside the women’s quarters, Ali waited. “Good morning, Miss Alden.”
She returned the greeting. “Did Kord tell you not to help me with the stairs?”
He smiled. “Said you might shoot me.”
“You’re a wise man.” She liked Ali. He had charm. Except she’d kill him because of his temper. Or vice versa.
But this morning she allowed him to hover over her. Falling face-first down the stairs might stop her from attending the rodeo on Thursday.
In the prince’s office, she sat beside Kord. Coffee was served, and she desperately needed a second cup. The prince gave her his attention.
“Miss Alden, you look feverish.”
“I’m much better, Prince Omar.”
“Following doctor’s orders by multiple ascents and descents of the stairs?”
Ouch. “I’m taking the antibiotics and sleeping.”
“So my sisters tell me.” He rested his cup on a saucer. “During the night, Kord and I requested information. Kord, would you fill her in?”
“Jafar has not left the States since his arrival in 2009. Legally, that is. I sent a request for sources inside Iran to learn about Parvin Shah and Jafar Turan with ties to anyone in Saudi Arabia, specifically Rashid and Youssof Dagher and Malik al-Kazaz.”
The prince’s phone sounded, and she paused to listen. He spoke in Arabic to someone she believed was the director of Saudi security. Out of respect, she rose to leave.
“Miss Alden, wait.” The prince immediately returned to his native language.
Ali gestured for her to sit, and she did.
“Are you certain?” The prince listened for a few moments longer. “Arrange a live interrogation with Malik. I want to pose questions. Dig into his mother’s death. Also I want more on Youssof Dagher’s companions in Iraq. We need answers.”
The conversation ended, and Prince Omar set his phone on a side table. “You heard my part of the conversation. I’ll let you know when the interrogation takes place.” He eased back in his chair. “We have additional intel. Jafar Turan had military training before entering the United States. He’s not associated with any Iranian government official. We don’t know who recruited his sister, trained her, or what the motive behind their actions is in connection with Saudi Arabia.”
“Youssof claimed to have recruited Parvin, but where does Jafar fit? A sleeper cell doesn’t make sense. We assume the ultimate goal of the plot is to eliminate Prince Omar, but why Parvin, Youssof, and Jafar?” Kord said. “And the consistent question is what Saudi paid an Iranian to assassinate Prince Omar?”
“We’re researching a plot by the conservatives,” Prince Omar said. “I’ve read the reports and shared them with Saudi officials. We need to find Jafar alive. If he’s killed, we’ll have a difficult time stopping the enemy from sending another assassin or suicide bombers into my country or here.”
“Would you cancel the rodeo event on Thursday?” Kord said.
“Not at all. Jafar may have slipped out of the country since he’s a fugitive, but I’m prepared to hire additional security to protect my family here and friends at the rodeo.”
“I intend to accompany you,” Monica said.
“Miss Alden, the doctor will have a few things to say about that decision.”
“I heal quickly.”
“What about your fever?”
She might have to pull a trigger on Kord for that question. “I’m sure it’s normal now.”
Prince Omar huffed. “We’ll allow the doctor to deny or permit your participation.”
She’d not let anything or anyone deter her. Including the doctor.
“I’ll escort Miss Alden to her room,” Ali said.
“Good. I need a word with Kord.”
Exhaustion seemed to take a chunk out of her normal vibrancy.
“May I encourage you to stay in bed,” the prince said.
She rose and slowly moved to the doorway. A bit of dizziness swept over her, and Ali grabbed her arm.
“Last night’s meeting in the kitchen weakened you,” the prince said.
He might be right, but she’d not admit it. A raw throat from the cursed cough plagued her. No time to sleep when she wanted to follow up on the same info as Kord and Saudi security.
Inside the women’s quarters, Fatima and Yasmine were reading in the common area. At times Monica wished for a more leisurely lifestyle, but it never lasted more than a few minutes. She’d be bored out of her mind.
“Good morning,” she said to the sisters.
“We’re good. You’re pale,” Fatima said. “Did you take your morning medications?”
“Absolutely.” The word had become a joke between them.
Fatima stood and examined her IV bag while Yasmine retrieved her pole from Monica’s bedroom. Sweet ladies. She’d never forget their kindness. She wanted to talk to Yasmine, see if she unknowingly had vital information.
Monica sank into a chair. “While you two slept last night, I walked down the stairs.”
Fatima touched her heart. “By yourself?”
“Kord met me in the upper hallway. I was hungry.”
Yasmine giggled. “Ali helped you walk down midmorning. Congratulations.”
“Slow but sure. Before you know it, we’ll start back with self-defense classes. Actually a child could take me out right now.”
“You have many tricks,” Fatima said. “I think no matter what you face, you’d be triumphant.”
She laughed. “I doubt it. Do you mind if we chat?”
“Of course.” Fatima pointed to a comfy chair. “Rest and talk. Is this about my brother’s safety?”
“Your entire family,” Monica said. “Has Prince Omar spoken with you about the latest findings?”
Fatima put her book aside. “He told us our people and the Americans are looking for a man named Jafar Turan, brother to Parvin Shah.”
“It’s not my role to give you any more information than the prince has shared. My question is about another subject, one we’ve discussed before. Mostly for Yasmine.”
“Malik?” Yasmine said. “Has he done something else?”
“I’m just working on making pieces fit. Did Malik mention Youssof Dagher to you?”
“He looked forward to spending time with him in Riyadh.”
“What happened when the family moved?”
“He encouraged my brother to meet with Rashid and Youssof.”
“Why?”
“He said to build good relations between the men. He was proud of Youssof and hoped he gained favor with Prince Omar to secure a position within the family.”
“Were there other times Malik met with the younger man?”
She shrugged. “He never told me.”
Fatima took Yasmine’s hand.
“If there is anything at all you remember that can help us end this nightmare, tell me now. When Malik returned home, he called you right away?”
Yasmine shook her head. “Not until the next day. That’s when he told me about the trip.”
“Did Malik speak of your brother’s business dealings here in Houston?”
She tilted her head. “Only that Omar believed he was doing the best for our country.”
“And Malik shared the same conviction?”
“I assumed so. Monica, I’ve told all I can remember. I hate him. He’s not who I thought he was at all.”