KORD’S ATTENTION SWUNG UP and down the corridor. People walked by, but not the men he was looking for. He turned to Monica. “The prince received a phone call from the hospital and headed to the restroom. From there he’d find a private place to talk.” He touched his earbud. “Ali, everything okay?”
No response.
“Ali?” Kord broke into a run.
He hurried toward the restroom and Monica followed. Signs at both entrances indicated the facility was closed. Correct procedure for Ali and Wasi to clear the area. He entered with Monica on his heels. Ali lay facedown on the floor. He moaned and lifted his head. Wasi had a bleeding upper shoulder wound, and he looked unconscious.
“Find the prince,” Ali whispered.
“Where is he?” Kord bent to his side while Monica called 911 and checked Wasi.
“Don’t know. A man got me with a needle. I remember him pulling a weapon before I blacked out.”
Ali should be glad he was alive. Must not have been a big enough dose for such a huge man. “Did you recognize him?”
Ali rubbed the back of his neck. “From the size, could have been Jafar Turan. But he sounded like a Hispanic.”
“Another disguise,” Kord said.
Monica poked through the trash. “Prince Omar’s thobe and ghutra are here.”
“Stay here,” Kord said. “I’m going after Prince Omar. You’re in no shape to help.”
“Don’t think so.” She bolted out an entrance as though she weren’t recovering from pneumonia.
Kord alerted the other bodyguards and HPD security. “Shut down all exits. At least one man, maybe more. Armed.” Saad and Inman entered the men’s room. “Help is coming. I’ve got to find the prince.”
Ali stopped him before he could rush after Monica. “Prince Omar learned his mother died. I don’t think it has any bearing on Jafar taking him, but I wanted you to know.”
Kord thanked him and raced from the building before speaking into his wrist mic to Monica. “Did you hear Prince Omar’s mother died?”
“Very sad.”
“Where are you? We’ll do this together.”
“I’m not waiting on you.”
His thoughts spun as he pushed forward. The prince had been wearing Western clothes under his Saudi garments, which meant he could mix in with the crowd and whoever had abducted him.
How could they find Prince Omar in time?
When Monica didn’t see the prince, she rushed outside NRG Stadium and scanned the crowd in every direction. Didn’t help that her five-foot-two frame left her shorter than most people. Adrenaline fueled her because her lungs ached.
Stop.
Focus.
Think like a killer.
Monica looked for a less crowded area and moved toward the pavilion housing the many animals. Two men caught her attention. One shorter than the other and wearing a volunteer badge. The second man wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. He was also a volunteer. She recognized the height and build of Prince Omar, and the slighter man resembled Jafar.
She broke into a run, drawing her firearm while speaking into her mic. “Kord, I have eyes on the prince and Jafar. Southwest corner of the livestock building.”
Jafar’s head jerked up —obviously he’d sensed her. He forced the prince into the building. By the time she made it to the entrance, the pair had blended into a large crowd.
The smell of animals hit her nostrils while she moved through the many people. Children shouted. Animals called out. No doubt Jafar would exit at the other side. Her chest ached, but she pushed on.
Prince Omar would overpower his abductor if given the opportunity.
Two familiar men emerged from an exit, and she elbowed toward them. Outside, a navy sky rolled in. A jagged slice of lightning in the distance followed by rumbling thunder added to the imminent danger.
The two men hurried into the amusement ride section, Jafar walking beside the prince. Did Jafar have a gun stuck in the prince’s ribs? Where were they going?
And where were Kord and the bodyguards? To her far left, she caught a glimpse of HPD officers. She saw Kord and other bodyguards gaining speed. All of them were faster than one puny girl, and they could overpower Jafar. In her condition she couldn’t take him out alone.
Up ahead, the Ferris wheel unloaded passengers. The splattering rain and the darkening sky dictated the ride should cease operation. Jafar pulled his gun and spoke to the man assisting the passengers. Neither Monica nor Kord and the HPD officers got to the prince and Jafar before the two men slid into an empty gondola.
“Mommy, that lady has a gun,” a nearby child said.
“Whoa. Whatcha doin’ with a piece?” came from a teen.
A woman screamed. “Call the police.”
People moved aside, clearing a path to the Ferris wheel. The wheel jerked into action and took the gondola upward, coming to a halt when Jafar and the prince were at the twelve o’clock position.
Monica hurried to the operator. “I’m FBI. Bring that gondola down.”
The rough-whiskered man shook his head. “That guy’s wearing a bomb. And he had his left hand wrapped around what looked like a dead-man switch.”
Thunder resounded.
HPD officers urged the crowd to move back several yards.
Kord joined her at the Ferris wheel. “We need a bomb specialist.”
Agony in her chest caused her breathing to come in short, painful spurts. Why was she doing this?
Clenching her fist, she turned and plodded to the far end of the 150-foot-tall Ferris wheel, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Let someone else take over.
No way could she help the prince when every breath hurt.
Who cared anyway?
Coward slammed into her mind.
The word penetrated her soul —what it meant, the color of giving up, not who she was and what she stood for. Her faith. Her being.
A war within herself.
A splattering of heavy raindrops beat against her, enforcing the desire to find shelter. At the rear of the Ferris wheel, a roller coaster jutted up against a threatening sky.
Whom do you serve?
God wasn’t fair.
The sound of Kord calling her name caused her to whirl around.
“Are you okay?”
She blew out a burst of agony, mental . . . physical. “Did you see what happened?”
“Jafar has the prince trapped at the top of the Ferris wheel.”
“And I’ve got to finish my job.” She half walked, half ran to the roller coaster, where she reached for the metal and started an ascent.
“Are you crazy?”
She smiled back at him. “Has there ever been any doubt?”
Lightning sliced across the sky, so close the back of her neck tingled.
“Monica, you’ll be killed.”
“Then get a sniper in place to take out Jafar. You’ve got to have my back. Promise?” She swung him one last look and jerked out her earbud. He’d distract her climb, and she had to concentrate on what lay ahead.
“Whatever it takes. Monica, I’m not letting you do this alone.”
She ignored him because she feared what he was about to do. He mattered, but protecting the prince came first.
Water soaked her and made the climb slippery, but the raging storm did not match her will to stop Jafar before he killed Prince Omar and many other innocent people. She’d not fail a second time. A quick look down showed Kord moving upward behind her on a parallel metal support beam.
She loved that man.