AT THE SAUD HOME, Kord requested a private meeting with Prince Omar. The past two days of chaotic events had them all sifting through facts and opinions. Until they were able to narrow the list of those with motive, the protection detail took the role of defense. He’d do whatever it took to stop the killer and stand in the way of a bullet. Not a good position for Kord or the prince and his men, especially with rising tempers and suspicions.
Prince Omar gestured for him to sit in his office beside a small table that offered coffee, fruit, and dates. Kord welcomed the caffeine to fuel his mind, but he passed on the food.
“Has the man who posed as Consul General al-Fakeeh’s driver been apprehended?” Prince Omar said.
“No, Amir. A limo matching the description of the one at the hospital was found a few blocks away in a parking garage. Inside were the man’s clothes and a fake beard. Doubtful we find fingerprints.” He pressed his lips together to avoid audible irritation. But why hide his feelings? “Consul General al-Fakeeh and I worked with an FBI sketch artist. I don’t think it will push us ahead in finding the man. Only a fool would show his real face, and we came up empty with facial recognition from the hospital’s security cameras.”
“I’ve never seen you cynical.”
“And you?”
“The men you interviewed are currently attending their duties, so they’re cleared?”
“For the moment.”
He sighed. “My mother’s treatment begins tomorrow. I wanted her shielded from this, but she’s a smart woman. Quite capable of putting information together.”
To be suffering from cancer and know her son was in danger had to be depressing. “I’m sorry. Were you able to calm her?”
“Dr. Carlson prescribed a sedative.” Prince Omar took a drink of his coffee.
“After today, don’t you think it best to send your sisters home?”
“Mother would be very upset, enough to hinder her recovery.”
“How would she react if they were killed?”
Prince Omar stood and paced the room. “Fatima and Yasmine are my responsibility, and —”
“They have a father.”
“He’s more concerned with his younger children.”
“There must be someone who’d protect them until you return.”
Prince Omar stopped his pacing. “No one in whom I’d feel confident with the current turmoil. For now, they will remain with me.” He made his way to his chair and eased down. “I want to talk to you as a friend.”
“What else is going on?”
“You know I’m here to arrange leases for oil reserves. It’s important to the economic future of my country, and I will do everything I can to make sure the negotiations are positive. Too long the world has seen me as Prince Omar who spends money on Western indulgences and expensive race cars.” He smiled. “And I do value my collection.” He leaned forward. “I want my reputation changed to be Prince Omar bin Talal, the man who helped bring business prosperity to his country. It’s wrong for me to pray and not follow the Quran. No more carrying the title of a playboy.” He folded his hands. “I want to leave a legacy like King Abdullah. His reforms and economic policies have kept our country moving forward. The energy minister has made strides in balancing supply and demand. My desire is to offer support in every way possible. Many of my countries’ leaders are working to lower the unemployment rate while adding more women to the workforce. Lessening our dependency on oil means leasing from our reserves. For me, no sacrifice is too large.”
“What are your plans to make this happen other than meetings with Shell and Exxon?”
“Two additional things: I’m arranging an invitation-only press conference here at the home to make the announcement of Saudi Arabia working more closely with our American business friends. Secondly, I’m hosting an event at the rodeo with many oil and gas executives. There I’ll announce the negotiations in progress to buy a US company that focuses on shale.”
“Excellent news, but I’m sure the conservatives are —”
“Highly critical. That’s at home. I left the opposition there. Then I walk into a snake pit.”
Kord placed his cup on the table, thoughts swirling with the prince’s announcement. The ideals were exemplary. But he’d heard the rumors, and many Saudi citizens were not happy to work for less money while the country built its economy. More suspects in the plot. “Who else is aware besides Malik?”
“Ali.”
“Do you think they would have sabotaged your plans?”
“When happenings like today make little sense, I must look to any possible adversary. But not Ali or Malik. They’d die for me. They understand I’ll give my life to make positive changes for my country.”
“Why aren’t the business appointments on your itinerary?”
“Malik hasn’t confirmed all of them. He’s making arrangements for a press conference on Saturday afternoon to announce my goodwill, and the invitations for the rodeo event were sent an hour before leaving Riyadh. That’s a week from Thursday. If the meeting with the consul general had taken place at his office, I would have made him aware of the press conference and rodeo event.”
“How long have you known Malik?”
“Since he was a boy. He’s dedicated to his profession.”
Malik’s position put him in the thick of the prince’s affairs. If compromised, his relationship with the prince —the goings-on of personal, business, and social affairs —placed Prince Omar at the mercy of a killer. The nightmare repeated in Kord’s mind. Two failed attempts . . . If Malik was the mole, why hadn’t he succeeded? In Saudi, he’d have more of an opportunity with so many others to take the blame. Unless Malik was determined to destroy the relationship between Saudi Arabia and the US. But the prince scoured intel and background for all his bodyguards and staff. He’d have picked up on anything questionable.
What about Ali? He was at the top of Monica’s list. Kord’s suspicions needed to be explored.
“And when did you plan to tell your other bodyguards about the two events?” Kord said.
“When everything was in place. Remember last May when I attended the Offshore Technology Conference? All the hours we spent talking at dinner and then later?”
Kord chuckled. “Until sunrise.”
“I didn’t drink.”
“Right.”
“Neither did you. But I’ve never seen you drink alcohol.” Prince Omar paused. “The thought occurred to me then about how I was failing my family with my lifestyle. Since then, I’ve dedicated my life to being a prince who is sincere in what he says and does.”
“I’ve never doubted your loyalty to your country and those you love.”
“Others must see the new man so they will put aside my former reputation.” Prince Omar raised a brow. “Have you thought more about following Allah?”
The prince had spoken to him on more than one occasion about Islam, but Kord still searched for answers. “I’m reading and thinking.”
“Feeding the mind.” He stretched his back —obviously tired with little time for rest. “My country’s betterment is another reason why I must be seen respectfully in your city. When others see me, they see every Saudi citizen. While my mother is undergoing treatments, Malik will arrange business luncheons. Another opportunity for me to be seen without my past habits. But these will be short excursions to repair my name. Business negotiations of oil leases are vital.”
“Amir, the more you are exposed, the greater the chances of a killer’s success.”
“Hiding is for cowards. I refuse to leave the country or stay in this house like a prisoner.”
“I understand but I don’t agree,” Kord said. “And I promise I’ll find who’s behind these crimes.”
“To me, it all points to Iran. How better to destroy our alliance than to assassinate a Saudi prince on US soil. Think of their position if diplomatic relations fail between our countries. Our united efforts of foreign policy are destroyed. Syria has less opposition to their policies. Yemen’s rebel movement succeeds. Oil. The position of the Sunni —you know these things.”
“But they must be proved with solid evidence. And they know if exposed, you’d launch all-out war.”
“We cannot fail in finding the assassins.” His words were filled with determination. “I’ll send you any findings. Nothing more to discuss about the matter until more intel arrives.”
“I need to get some work done.” Kord rose to make his exit, but the prince called to him.
“Your assistant handles herself well.”
“I’ll tell her you complimented her.”
“She’s a beautiful woman.”
Kord realized where the conversation was going. “Yes, Amir. Monica is not my type. She’s a crack shot, and if I ever make her mad, I’m a dead man. Too headstrong.”
Prince Omar raised a finger. “I said similar words about my second wife.”