WITH THE GROUNDS DRENCHED in water and dark shadows, Monica walked with Kord along the path they’d trod earlier. Unlike her initial impression of him, she was beginning to enjoy his company and respect his input to the team. Her stomach tingled. Oh, my goodness, she was attracted to him.
Strange. Frightening. And she refused to think about it.
She’d given Kord Fatima’s phone, but Yasmine asked to wait until the morning because hers was charging.
The rain had let up, but the weather forecasters predicted another downpour around midnight. In the northwest part of the city, Cypress Creek had flowed from its banks and into homes. Nature’s fury was no respecter of persons —the rich and the poor needed boats to navigate many of the streets.
The weather added to her wariness about the mission. She’d been threatened by big dogs before, and it always caused two responses —caution and persistence in finding the coward who tossed warnings but refused to expose himself for a head-on fight.
Kord needed to hear the latest from the CIA. “I have news. CIA intel came in from our sources in the Middle East about thirty minutes ago. It confirmed what your informant claimed,” she said. “The plot to kill Prince Omar has been in existence since his announcement to bring his mother to MD Anderson. Right now I want to know who. The motive, whether it be religion, honor, politics, or whatever, can crawl out of the woodwork later.”
“My informant will be back with me as soon as he has a name. I’m thinking religious dissenters.”
“Because of Wahhabi interpretation of Islamic law?” she said. “Or are you rethinking the conservatives’ opposition to the leasing of oil reserves?”
“Both. But none of the prince’s men are tied to those groups.”
“That we know of.” Her thoughts lingered on the one man who weighed in the heaviest. “If Ali is part of the scheme, Zain’s death would still have made him angry.”
“I was in the limo and he didn’t attempt to stop Zain or me.”
“I feel like my hands are tied, and I’m babysitting when I could be running down terrorist affiliations.”
“You and I are action people. Our roles here can be frustrating unless we can determine if someone has betrayed him, and who.”
They stared back at the mansion. The yellow lights shining through the windows appeared to imitate the owners’ gold.
“Prince Omar has people searching for the ID on a phone hacking, just like we are,” he said. “The expertise of this operation scrapes some of the scum we’ve suspected off our shoes and zeros in on the internal picture. Which may be exactly what the killers want.”
God, we need Your help before others are killed. “Who has the ability to orchestrate an operation of this size and be assured of not failing? Saudi Arabia isn’t known for its leniency to lawbreakers. Will they execute before we have time to question any of their suspects?”
“What do you think?”
“Thought you might have a little clout.”
“I wish. Friday can’t get here fast enough. I’d like to chain the prince to his office. But he’d interpret our request as a coward’s mentality. If the rumors of a mole are designed to send us in the opposite direction, we’re looking at more deaths, and the repercussions could be worldwide.”
Kord wasn’t exaggerating. The severity of what Saudi Arabia could do in the name of revenge paved the way to massive unrest across the Middle East. “We’re fools not to explore how many people are involved. At this point we have an assassin and a hacker or mole. If the motive is to crush the Saud family and cause it to implode for a new regime, we’re looking at an architectural blueprint for multiple disasters.”
He studied her. Was he mulling over her words or developing his own strategy?
“What are you thinking?” she said.
“The assassin has tried twice and failed. Means taking more chances.” Kord shook his head.
She warmed as frustration poured into her blood. “With all of modern technology, there has to be a way to detect a virus on his phone without alerting the killer.”
“Do you want to underestimate the virus’s ability?”
“Not at all.”
“Prince Omar believes his goals are worth any sacrifice.”
“The lives of loved ones?” she said. “His pride is worth watching more deaths? Another tragedy where the US will be held responsible? The conservatives are blaming us for Zain.”
“I know, Monica. We need intel and evidence now.”
Long after midnight, Monica wrestled with data, faces, and names. The enemies anticipated a payoff of some kind. Who fought alongside them in the US? None of these terrorists worked alone. Ultimately the motive wove greed into the mix. It always did.
She stared at the ceiling while sleep evaded her. A click sounded. Tossing back the blanket, she grabbed her weapon and crept to her bedroom door. In the common area, her eyes adjusted to the dark, but nothing seized her attention.
Her imagination?
Doubtful.
The door to the hallway wasn’t open, so the sound had likely come from one of the princesses’ bedrooms. Monica made her way to Fatima’s room. She gently tried the knob. Locked. She crept to Yasmine’s door. The knob turned easily. An empty bed. Where was she going this time of night? And alone?
She rushed back to the common area windows and peered out over the grounds. Prince Omar’s bodyguards walked the perimeter of the property. She shoved patience into her stance. A shadowed figure stole across the area. Then movement in the oak trees captured her attention. She hurried to her bedroom and snatched her night vision goggles from her shoulder bag. Moments later, she once again observed the treed area, where she and Kord had met earlier. Two people stood within the oaks. Together. A man and woman in a definite embrace.
Where were Yasmine’s brains? Who had persuaded her into meeting a man in secret?
She stuck her weapon inside her back waistband and grabbed a jacket on the way out. Down the stairs and around to the rear of the house. Once outside, she walked toward the pair hiding in the trees. Monica paused to observe the two.
“When, Malik?” Yasmine whispered.
“Soon. Your brother has business here and can’t be interrupted.”
“I love you.”
“And I long to make you my wife.”
Monica entered into their tryst. “Does Prince Omar approve of this meeting?”
Malik turned to her. “This is none of your business.”
“When a killer is on the loose, yes.” She pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Miss Alden, we can talk,” he said. “Yasmine and I are speaking of our future.”
“Shouldn’t your first discussion be with her brother or father?”
“Please, Miss Alden.” Yasmine’s voice quivered.
Monica despised the use of strong-arm tactics on a seventeen-year-old. “You and I will go back to the house together.”
“The prince will never believe you,” Malik said. “You’re nothing but Kord’s servant.”
“And you’re not in Saudi Arabia. Yasmine, now, before I change my mind.”
They walked in silence to the rear of the home. Yasmine knew the cost of being caught, much higher for her than for Malik. Why slip away and risk her brother’s anger? Monica would wait and ask the girl those very questions.
In Yasmine’s dark bedroom, she snapped on the bedside lamp, and compassion for the young woman dressed in black swept over her. Yasmine closed the door behind her and eased onto her bed while Monica took a chair.
“Yasmine, if I saw you, then others might have too. I can only imagine the seriousness of your brother learning about your careless actions. What is going on between you and Malik?”
Yasmine trembled. “I can’t say anything.”
“Unfortunately, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to contact Prince Omar. Which is it?”