KORD READ FBI UPDATES on his phone, reviewing every e-mail linked with Arabic chatter regarding the Saud family. The FBI’s terrorism division actively monitored enemy online conversations, and he needed to know the latest intel. US enemies commended the assassination attempts aimed at Prince Omar and offered support for those working against the West, but Kord wanted insight specifically to the plans —and why.
An update came in about an e-mail that, according to the sender’s IP address, was coming from Malik al-Kazaz, the press secretary.
Prince Omar and those like him will be crushed like the ahle-Kitab. Prince Omar will not leave US soil alive. Allah has given him into our hands. We know every move he makes while he stumbles into a sniper’s path. He’s a fool to trust the ones close to him. Many will be killed. Soon he will be under our feet.
Malik —a loyal and trusted cousin of Prince Omar? A man who had risen to his position within the last nine years? He made the detailed arrangements for all events.
The enemy didn’t need to send a virus into the prince’s phone when his most trusted man had betrayed him.
Uneasiness punched Kord in the gut, and he stopped his thoughts midstream. With the anonymity observed since Tuesday, why would Malik deliberately identify himself? Had the enemy set him up?
He reread Malik’s background. If the man was working with anyone, only one documented item pointed to him. The man had a stellar reputation.
What better man to lead an assassination attempt?
But why put himself in a vulnerable position online?
Kord slipped his Glock inside his jacket and left his suite. He wasn’t waiting for FBI confirmation before he confronted Malik. Being awakened at 2:15 a.m. might test the press secretary’s quiet temperament. Why should Kord give him an opportunity to leave or carry out a plan to kill the prince?
Outside Malik’s door, he rapped several times. “This is Kord. I need a word with you.” He waited fifteen long seconds and repeated.
“Is Prince Omar in danger?”
“You tell me. I have questions. Face-to-face.”
Silence.
“Should I find a bodyguard?”
The door opened, and Malik stared at him. Fully clothed. “Come in.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you armed?”
Malik frowned. “My weapon is beside my bed.”
“See that it stays there. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Once the door shut behind them, Malik ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not shocked you’ve figured me out. I should have been more discreet. Does the prince know?”
Discreet? “Do you want him here? I can arrange it.”
“I prefer this stay between you and me. I’d be a fool to have others learn about my actions.”
“I’m surprised at your openness, considering your fate. Once we’ve finished with your confession, you’ll be under arrest.”
Malik startled. “For what? You have no jurisdiction over what I’ve done. Prince Omar may have my head, but not you.”
“Murder on US soil. A scheme against Prince Omar. Be glad I’m making the arrest instead of one of the prince’s bodyguards.”
Malik stepped back and held up his palm. “I had nothing to do with the plot to kill the prince. Are you an idiot? I’m loyal. Why am I even a suspect?”
“A stupid question, don’t you think? I read intercepted e-mails.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The assassination attempt. An e-mail calling for Prince Omar’s death came from your IP address.”
He raised his shoulders. “You have the wrong man. I too have an enemy.”
“Then what did you confess to?”
“Nothing you’d understand.”
“Your role as the press secretary means you have more knowledge about what is happening in Prince Omar’s life than anyone else.”
“I’d never lower myself to betray a man I respect.”
“Your background shows a trip to Mosul in January. What was the nature of the ten-day visit?”
“My cousin lives there, and I wanted to persuade him to return to Saudi Arabia as a favor to my father. Prince Omar knows this.”
That could be verified. “Were you successful?”
“He moved back to Riyadh with his family.”
“What’s his occupation?”
“A baker. I can give you his name.”
“I’d like it now.”
“Rashid Dagher.”
Kord typed the name into his phone.
Malik shook his head while his hands remained in full view. “We aren’t speaking about the same matter. Saudi intel says the plot against the prince is internal, but that doesn’t mean me.”
Kord pointed to a chair. “Sit down and explain what you’ve done.”
Malik complied. His face mirrored granite. “I’ve been seeing Yasmine.”
Was Kord supposed to swallow this?
Malik continued. “My intentions are to ask for Yasmine’s hand in marriage. I should have done so before now.”
Kord didn’t know whether to believe Malik or bang his head into a wall. But he wasn’t a fool, and Malik had violated trust, a serious offense. “You’re guilty of seeing Yasmine without a chaperone?”
He nodded. “Please keep this private. I promise you: tomorrow I’ll speak to Prince Omar. He could very well beat her. You know how this will look to her family.”
Kord knew of the disciplinary actions for women, an accepted practice in the Saudi culture. Wrong. Insanely wrong.
Malik glanced around. “There’s no need for you to waste time with this when you have more serious items to tend to.”
It wasn’t wasting time. Kord’s mission was to find a killer, and what choice did he have but to bring all information to the surface? “I’d like to ask her for myself.”
“You have my word. She’ll be upset. Besides, what else is needed?”
“In the US, we want to hear from every man and woman who may be involved in a crime. If you want to discard our procedures, I can take you immediately into custody as a person of interest in the plot to assassinate Prince Omar. You choose.”
“You’ll overlook what you’ve discovered?” Malik whispered as though his secret had ears.
“Would she rather you be arrested for murder? I’ll wake Monica and have her escort Yasmine to meet us in the kitchen.”
Malik rubbed his face. “This is not how I planned to seek Yasmine for my wife. Prince Omar will learn of it.”
“If she doesn’t back up your story, you’re facing a lot more than loss of a woman to warm your bed.”