FOUR THIRTY THURSDAY MORNING, and Monica saw little hope for sleep. She sat with the two sisters in the common area sipping fresh coffee. Monica must prove her sincerity to Fatima and Yasmine and search for the truth. If they knew anything about the betrayal in this house, it would not surface easily, and certainly not to a woman outside their culture. Their differences demanded an assurance Monica was on their side. Being straightforward was the best approach.
“I want to be your friend,” Monica said. “What I’m about to say cannot be told to your mother. She has enough concerns. On the surface, my job is an assistant to Kord. In truth, I’ve been assigned to help him protect this family and use every means to find who’s responsible for the tragedies. You two are in as much danger as Prince Omar. The text sent to your brother’s phone proved it. The killer has an agenda, and he has no thoughts of mercy. A conspiracy of this size means more are working against your family. They will kill again unless they’re stopped.”
“I have a question.” Fatima arched her back like an irritated cat. “Are you an FBI agent too?”
“Does it really matter?”
“You are the one who said ‘truth has no competitor.’”
Touché. “I’ve received similar training.”
Disdain passed over Fatima’s face. “Why send a woman?”
Yasmine huffed. “To protect us. Even I can see that.”
“A bodyguard could be positioned outside our door. How long have you known Mr. Davidson?”
The source of Fatima’s irritation. “Since Tuesday. Why?”
“Curious. Did he request you?”
“Our superiors made the arrangement. We’re a team. I don’t know him very well. Any other questions?”
“Not right now.”
“And I have nothing to help you find the assassin,” Yasmine said. “Malik and I have talked of marriage for the past several months. I’m a modern woman, and the treatment and restrictions for women in my country are deplorable, archaic.”
“Has he asked you to lie or has he said anything inappropriate about the Saud family?”
She stared into the coffee cup in her hands. “The only thing he’s done is suggest I sneak away to see him. Nothing else.”
“I sense there’s more.” Monica waited, allowing silence to strengthen her words.
When Yasmine failed to speak, Fatima touched her sister’s arm. “If Malik is an enemy, he’s thrown your love away. If you think his love is true, would he request such a thing? Do you want a man who urges you to break our traditions? Dishonor our family?”
Yasmine laid her cup on the table and buried her face in her hands. Fatima drew her into an embrace.
Time for Monica to be transparent. “I loved a man who used me to destroy hundreds of innocent people in Africa. All for money. When I discovered his treachery, I had to help others find him.”
Fatima stared at her wide-eyed. “Were you able to help?”
“I was placed in a situation where if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill me and others. I pulled the trigger on a man I thought loved me as much as I loved him.” Monica moistened her lips. She’d not uttered the story aloud to anyone but Jeff, and even then, her words were cold. Facts. “I will never forget the heartache, the intense grief, as though I’d died with him. Even worse was the betrayal. I often dream about the men, women, and children who died because of him.”
“How did you survive?” Tears formed in Fatima’s eyes. Was her sorrow for her sister or her feelings for Kord?
“God gave me strength to work through the agony and live with purpose. He urges me to forgive myself, but that is the hardest task. I haven’t been able to conquer the unforgiveness, but I will. His Spirit is with me.” The prince might not approve of her words. But what good was her faith if she didn’t stand for it?
“My brother said you were a follower of Jesus,” Fatima said.
“I am.” Jesus was not a stranger to the Muslims.
Fatima nodded. “Thank you for sharing your story. I’ve been rude, and I apologize. Is there someone special now?”
“No. When the right man comes along, God will tear down my self-imposed walls.” The conversation had gone in a direction Monica hadn’t anticipated. “Because I’ve experienced the same kind of hurt, I want Yasmine to understand she’s not alone. Doing what’s right is seldom easy. We women must be courageous, despite tender feelings.”
Yasmine raised her head, and Monica used her fingertips to wipe away the young woman’s tears. “I will tell you all I can remember.”
“I’m here with you,” Fatima whispered.
“When I was almost fifteen, Malik began working for my brother as his press secretary. Once he smiled at me, and I believed he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. From then on, I stole glimpses of him whenever I could. A few months later, he saw me alone in the garden, and we spoke.” She looked at Fatima and took her sister’s hand. “I’d stolen away after our father scolded me about poor grades. Seeing Malik softened my anger. I thought it was innocent enough. He asked me about my music and told me to work hard and bring honor to my family. Nothing inappropriate was ever said. We were friends.”
Monica saw the young girl’s infatuation and how easily she had been tricked by a man who was fifteen years older. “How did your relationship change?”
“He talked about my plans for higher education, and I shared with him my desire to raise the status of Saudi women. He asked if he could be a part of my future.”
Full-blown manipulation.
“Don’t you see how wrong his words and meeting with you were?” Fatima’s question didn’t carry the harshness as before. “Never mind. I see you’re thoroughly ignorant of his faults. What else happened, Sister? We must be honest with each other.”
“Malik has kissed me. That’s all. Tonight he promised to speak to Omar and our father about marriage very soon.”
Promises to secure her cooperation? “Has Malik asked you to do anything strange or unusual?”
“Only to keep our meetings secret.”
“Has he talked to you about his work for Prince Omar?”
“He enjoys his position as press secretary.”
“Any dislikes or what he’d like to see different in politics or specific reforms?”
Yasmine straightened. “He agrees with me that women need more rights.”
Again to draw her into his confidence? “Has he shared with you about his day-to-day duties?”
“I’ve heard one-sided conversations on his mobile phone. I found them fascinating. Just listening to Malik detail and arrange my brother’s schedule built my pride and love for him.”
“Give me an example,” Monica said.
Yasmine tilted her head. “Arranging speeches at home, times and such. Nothing about this trip.”
“Have you heard anything forbidden or frightening?”
“Not about Omar. In January, he traveled to Mosul in Iraq as a favor to his aging father. A distant cousin lived there and Malik was to persuade him and his family to return home. I feared for him. Too many enemies there. He was gone for ten days.”
“Why did the cousin live in Iraq?”
“I asked Malik the same thing. He told me his cousin had married an Iraqi woman, and his father forbade him to return home. Then his father died, and the family wanted him in Saudi Arabia.”
“Did he contact you during this time?”
“A few texts. Too risky for someone to intercept the call. But he was successful in bringing his cousin and his family to Riyadh.”
Yasmine’s story matched what Kord had texted her. “What do you know about the family?”
“The cousin’s name is Rashid Dagher, and he’s a baker. He has an Iraqi wife, three daughters, and one son. All living in Riyadh.”
One thing about Malik sounded amiss —his lack of discretion. Both gave her spirit caution. Monica wanted everything available about the cousin, a man who had lived outside his country where it was potentially dangerous.
She stood and walked to a window. When assured no cameras were in sight, she typed into a secure site and requested a background and photos for Rashid Dagher and his family.