KORD SPENT THE REMAINDER of Tuesday morning reviewing security footage from every venue in which Jafar or Parvin might have been present. FBI and CIA techs were on it, but he wanted insight now, which meant doggedly pursuing every angle. The FIG beat him to the find —Parvin visited Jafar twice after the prince landed in Houston. Both trips at night to his apartment. She appeared to avoid one camera, as though knowing where it was located, but missed a second one. Didn’t mean Jafar was guilty of conspiracy —only that he and his sister had met.
Shortly after lunch, Kord sat in Prince Omar’s office with Ali and the prince awaiting a live feed from Riyadh. Monica slept, but she could view it later. A protective nature for her had him concerned for her weakened condition.
Kord mulled over the connection points for the plot. Information about the conservatives lacked clarity. None of them would own up to an assassination attempt to reinforce their views of how the country should handle natural resources. Monica believed Malik held a critical role, while Kord wavered. Could the former press secretary be innocent and simply have done his father’s bidding and tried to help Youssof, a wayward cousin?
“Prince Omar, Malik is in place to answer your questions,” Ali said.
Malik faced a plea for his life. His white thobe was streaked with dirt and bloodstains, and bruises marred his features.
“Malik,” Prince Omar said, “your story hasn’t changed.”
He lifted his head and stared into the camera. “Because it is the truth.”
“I have new questions, ones that might jar your mind and help you remember.”
Malik closed his eyes. “I doubt I can help, but I will answer.”
“What were the dates of your trip to Iraq?”
“January 3 to the thirteenth. Prince Omar, I’ve answered this before.”
“Ten days is a long time.”
“My cousin, Rashid Dagher, took a while to make a decision about returning home.”
“What was his delay?”
“His wife’s family didn’t want them to leave.”
“I see,” the prince said. “You know Parvin Shah was killed in an assassination attempt. But we’ve uncovered more. She worked with Youssof Dagher, and he’s dead.”
Malik startled.
“Are you surprised at the death of your cousin?”
“I have no knowledge of this woman. I thought Youssof lived here with his family.”
“Not so. He left for Iraq and ended up in Houston. He attempted to kill Miss Alden and Kord but failed. He sped away but sustained serious burns and injuries in a car explosion that resulted in his death.”
Malik rubbed his face. “I spent time with Youssof. I thought he’d be fine once in Riyadh.”
“Why did the two of you spend three days in Baghdad?”
“When I broached the subject of wanting to get to know him better, he suggested a short trip. I asked where, and he said Baghdad.”
Prince Omar crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“I asked the same, and he claimed to like the city.”
“What happened there?”
“Visited mosques. Talked for hours.”
“Weren’t you fearful of bombings? Shootings?”
Malik moistened his lips. “Encouraging my cousin to be a good man was more important.”
“Whom did you meet with there?”
“Neither of us saw anyone we knew.”
“Were the two of you ever separated?”
Malik blinked. “Twice he went for food, and I stayed behind.”
“Unusual?”
“He was insistent I rest.”
“Were you ill?”
“A stomach problem from bad food.”
“How convenient he was unaffected.”
“Prince Omar, when can I leave this wretched place?”
“When I have the truth. If it’s a comfort, you will leave. How remains to be seen.” Prince Omar turned to Kord. “What would you like to ask?”
Kord wished this was face-to-face. “Did Youssof have unsavory friends? Did you see any of them?”
“No.”
“Names?”
“No.”
“What was Rashid’s argument with these men?”
“They stressed violence against enemies.”
“I see,” Kord said. “Had Youssof participated in any of their activities?”
“Rashid wasn’t aware, but he worried his son might soon embrace their ways. I asked Youssof about his friends, and he claimed they were fine and his father was suspicious of every Iraqi or Iranian.”
The first bit of information that Malik had offered on his own. Truth? Lies? “Were they Iraqis or Iranians?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you hear any statements termed as treason?”
“If so, I’d have told Prince Omar.”
The prince huffed. “Like you told me about my sister?”
Malik lifted his chin. “I am not a traitor. I’d give my life for you.”
And he might if evidence proved otherwise soon. Kord posed a question. “Who is Jafar Turan?”
“I have no idea. Never heard the name.”
Prince Omar indicated he wished to speak. “Do you side with the conservatives?”
“I’m loyal to you.”
“My final question —are you prepared to die for your crimes, or do you wish to provide names in exchange for your life?”
“I have never betrayed you or any member of the Saud family. If you choose to execute me, know you are killing an innocent man.”
Monica’s phone rang late afternoon after a nap. A call from Mom while on a mission was seldom a good thing. Except this time Monica didn’t mind, and she was in the mood to chat. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out while willing her lungs to work properly.
“Hi.” Mom’s cheery voice greeted her. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I thought the coffee shop would be closed for the day.”
“It is, so talk away. Love hearing your voice.”
“Are you in the middle of dinner?”
“No, and it wouldn’t be a problem if I was.”
“Your dad and I want to see you. Wondering when you’d be available for us to visit.”
“Were you reading my mind? I was thinking of a trip home.”
“I’m so excited. When?”
Monica touched her chest. The cough would most likely linger. “In six weeks. I can take a few days then, like a Thursday through Sunday afternoon.”
“Before Memorial Day?”
“Yes, unless you want me to wait until then and take two more days.”
Her mother squealed.
“Okay, that settles it. I’ll be home on Friday the twenty-fifth and fly back on June 3.” She’d put in for leave now before getting a new assignment.
“I can hardly wait. We’ll have a new foal then.” While Mom talked about farm life, Dad’s refusal to slow down, and her brothers and their families, she longed to join them. But only for the planned week.
She’d go nuts after that, but she’d never tell them so. Her dear family meant too much to hurt them.
“I’m going to have all your favorite foods. The rhubarb should be ready then too. Have you saved up enough to buy your own coffee shop?”
“Not sure I want the responsibility of ownership.”
“My winsome daughter. I don’t care. Do what makes you happy. Is there a special young man?”
Monica thought about saying yes, but the complications from it might snowball. “Maybe.”
“Bring him with you. He can have your brother’s room.”
“No promises.” Now why did she offer such a thing?