High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  He turned to Kord. “For his own safety, the amir must return home and allow another family member to oversee her care.”

  How well Kord knew Prince Omar’s stubborn stance. “I’ve tried, sir. But he insists on fulfilling his responsibility.”

  “I gave him my most convincing speech while you were on the phone this morning.”

  “And?”

  “He believes the attempt is for any male member of the Saud family, and he refuses to subject others to an assassin’s hand. He also has business matters, but I have no idea what.”

  “Noble but deadly.” Kord carefully worded his thoughts. “Has he mentioned a name?”

  Consul General al-Fakeeh said nothing.

  “I can’t help the prince if I don’t have a suspect.”

  “He hasn’t mentioned anyone specifically. My plans were to persuade him to listen to reason. For now he has this appointment with Princess Gharam’s doctor. He assured me we’d talk soon. But each moment that passes, I’m fearful for his safety.”

  “I understand.”

  The elevator door opened, and the consul general’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “My office. I’d better take this. Kindly wait for me, as I have another matter to discuss with you.”

  Kord waited in the foyer while Consul General al-Fakeeh strolled about twenty feet away with his bodyguards. What was on the man’s mind? Had the prince said more in Kord’s absence? Moments later, he returned, his face a mass of lines.

  “Are you all right?” Kord said.

  “No.” He shook his head. “My original driver was found dead. His replacement must be an impostor. Call the police.”

  “Usher the consul to hospital security,” Kord said to the two bodyguards while pressing in 911. “One of you alert security. We need HPD.” He hurried through the hospital entrance, quickly spotting the limo. Kord approached the driver, an olive-skinned man wearing an expensive suit that appeared tailor-made—more reason to suspect a considerable amount of money had been tossed at this plot. A beard, kaffiyeh, and sunglasses completed his appearance. Kord noted the gloves, no fingerprints.

  The driver eyed him and hurriedly slid inside the limo.

  Kord raced toward him. “Stop! FBI.” He pulled his weapon.

  The man sped east on Holcombe, tires squealing into traffic. Kord fired into the passenger-side window, making a dent in the glass. He’d banked on the limo not being bulletproof. Fat chance.

  He fired several more shots. The vehicle disappeared through a red light. Horns blowing. Brakes protesting.

  An HPD vehicle sped around traffic after the limo, and it too vanished.

  Kord clenched his fist. Prince Omar originally intended to accompany the consul general to his office. The mole must be one of the bodyguards or house staff. Who? And why?

  Monica heard multiple police sirens outside the hospital. A normal occurrence, but caution moved her to contact Kord.

  She touched her earbud and brought the mic on her wrist to her mouth. “Everything okay?”

  “Had a close call with Consul General al-Fakeeh. I’ll be there in a few.”

  “What happened?”

  “His replacement driver could be our sniper.”

  “I’ll keep my wire on.”

  She stepped in front of the elevator. Ali was positioned outside Princess Gharam’s room, stone-faced. He called her name, a first. Actually his first real acknowledgment of her existence, other than annoyance last night. Whoa, she needed to get over that.

  “What’s the problem?” His English held a thick accent as he strode her way.

  “A confrontation involving Consul General al-Fakeeh. All I know is he’s all right. Kord will be here shortly. Please inform Prince Omar to stay in his mother’s room until we know more. I suggest canceling Dr. Carlson’s visit for now.”

  He stiffened. “Prince Omar had planned to leave with the consul general.”

  She’d already considered that. Focusing on the elevator, she listened for the announcement of its arrival and watched for the light above it.

  “Miss Alden.”

  She whirled to Prince Omar with Wasi and Saad behind him. She was uncomfortable he’d left his mother’s room. “Yes, Prince Omar.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s been an incident with Consul General al-Fakeeh. He’s safe, and the police have been called.”

  “A shooting? What happened?”

  “I don’t want to give you an inaccurate report. Kord will be here soon, and he’ll have correct information.”

  “Has something happened to Kord?”

  “He’s all right.”

  The prince stood before her. She could feel his presence like before, not menacing but commanding. A jolt, a chill and a flush, swept through her. Prince Omar must be protected without question, regardless of culture or gender. She avoided eye contact. “If a hostile is on the elevator, he could open fire. I urge you to consider moving back.”

  Wasi took a deep breath. “Prince Omar, there is truth in Miss Alden’s words.”

  “Very well. I wish to speak to Kord the moment he arrives.” He turned abruptly and walked back to his mother’s room.

  Monica longed to be with Kord—in the middle of the action and adrenaline flow. Anywhere but with two burly bodyguards, Ali and Inman, suffocating her on both sides. Forcing relaxation into her body, she replayed what she’d told Kord yesterday about the killer—skilled with a knife and sniper rifle, trained to eliminate his victims with precision. He was cold-blooded, calculating, and had obviously murdered before. She’d contacted the CIA for updates in the investigation, and dozens of terrorists and questionable characters from around the world had made the list.

  She trusted no one until they proved themselves. The fact Kord had a solid friendship going with the prince and now the current infraction gave her pause. Was he concealing information? She wasn’t paranoid, only playing all the cards.

  Ali’s words from yesterday, the ones said outside the mansion, rolled across her mind: “This is over when I say it’s over.”

  MONICA NOTED EVERY FACE on Princess Gharam’s hospital floor. She looked for those using their phones or having a private conversation. Instead she viewed somber men standing alone and alert. Ten minutes had passed without word from Kord. Where was her partner?

  With one eye on the elevator monitor, she contacted Jeff. He answered on the first ring. “Just getting ready to call you. Can’t believe our luck on this case. Someone called 911 about a dead man. HPD responded and found a man strangled in an alley. Initial ID looks like the consul general’s driver. Apparently the killer replaced him with a scheme to abduct the consul general. No leads at this point.”

  “Thanks, Jeff. Keep me updated.” She dropped her phone inside her jacket pocket. Was the killer after those of Saudi descent? Or was this another plot to assassinate Prince Omar while the two men rode to the consulate?

  Ali moved her way, the one man she wanted to analyze. “What have you learned?”

  “The consul general was unharmed.”

  “I have that information.”

  No harm in revealing info since the attempt was foiled. “His original driver was found dead, and the man posing as his replacement got away.”

  “The impostor needs his throat cut.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “And do what? Slap his hands and send him back out to kill again?”

  “He’ll be processed according to the law.”

  “We all know he’s the man who killed Zain.” Ali’s nostrils flared. “You Americans have no regard for a dead man. One more Arab is eliminated with no thought about his family and friends.”

  “You’re wrong. We all want these crimes to end. Have you forgotten about the poor man who was murdered at the high school?”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunate. The truth is you’d much prefer Prince Omar take his mother home and rid you of our presence. Princess Gharam is dying, and the clinical trial
is her last effort to put the cancer into remission.”

  She believed the prince’s main motive for staying was business negotiations. “I’m sorry your friend is gone, and—”

  Ali raised his shoulders and tightened his jaw. She righted her body for a potential fight. The elevator signaled arrival, pushing Ali and her into duty-first mode.

  She reached to her back waistband and drew her weapon. When the door opened, Kord emerged with the consul general and his bodyguards. Kord caught her attention, and she lowered her weapon. The two moved to a private corner where they could watch the door of Princess Gharam’s room and the cluster of men convened around it.

  Kord quickly explained what happened in front of the hospital. “What bothers me is how the prince’s decision to cancel with Consul General al-Fakeeh happened at the last minute.”

  She mentally reviewed the press secretary, each of the four bodyguards, and the two who’d been with the consul general. “Is the mole one of the men here?” she whispered. “But if he is, he knew the prince’s schedule change. So why wasn’t the plan to take out the consul general’s driver canceled?”

  “Maybe he couldn’t get to his phone in time.”

  “Let’s talk to every man with the prince.”

  “Rushing into this before I talk to the prince is—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Had Kord been entrenched in this culture too long? “We need decisive measures now.”

  “And have a firefight?”

  “So we wait until someone else is killed? Ali and I were about to tangle before you arrived.”

  He glanced at the man. “You still suspect him.”

  “He’s a hothead. This must end with an arrest soon.” She pointed at Princess Gharam’s doorway, where Prince Omar and the consul general waited. “They want an explanation.”

  Kord acknowledged the prince. “I’ll be right there, Amir.” He peered at her. “All right. What do you propose?”

  He wanted her feedback? “While you’re discussing the situation with the prince and insisting one of his men has betrayed him, I’m checking on additional history, adding Consul General al-Fakeeh’s two bodyguards. We need to confiscate everyone’s phones now before anything is deleted. And I want surveillance on all these hired thugs.”

  “Not sure my walking into a hornet’s nest is the best way.”

  “You have the clout to speak with Prince Omar and the men as one who respects their culture.” She hesitated, then added, “In a normal case, wouldn’t you move forward?”

  He swung to the men in question. “The guilty one will not raise his hand and admit he’s guilty. He’ll take precautions. If any of them has a suspect, we’d know about it—and that man would be lying in a pool of blood.”

  “How would they handle it if the roles were reversed? Ali claims we Americans will do nothing about Zain. I intend to prove him wrong. Better you confront them than me.” She offered a slight smile. “I can shoot, call Jeff, and keep an eye on any man attempting to use his phone at the same time.”

  “Right.”

  She lifted a brow at his sarcasm. But he walked toward the cluster of men.

  Monica pressed in a number while watching the bodyguards. When prompted, she gave her security code and waited for Jeff to answer.

  “Is this about the consul general?” Jeff said.

  “Yes. Only someone close to Prince Omar could have orchestrated this.”

  “We suspected it. Who and what do you need?”

  “The intel I already requested, extensive backgrounds on the prince’s bodyguards. Add to that more about the prince. All the recent cases where he’s angered another country or person. Include additional history on Princess Gharam and the younger princesses. Another background on Consul General al-Fakeeh and his bodyguards. Get our people in Saudi Arabia to dig deeper than their precious oil.”

  “This will take days to sort through.”

  “I want it ASAP.”

  “Haven’t heard you this demanding since—”

  “Jeff, you dumped me into an operation because I can do the job.”

  He chuckled. “And you’ll get it done.”

  She heard sarcasm in the compliment, but she’d take it. “Two people have triggered my alarm button—the bodyguard Ali and Prince Omar’s sister Fatima. Could be distinct personalities or something more.”

  “What does Kord say?”

  “When I can trust him, I’ll open up.”

  “You and I have had our share of differences. One thing I know is you have trust issues.”

  “It’s part of the job. Keeps me alive.”

  “Kord Davidson is not Liam Fielder.”

  The mention of the name was like pouring alcohol on an open wound. “What does Liam have to do with my current mission?”

  “Your lack of trust could get you killed. Or is that what you want? To go down in a blaze of glory?”

  A chill attacked her nape. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You run on facts. Do I need to alert SAC Thomas about anything concerning Kord’s behavior?”

  “Not yet. I’m observing.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “First off, my personal thoughts and life are off-limits. Kord and I have an okay relationship at the present. And I doubt he trusts me either.”

  “You’re on the same team. Base your evaluation on that.” He ended the call.

  The memories of what Liam had done, the people he’d killed, and the betrayal stung. The one area where she’d found it impossible to forgive was herself—innocent people died because of her idiocy.

  Ali walked her way with long strides. His face a road map of lined anger. “A woman has no place here with Saudi men.”

  “I’m working with Kord. Deal with it. I’m here. I’m good at what I do, and I don’t cower to bullies.”

  KORD SPOKE TO PRINCE OMAR away from his men while Ali blocked the doorway of Princess Gharam’s room. “You believe your men are loyal, but there’s no other explanation for today. What happened outside the hospital confirms what my informant said—a mole is among your trusted men.” His gaze drilled into the prince’s dark eyes. “I refuse to watch you die. Does the killer have your mother’s death planned too? What about your sisters?”

  The prince jutted his chin. “How do you propose we find this mole? Offer a reward? Replace all my men?”

  “Force him into the open. Loyalty is your ally. Demand we check every man’s cell phone now.”

  The prince stared at those who’d vowed to sacrifice their lives for him. Long moments passed.

  “Someone close to you has plotted your assassination. Ignoring it has deadly implications.”

  “You’re right,” the prince said barely above a whisper. “The plan is cleverly constructed, but we are smarter. I too am concerned about my mother’s and sisters’ safety.” He turned to the men. “Each one of you is to bring his phone to me now. You are not permitted to use them until they are checked.”

  Kord inwardly sighed. Prince Omar either suspected one of them or wanted to prove his men’s loyalty.

  “Kord,” the prince began, “if the killer would attempt an abduction and possibly the life of Consul General al-Fakeeh, then he’d surely find access to others. Since he’s failed with me, who’s next on his list?”

  “Your family’s the easiest target.” His sisters needed to be sent home, but the prince knew the danger.

  “I understand. We will talk later.”

  The bodyguards laid their phones on a side table near the prince and Kord.

  “Have you received intel that can help?” Kord said.

  “Nothing more than what I’ve told you. Conduct the investigation to the best of your ability. Keep me informed of every development. Nothing is too small. Details will help us find him. My friend, you have my cooperation. Find the man and stop whoever is conspiring with him.”

  Kord shook Prince Omar’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “I assum
e your assistant is already at work?”

  “Yes, for as much as she can accomplish without interviewing each man.”

  Prince Omar glanced her way. “You will pose the questions.”

  “Yes, Amir.” No need to explain the procedure to Monica.

  The elevator opened and two HPD officers exited—men Kord recognized. He greeted them and conducted introductions. “These officers will escort Consul General al-Fakeeh to his office.”

  The consul general focused on Kord. “What about my bodyguards?”

  “They’ll be released once their interviews are completed,” Kord said.

  Further background checks would happen next. Once the officers and consul general left, Monica and Kord arranged furniture in a corner for private interviews.

  “All requests have been made to my handler, and you’ll receive the same report,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “Am I to be submissive?”

  He stared at her and tried to hide a grin. “What do you think? But use your best judgment.”

  “Tell me why Inman has a scar.”

  “He fell as a boy.”

  “Are you positive of his commitment?”

  Kord reserved his opinion until he saw the intel on every man there.

  Prince Omar walked their way. “Is it possible someone could retrieve my cell phone from my car? I remember taking a call and leaving it on the armrest.”

  Monica touched Kord’s arm. “Ali could get it.”

  “Okay.” Kord made his way to Ali. “Prince Omar needs his phone. Would you and Wasi mind getting it from the limo?”

  As Ali left the area, Kord sensed the prince studying him. “I’d trust those two men with my sons.”

  “I want to have the same conviction,” Kord said. “You changed your mind about accompanying Consul General al-Fakeeh after you were notified of Dr. Carlson’s request for a meeting. How were you contacted?”

  “When I couldn’t be reached, the doctor phoned Malik.”

  “The decision saved your life.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Ali and Wasi returned with the prince’s phone and handed it to the prince. Kord saw little reason to doubt Ali, not when he had an opportunity to escape if guilty.