by DiAnn Mills
“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.
FROM THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT of the limo, Kord stretched to see the shadowed, empty street ahead through the blinding rain. Wasi drove with the same frown he wore every day. At the moment, his look fit. Rain attacked the windshield while the wipers swiped back and forth at lightning speed. The gush of tires moving forward through high water had the six men in Prince Omar’s limo quiet. Or maybe it was the seriousness of taking Malik in for questioning. If any doubt of Malik’s innocence surfaced, the bodyguards would slit his throat.
They’d barely driven to Paramount High School, and memories of watching Zain die played out in Kord’s mind. He assumed the crime replayed in the other men’s too.
Kord reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his weapon. If they were being followed in the torrential rain, the outcome could be ugly. The windows were bulletproof but not bomb resistant.
“I want to know about anything suspicious,” he said. “Hard to see a tail in the rain.”
Prince Omar no longer used his original cell phone, so if attacked, the theory about his phone being infected with a virus might not hold ground, or in this case water.
Kord caught sight of a barricade ahead. Lights flashed, and two emergency trucks were parked to aid those stranded. “Don’t attempt to go through.”
Wasi stopped the vehicle. Even so, the water outside was nearly knee-deep. He placed the limo in reverse and slowly made it back to higher ground. Still the water rose steadily, and none of the streets looked any better. Kord pulled up his phone for weather info, and the dismal report cast doubts of making it to the FBI building on Highway 290. No signs of rain ending and flash flood warnings in low-lying areas.
Kord phoned SAC Thomas and explained the problem.
“The streets are impassable from that part of town,” the SAC said. “Hold on to your man for a few hours.”
If Malik survived until then. “There’s a helicopter pad at the property.”
“We’re using everything the city has, including trucks, to evacuate civilians. Just get back to the house and sit tight.”
“Keep me updated.” Kord relayed the instruction.
The limo stalled. Wasi’s attempts to restart failed.
“We’ve got to walk,” Kord said. “Keep your eyes open.”
Malik remained cuffed. The prince knew the immunity law and termed Malik as a potential serious threat. The men in the rear would shoot him if he gave the slightest indication of running.
“Grab flashlights, but don’t use them unless I give you the go-ahead. Leave the umbrellas. Hides our view. Avoid streetlights if possible.” He turned to the prince. “Prince Omar, I know you’ll be drenched, but . . .”
“I agree. Inform those at home to stay inside. No point in anyone attempting to rescue us while we’re waiting in rising water. We can walk.”
He opened the car door and water rushed into the vehicle and onto them. Instantly they were soaked. Everyone exited onto the empty lakelike street. Wasi released the trunk and retrieved flashlights for himself, Ali, Saad, and Prince Omar. Kord had his Glock in one hand and a small personal flashlight in the other. The men formed a circle around Prince Omar. Kord assigned Saad to Malik detail and then took that bodyguard’s place. Street and business lights flickered in the heavy rain, making Kord question their reliability. In the open, they were like flies ready to be swatted. Add to that the blinding rain. He swung to anything stirring. For sure Prince Omar thought sand was easier to navigate than fast-moving water.
He phoned Monica with an update. “No one is to leave the house. We’re not far.”
Again they walked toward the River Oaks estate.
Ali walked beside Saad. “Faster,” he said to Malik.
“Take these cuffs off, and I will.”
“Not happening,” Kord said. Street and business lights silently disappeared, indicating loss of power. Relieved, Kord waded on. He preferred a shield of darkness. They needed the flashlights, and yet an assassin could mow them down.
He glanced back at Malik stumbling through the water. He fell face-first. Ali held Malik down.
“Don’t let him drown,” Kord said. “We need his intel.” He hoped the order would keep Malik alive.
Ali continued to hold him beneath the water.
“Ali, let him up.” Kord pulled his Glock and moved to where Malik was flailing in the water. “What if you’re drowning an innocent man?”
“He’s guilty.”
“Now, or I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Ali, release him.” Prince Omar emerged from the circle of bodyguards. “He’s Saad’s responsibility. This man will not die tonight.”
Ali jerked Malik up and shoved him toward Saad. Malik coughed and sputtered.
If they made it back to the house without being killed, who’d prevent the bodyguards from carrying out their own justice?
KORD AND THOSE WHO’D BEEN IN THE LIMO arrived at the wrought-iron gate of the Saud home. Security hadn’t been hampered by the inclement weather and allowed them access. They plodded up the driveway in wet clothes and waterlogged shoes to the home lit by generators, as were many of the residences in the area. Karim and Fares ushered them inside the front entrance and provided them with towels and a change of clothing.
Prince Omar raised his shoulders. Kord knew the prince would not complain of the wet and cold. Not his style. “Saad, lock Malik in the safe room until he can be transported. He won’t be able to hear a word there.”
“Amir,” Malik said, “I’m innocent—”
Prince Omar whirled and did a nose-to-nose in Malik’s face. “Be glad the FBI will be questioning you. If you have information, you’d better tell all. Every moment lost to the FBI’s questioning infuriates me. Don’t make me wish I hadn’t stopped Ali. One more word, and I’m walking away.”
Nothing else was said. Kord would need to stay close to the safe room or Malik wouldn’t survive the day.
Monica heard the men enter the house, and she could only imagine the tempers flaring. Angry bodyguards with blood on their minds? Plus they’d dealt with rain pouring buckets on the terrain with no sign of easing up. She counted ten minutes and texted Kord.
Malik alive?
In safe room.
Who’s guarding him?
Me.
She left the women’s area and walked down the stairs. Karim and Fares nodded her direction. No eye contact, but that was a better reception than she’d received in the past.
Her pattern of investigation and protection since Tuesday hadn’t deviated from watchful mode, and she despised it. At times, she wondered if Liam’s heinous crimes stalked her like a demon.
She made her way to where Kord sat on a tufted bench, peering at his phone’s screen as though a massive glob of superglue held him in place. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked rather pitiful.
“Greetings from the dungeon,” he said.
She pointed to his bare feet. “Shoes destroyed?”
“That’s the least of my worries. Ali nearly drowned Malik. My guess is he’ll try to finish what he started.”
“Why not get some sleep? I’ll stay alert.”
He shook his head. “I could ask the same of you.”
“We’re partners.”
He gave her a slight smile. “If this blasted rain would stop, the FBI could arrange to get Malik out of here.”
“I have a whole list of what I’d like to see happen.”
He studied her, and uneasiness crept over her. “What were some of your past assignments?”
Not going there. “Boring compared to yours.”
“Your résumé skims what I know is an outstanding operative.”
“Off-limits.”
“Only making conversation. But I get it.”
She eased down beside him and met his gaze. His eyes told her more had crept into his mind than their mission.
“Strange,” he said.
“What?”
“If we were sitting here and not working, I’d take your hand.”
“Oh, really.” She kept her words flat.
“Then I might kiss you.”
She tingled. “Only if I let you.”
He laughed, allowing the tension between them to fade. So Kord felt the same attraction.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m a pale blonde. We do that.”
“Oh, really.” He mocked her previous tone. “But you’d have the unequally yoked thing going.”
“That’s from the Bible.”
“Yep. I’ve read it.”
“And?”
“I’m still searching. Prince Omar urges me to accept Islam, and I see similarities with the Bible.” He paused. “But I see the differences, too.”
“Take a look at archaeology,” she said. “The Dead Sea Scrolls, the writings of Josephus.”
“Have been. A discussion for another time.”
She pressed on with her own agenda before he attempted to kiss her and she let him. Great, she should be praying for his soul, not contemplating a kiss. “Prince Omar had Fares deliver new phones to Fatima and Yasmine right away. They voiced their displeasure about not having their previous contact information, which I assume the prince heard. Not sure why those two haven’t figured out their brother hears everything. Or maybe they have and don’t care. A few moments later, they were both on the balcony texting. Could be innocent, or it could be treacherous.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Looking for an opportunity to see for myself. And I’m certain to have Prince Omar’s support.”
“He may confiscate their phones again for the same reason.”
“If I’m caught, I lose their trust. Tough call. I believe transparency is my key to either exonerating the princesses or proving one or both of them is guilty. I hope not the latter. Malik hasn’t left the witness stand for me. Yasmine is in love with him. But if she’s hiding anything, then she’s a master at lying.” She lowered her voice. “Of course her sister has the same broken heart issue.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” His phone buzzed with an incoming call. “Great timing.” He answered. “Nasim. I’d like for my partner to hear our conversation. She’s CIA.” Kord listened and nodded. “Thank you.” He motioned for her to lean in to the phone. “What’s happening?”
His voice cracked. “My wife and sons are dead. They took my daughter.”
“Who?”
“I never saw them. They broke into my home while I was at work. I blame those who found out what I learned about Prince Omar.”
“I’m sorry. Let me help you escape. Where are you now?”
“At my brother’s house, but I can’t stay here.”
“The safe house is eleven miles from your village. Head north. I’ll alert them.”
“No car. Will call later.”
“Get help before you go after your daughter.”
The call ended, and Kord pressed in another number. The man would not survive unless he followed Kord’s instructions. “Nasim is walking your direction. Family killed. Daughter taken. No positive ID on who’s responsible. I’ll get back to you ASAP.” He pressed in another number and explained to Prince Omar what had happened.
When the calls ended, she secured his attention with a whisper. “Nasim al-Bazzi?”
He nodded.
“One of ours too.” She texted Jeff, the third message tonight. She prayed that between the CIA and FBI, Nasim would escape death.
“Problem is,” Kord said, “I bet he goes after his daughter.”
She moaned. “Can’t blame him.”
“I’d do the same. She’s probably dead, and he’s walking into a trap.”
“I’m staying here until we have intel about Nasim and a plan forward with Malik. The princesses are busy, and I can keep you company. Or help take out Ali.”
“Ali’s not a bad guy. Just thinks differently than you or me.” He leaned his head back. “If the mole is here and giving the enemy our every move, then those of us caught in the rain would be dead.”
“Depends. If all of you were dead but one man, the authorities would have the name.”
“Are you the voice of reason?”
She wished. “Just trying to think like those who want us out of the picture.”
“I’m banking on the prince’s sporadic use of his cell phone to keep the killer baited. I asked him to use it for a call to Riyadh regarding Malik’s arrest. Should ease the killer’s mind.”
She shook her head. “Unless Malik is guilty. Then he has reasons to be afraid.”
They talked until 6:55, when SAC Thomas alerted Kord that a helicopter would be landing at the Saud home to pick up Malik, Kord, Prince Omar, and Ali.
Monica longed to be a part of the interrogation detail, wanted to hear Malik confess to the killings and end the tragedies. Instead she was stuck at the home in a Saudi man’s world. “I never enjoyed inaction.”
“Sorry. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Not the same, partner.”
A FEW MINUTES BEFORE NOON on Thursday, SAC Thomas walked into his office at the FBI and shut the door. “Kord, we have nothing on Malik al-Kazaz to hold him. Forty-eight hours, and he’s out of here unless we find proof of his involvement.” Frustration scraped every word. “The only suspicious activity is the IP address linking him to Arabic chatter. But the time stamp on the e-mail was when he and Princess Yasmine were having their little tryst. We’re waiting for evidence to prove an e-mail hack because this may be a setup.”
“I heard the interview, and I see the holes. Did he give you a name when he asked to speak to you privately?”
The SAC slumped into his chair. “No. Malik’s afraid you’ll assist in his death. His story about the trip to Iraq for his father checked out. We ran a background on Rashid Dagher, and he’s not affiliated with any terrorist groups or those opposing the Saud family.”
Kord could have guessed that, but he wasn’t about to say so.
“There’s a twenty-one-year-old son, Youssof, who cleared too.”
“Can’t we keep him until we have arrests? The diplomatic immunity went by the wayside with suspected murder.” He heard near exhaustion in his own voice and forced strength into his words. “At least until you verify the link to Arabic chatter.”
&n
bsp; SAC Thomas uttered a familiar phrase about Kord’s smart mouth, the curses rattling the small room. “Do you need a reminder of the critical nature of this case? You’re wasting your time with an innocent man.”
“I brought Malik in this morning with suspected ties to a murder. My job. What more do you want?”
The SAC rubbed his face. “If nothing surfaces, I’ll have him escorted on a flight back to Saudi Arabia. Let the royal family handle him.”
“Three men are dead.”
“I don’t need a reminder. The man in custody was with the prince during the three killings.”
“Has he contacted Consul General al-Fakeeh for legal representation?”
“No mention of it.”
“Has the FBI informed him?”
“Yes.”
The conversation was getting nowhere, and the air-conditioning inside the SAC’s office ran as cold as their differences of opinion. “So I accompany the prince and his men to River Oaks? Tell them if the FBI concludes Malik’s innocent, he’s expelled home? The man will be dead five minutes after the plane lands in Riyadh, and we won’t know a thing more than right now. You must have dug up something since Tuesday.”
“We’ve questioned him for over four hours, and he hasn’t budged from his story. You heard me offer him a deal if he’d give the names involved with the murders.”
Kord listened. No point in fueling the chilling temps unless he needed to make another point.
“I could care less about him meeting with a princess minus a chaperone. That doesn’t add up to murder.”
“Sir, I agree. Nothing in the interview or his body language indicated a conspiracy. But the Saudis are looking for someone to blame.” Malik had lost credibility with the prince, and Kord wished there was something to keep the man in custody longer than forty-eight hours.
SAC Thomas held up a finger. “The mole is in that fancy house, eating the best food and planning murder. No doubt in my mind. But it’s not Malik. Don’t ever question my authority again, understand? Every minute ticking by increases the chances of another American’s murder or Prince Omar’s death on American soil.”