High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  “I asked SAC Thomas for your file after Prince Omar mentioned it.”

  Her face grew hot. “Do you still want to work with me?”

  “Photographic memory. Three missions in the Middle East. Reads lips. Real kissable. Hot too. Sharpshooter. Brought down an arms deal here in Houston. Stopped bioterrorism in Tanzania and led the CIA to Liam Fielder. Impressive. I understand why you blame yourself for the victims, but if you hadn’t figured it out, how many others would have died?”

  Jeff had told her to suck it up, get over it.

  God offered peace while pinching her heart to forgive. Kord candy-coated the gruesome thing as though her nightmares would end with the snap of her fingers. She wanted to forgive Liam and herself, but discarding the truth seemed wrong.

  “Kord, you weren’t there.”

  “But I’ve experienced the horror of death. Back to my question. Do you trust me?”

  She still cringed at the “trust me” request. But honesty prevailed—always. “I’m trying.”

  “Good. I expect no less. Only a select few fall under the title of agent or operative. I can’t tell family members or friends about my job, and you live the same way—more so.”

  “My family regrets I’m not a math professor at Stanford. Married to a political figure with one child and a dog of the opposite gender.”

  “So they think you’re deprived?”

  She laughed and sensed relaxation trickling through her.

  “No, they’re Ohio farmers. Big-time growers of corn, wheat, and soybeans with an organic vegetable business. They feel sorry for my lack of success and coffee obsession. Dad would invest in a café in Ohio if I’d let him. But the important thing is we love each other unconditionally.”

  “Siblings?”

  “Four older brothers, all within the area—one farmer, one dentist, one accountant, and one high school football coach.”

  “How were you recruited?”

  Dare she reveal so much? “What’s the interest?”

  “Collecting data.”

  “Okay. Although the youngest, spoiled, and the recipient of beauty contest awards—” She gave him a feigned scowl. “Don’t even go there. Anyway, I also had an interest in economics, world politics, US security. Earned a scholarship at Ohio State, and I’m officially a loyal Buckeye fan. Upon graduation, a CIA recruiter approached me. After praying through the opportunity, I accepted.”

  “What did you tell your family?”

  “Needed to find myself, which took care of my stint in DC. When asked to work in Houston on a few assignments, I told my family about a desire to learn the coffee business.”

  “How long will you be here?”

  “Didn’t think I’d be in Houston this long. The city’s diversity, the shipping channel, Mexico, and continued growth makes it a hotbed of activity. But it could change at any time.”

  “Ever thought of resigning?”

  Liam sandblasted her mind. They’d planned to open a coffeehouse in Paris to ensure their cover. “Despite what happened, it’s the only thing I know. I suppose I’ll quit when I’m too old to keep the pace.”

  “Does the secrecy bother you?”

  She allowed a hint of her to slip. “Sometimes. But it’s where I’m supposed to be.”

  “It still can be lonely,” he said.

  Where was he going with this? “It’s a choice we make.”

  “The God factor is the hardest for me to understand,” he said. “I’m trying there too.”

  “Searching?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s say hoping a God is real. Whenever humans are in charge, greed takes over.”

  “I think for take-charge people like us, admitting faith in something we can’t see is the hardest decision we can make. But we’re not invisible to God.”

  “Why are you a believer?”

  How could she explain God when at times she had her own doubts? “I felt an unexplainable tug to follow Him. Deep. Personal. Intimate. Undeniable.” She struggled for words. “Kord, ask God to show Himself to you.”

  “I have to believe to ask.”

  “Think about it.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tell me, what about your family?”

  “We were raised to be independent. Once we left home for college, that was it. Mom and Dad travel. And I have a brother.”

  Sounded cold. “Are you close to them?”

  “Talk to my brother quarterly. Have a calendar reminder to buzz me when it’s time. Haven’t seen him in over a year.”

  “Someone special?”

  In the shadows, she saw a grin. “Are you asking for yourself?”

  “No thanks. I have Ali if I choose to go that route.”

  “Right now my attention is on a mission, but I really like my partner.”

  “So glad. Whom do you trust?”

  “I learned from experience the time comes when we have to trust someone. Prince Omar and Zain took the role of family for me.”

  “The company shrink encourages me to unleash my emotions.”

  “I’m getting there. Is your handler a friend?”

  She laughed. “Not hardly. Jeff and I barely tolerate each other.”

  He stopped and turned her to face him. “I’m not Liam Fielder. I’m not out to get you, to set you up for a kill, to lie, or to betray our mission. Trust that we’re on the same side.”

  Jeff had made the same statement. Had the two been comparing notes? “It’s difficult.”

  “Isn’t God supposed to help with those things?”

  She breathed in and out. “Kord, I have your back. Count on it. If I thought for one minute you shared any of Liam’s traits, I’d blow a hole through you.”

  BREAKFAST WITH FATIMA AND YASMINE had become a routine. The fruit and breads were delish and the coffee amazing, yet growing closer to the sisters gave Monica an opportunity to be a real friend. She walked into the common area. Fatima greeted her, but Yasmine avoided eye contact.

  At noon the FBI would release Malik and escort him to Hobby Airport to board a commercial flight. He had no future in Saudi Arabia. No future anywhere.

  Yasmine needed to find strength.

  “We’re leaving at eight this morning for the hospital.” Monica poured a cup of coffee. “I’m sure your mother will be happy to see you. You both look lovely.”

  “I miss her.” Fatima filled a plate with dates and bread.

  “This will be a special time,” Monica said. “When I’m with my mother, I feel like a little girl again. She wants to cook and fatten me up. We garden together and spend long hours talking about life.”

  “Ours is wonderful too. Her love and wisdom will stay with me forever.”

  “Precious memories.”

  “I hope there are more.”

  “I wish the same for you.” Monica set her plate on the small table before them. “After Prince Omar’s press conference, and providing Kord doesn’t have something that requires my attention, we can start the self-defense classes.”

  “I’m not interested.” Yasmine walked to the window, weeping softly.

  Enough of this weakness from a princess. “Yasmine, you have a decision to make.” Monica joined her and resisted the urge to shake the princess like someone should have done to her when Liam’s treachery hit the forefront. “It’s time to face the facts. You broke the rules. You knew better. You played a risky game with Malik. Both of you were caught and faced discipline. Did Malik ever request your hand in marriage? Why didn’t he offer to marry you in the kitchen the night of his arrest?”

  Yasmine touched her lips and paled.

  “Instead of facing your consequences like a strong woman of royalty, you cry as though your tears will erase what you and Malik have done. Rather selfish, don’t you think? Face the truth. Time to return to your studies. Bring honor to your family. Choose now to put the past behind you and learn from your mistakes.”
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br />   The room grew quiet.

  “You’re unfair,” Yasmine said. “You have no idea what it’s like for women in my country.”

  “You’re right. But it’s how you’ve grown up. If your goal is to help bring more reforms to women, then expand your education and seek advances in an appropriate way.”

  “But I’ll never see Malik again.”

  “That could be a blessing. The man encouraged you to lie. He’s been accused of betraying your brother.” Monica softened her tone. “You have the rest of your life to find purpose and meaning.”

  Yasmine rushed to her room, the manner in which the two princesses handled their emotions. Monica returned to her coffee and looked at Fatima. “Guess I was too harsh.”

  Fatima blinked. “Not at all. I’ve been mothering her, and my efforts haven’t improved her attitude.”

  Monica sighed. “Never had a sister to understand all the girlie-mood stuff.”

  “We can be strange.”

  Monica laughed. “Good way to put it.”

  “I was determined to dislike you, but instead I’ve found admiration and respect. Our lives are so different, but getting to know you helps me see how the Western world lives.”

  “And I’ve learned so much more about your culture.”

  “I’ve watched you. Always alert. Your habits are teaching me to look for danger. I’ve seen how you get up in the night and stare out the window. Check the outer door to make sure it’s locked. Even tiptoe to our rooms. I’d like to learn self-defense.”

  Monica’s eyes pooled. Such a rare girl moment. She’d sensed Fatima was awake during those times she rose to ensure all was well. Monica took steps forward and hugged Fatima, and the young woman embraced her.

  “Women must stick together to take our place in the world of men,” Fatima said. “Thank you for taking the time with me and my sister to offer friendship.”

  Monica nodded. “If we don’t have our breakfast, it will be cold.”

  “And all we’ll have are our tears.”

  “Sometimes those are the most satisfying.”

  Yasmine stayed within the walls of her bedroom. Perhaps she’d think about Monica’s words and make a positive decision. Most of what she’d said to the young woman was what she kept telling herself about Liam.

  MONICA STARED AT THE SUPERSTRUCTURES of the medical center jutting up against the sky as if reaching for God to notice them. Castles with fountains, blooming flowers, and expertly maintained landscaping. Those in the business of healing weren’t the only ones who needed wisdom.

  The limos waited to turn into the hospital entrance. A car with two FBI agents followed close behind, and four HPD motorcycles flanked them. Monica wore an earbud to remain in contact with Kord and Ali. The morning looked fresh and typical, obscuring the reality of why she carried a weapon.

  Medical personnel of all nationalities hurried inside the hospital, some wearing white jackets and others in scrubs. Plain-clothed people made their entrance too, and they received Monica’s inspection. She scrutinized everyone. Those who donned sunglasses, were alone, or looked Middle Eastern or Hispanic took double notice.

  With armed guards on every side of the limo, only an idiot would open fire. But a suicide bomber could step onto the scene and nothing would be left of the royal family and other innocent bystanders. The killer had already proven her daring. How soon before her successor took over?

  The Mercedes limos parked in front of MD Anderson, and the prince exited in full Saudi dress. Kord had requested him to avoid the regalia, but the prince refused and wore his culture’s clothing as a symbol of pride—setting himself up as a target. As long as the pride didn’t get all of them killed. Prince Omar repeatedly put himself, his family, and those around him in danger. Monica couldn’t seem to wrap her head around that concept when it looked selfish. Self-sacrifice she understood.

  Behind a fence of police officers, reporters snapped pics and shouted questions. She assumed they’d be missing out on the private, invitation-only press conference scheduled for later this afternoon.

  Once inside the hospital, they waited for an elevator large enough to hold the entire group. She tapped her foot, watching. Always watching. Kord and Ali bored their gazes into every passerby.

  “Miss Alden,” Prince Omar said, “would you pick up flowers for my mother? They’re at the Park Flower and Gift Shop. Ali arranged it, and his name is on the order.” Lines deepened across the prince’s forehead. His mother’s health must weigh heavily on his mind.

  She breathed a silent prayer for him and his sisters. “Of course. Do you need anything else?”

  “Not at this time.” Formal. Monotone.

  “I’ll escort her,” Ali said. “It’s a large arrangement.”

  No point in arguing. The elevator door opened and the group entered, except for Ali and Monica. They walked to the second floor of the main building.

  “You look lovely,” Ali said.

  She was wearing black pants, a high-necked blouse, and a black jacket. “Thank you.”

  If Kord were in the elevator alone with Prince Omar, he’d sympathize with the prince’s apparent worry over his mother. Perhaps later when they were alone.

  The elevator dinged at their floor. Prince Omar clenched his jaw, the anxiety of his mother’s deteriorating health combined with the crimes of late showing on his face.

  “Fatima, can I use your phone?” Prince Omar said. “I left mine in the limo.” She handed him her phone. “I need to glue it to my clothes.” He laughed nervously.

  “Amir, would you like me to retrieve it?” Wasi said.

  “Yes.” The elevator door opened and Wasi remained.

  Prince Omar’s forgetfulness of his phone had saved his life previously. Not a habit in the past, but his mother hadn’t been facing a terminal illness, and he didn’t have an assassin wanting him dead either.

  Kord hated the emotional turmoil for his friend. Omar loved his family, while Kord grew up in a house that aligned with a sterile environment. No love. No hate. Tears forbidden. Laughter at a minimum. No praise. Overload on criticism. If Kord’s mother were the one suffering, he’d be grieving what he’d missed. Why think about it when he’d long since grown into a man?

  Fate was such an unstable foe. And this wasn’t about him. Never was.

  Dr. Carlson emerged from Princess Gharam’s room. He approached the group, his shoulders slightly slumped, and focused on the prince. “Good morning, Prince Omar. May I have a word with you?”

  “Most assuredly.” He turned to Kord. “Would you join me?”

  Wordlessly, the three men assumed a secluded seating area. Did the prince fear the worst?

  “Prince Omar,” Dr. Carlson began, “unfortunately your mother is not responding to treatment. She’s weakening. I’m not confident of her ability to survive surgery on Monday.”

  “How much does she know?” The prince’s expression was stoic as expected.

  “I’ve told her the procedure has been postponed until she’s stronger. But she’s insistent upon it,” Dr. Carlson said. “She wants to speak to you. Per your instructions, she is not aware of the critical nature. I’ve canceled the surgery until her body can withstand the stress.”

  “When do you think that will be?”

  “Prince Omar, I’m afraid we’re at the point where all we can do is make her comfortable.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t give time. I believe a patient chooses to surrender life.”

  “Is pain medication being administered?”

  “According to the nurses, she takes the meds when she knows you aren’t scheduled to visit. She wants to be awake when you and her daughters are there.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Carlson. I will encourage her to fight and cooperate with the medical staff.”

  “I’ll be in your mother’s room completing my examination.”

  When the conversation ended and the doctor disappeared into Princess Gharam’s room, the prince inhaled
deeply. “I’m not ready to tell my sisters unless they ask. Excuse me while I phone my father and report the doctor’s conclusion.”

  Kord returned to the group until Prince Omar completed his call and walked back to those waiting. He offered a diplomatic smile.

  “Wait here while I talk to my mother alone.” Prince Omar took the several feet to her room as though it were the last time he’d see her.

  MONICA KEPT PACE with Ali’s huge strides to the gift shop. The sadness on Prince Omar’s face stuck in her mind. Such a complicated man.

  “Prince Omar’s trip here has been anything but positive,” she said.

  “He won’t give up until she breathes her last.”

  “His sisters need to be told. They need to be prepared for the inevitable. The shock of what they’ve already experienced coupled with losing their mother is tragic to say the least.”

  “Your caring for others is one of the traits I admire about you.”

  Uneasiness crept up her spine. “I’m assuming there are women back home who will comfort them.” Princess Gharam wasn’t the favored wife, but did that mean the other women shunned her? Unfortunately she couldn’t ask Ali.

  He nodded, his bearing impressive, and no wonder, with his huge frame and designer suit, tie, and gold cuff links.

  She’d much prefer being with Kord. Realization made her inwardly curb her thoughts. She should concentrate on the task force and not her confusing attraction to Kord. If she forced honesty into her emotions, she thought about him more than she wanted to admit. But memories of Liam refused to let her linger long.

  Ali and Monica entered the gift shop. Her eye caught the fanciful artwork of the many children treated at the facility. She’d purchased gifts here at Christmas for her mother and sisters-in-law, all painted by children.

  “Do you want a family someday?” Ali said.

  Oh, please. “Yes. A houseful, and adopted children too.”

  “A lucky man is in your future.”

  What man wanted a killer for a wife? And how would her children view her past work in the CIA? She and Ali moved to the counter, and he requested the order. The clerk showed him a bouquet of three dozen red roses and baby’s breath arranged in a crystal vase.