High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  “Maybe we should try to help.”

  “Are you crazy? Trust me, they don’t want it. Dad’s brother tried years ago and gave up. The parents are pathetic.”

  “But they are our parents.”

  “Forget it. I have a law practice and a new girlfriend. Why the interest now?”

  Great question. “To understand the dysfunction. Help them find quality of life.”

  “Leave that to professional shrinks.”

  He and Blake talked awhile longer about sports and the weather until they both grew tired of talking to a stranger.

  Why had Kord chosen today to probe deeper into their parents’ lives? If he admitted the truth, it was more about wanting proof of God. His parents’ inability to handle a tragedy only left him feeling empty. The more he deliberated it, the more he felt like a kid wanting attention from Mom and Dad, embarrassed he’d wasted time on a hopeless cause. No one in this world looked out for another, unless they were trained.

  KORD MET AGENT RICHARDSON in the waiting area of the ICU burn care unit. Together they walked to Youssof Dagher’s room. The man had also suffered multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and a concussion.

  Kord turned to Richardson. “Thanks for joining me on this one.”

  “Glad to. What’s the status on this guy?”

  “Barely alive. Treating him with aggressive pain management. Awake but hasn’t spoken.”

  “He’s in the best place for burn treatment.”

  “His attitude might be the determining factor. Not much of a future for him,” Kord said. “An exchange of a hospital bed for a cell cot. And that’s if his cohorts don’t get to him first.”

  “With the charges against him, why would he want to live?”

  “We can try a few promises.”

  “True. How’s Miss Alden?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Will she be replaced?”

  “Don’t think so. By the time I get back to the Saud home, she’ll be sprinting.”

  “Impressive. Odd, I hadn’t met her before.”

  “From the DC office. You’ve seen what we have of Youssof Dagher’s file?”

  “Choice piece of work. Saudi living in Iraq and possibly working for the Iranians or Saudi conservatives in an assassination plot.”

  “We’ll see if he’s ready to open up.”

  The two agents showed their IDs to the officers guarding Dagher’s room and stepped inside. Screens beeped in time to the man’s heartbeat, displaying vitals and showing his oxygen levels. Two IV bags hung from a pole, providing antibiotics and fluids. Gauze covered some areas, while creams were spread over his exposed face and neck. Huge blisters and seared flesh were the biggest source of agony.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Dagher.” Kord closed the door. “We’re from the FBI, and we have a few questions about what led to your unfortunate accident. I’m Agent Davidson, and this is Agent Richardson.” He spoke Arabic. “I’m recording our conversation, so I encourage you to cooperate. Would you like to talk in English or Arabic?”

  He glared at Kord from charred flesh, a body that would never be the same. Surprising he was alive.

  Kord and Richardson grabbed chairs and set them on each side of the bed. “English is my preference,” Kord said. “Mr. Dagher, you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble. Illegally entering the US, attempted murder, resisting arrest, and more. We’d like to help.”

  “No use for you,” the man whispered in English.

  “That’s understandable, since you tried to kill my partner and me early this morning. But I’ll give you a pass on the murder charges in exchange for information.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Your address?”

  “You’re FBI. You find out.”

  “What about your phone?”

  “Burned.”

  “Your gun was uncovered but not a phone.”

  Youssof sneered through twisted lips. “Too bad.”

  “Targeting members of the Saudi royal family on American soil? Not smart.”

  The man spit at Kord, but the spittle fell a little short and landed on the white sheets. “Alkalb algharbia.”

  “So you know what my enemies call me. But this Western dog is smart.” Kord allowed silence to deepen the tension. “Listen closely. If I remove the guards outside and announce to the media you’ve given us names, you’re a dead man.”

  No response.

  “I could help you, but you have to work with us.” When Youssof remained mute, Kord took his strategy up a notch. “Messing with you is a waste of time, and I’m tired of your games. We know you’re part of a plot against Prince Omar and his family. Who else is involved?”

  “No proof.” Every word was forced and slow.

  “Since Prince Omar arrived, we’ve discovered a few things. A sniper killed a bodyguard and a janitor at a high school. Someone killed the consul general’s driver. We found a bomb designed to blow up the Saud family planted in a box of fruit and vegetables. In fact, one of your people, Parvin Shah, is dead. Bet you miss her—or him, depending on how she was dressed.”

  Silence.

  “How did you gain access to the US?”

  “Walked.”

  Prince Omar’s words about how Saudi Arabia protected their borders swept across his mind. Kord sighed and looked at Youssof. “Prince Omar has requested the opportunity to question you alone, take you home to Riyadh, and I’m in the mood to agree. He has a private jet. Smooth ride all the way to Saudi Arabia. He’d throw you a nice welcome party.”

  “My father?”

  “He’s in Saudi custody.”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Not my problem,” Kord said. “This is the way your crimes have played out. You’re under arrest and being charged with knowingly and intentionally conspiring, confederating, and agreeing to kill Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal while in the United States. You’re also charged with three additional counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder of federal officers.”

  Richardson interrupted him. “Kord, you told me you wanted to reduce the charges, help our friend out here.”

  He shrugged. “Names of those involved would help. Youssof doesn’t talk much. Too bad when the fate of his father and family is at stake.”

  “Parvin Shah,” Youssof managed.

  “She’s dead, and we found evidence implicating her neatly arranged in her apartment. That’s all over the media. Old news. Give us something else.”

  Youssof stared. “I have nothing—” he sucked in a breath—“to tell you.”

  “Your choice, given your father’s facing execution for sedition.”

  He closed his eyes. “He’s innocent.”

  “Then you’d better find the truth, along with names,” Kord said. “Were you working with Parvin Shah?”

  He nodded, eyes still clamped shut.

  “Who recruited her?”

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “Before she left Iran.”

  “You were active at thirteen and living in Iraq?”

  “I started . . . young.”

  Kord wouldn’t question this since suicide bombers were sometimes as young as eleven. “You recruited an Iranian woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you her lover, too?”

  “Until she came here. Parvin traveled back and forth to Iraq.”

  “Who gave her orders?”

  “Me.” His words grew weaker, and Kord stood to ensure he caught every one.

  “Who sent a virus to Prince Omar’s phone?”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  “In Riyadh.”

  “What about your cousin Malik?”

  “Loyal to prince.”

  “Parvin Shah had two expensive men’s suits in her closet. Who paid for them?”

  “I did.”

  “Where were the purchases made?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Who set her up, planted evidence in h
er apartment?”

  Youssof gasped from a visible surge of pain. “Don’t know.”

  “So she was set up?” Kord was pulling straws on this one, but he and Monica had noted Parvin’s detail.

  Youssof squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Please clarify.”

  Richardson waved his hand. “Kord, we have better things to do. He’s our man.”

  “I’m letting the charges stand, but I’ll give him one more chance tomorrow. If he changes his mind, he can let the police officers know.”

  “He could be dead then.”

  “So will his father.”

  While walking with Richardson through the hospital corridor, Kord received a text that gave both men Youssof’s address at a Marriott property north of downtown.

  “I’ve got the sweep,” Richardson said. “I’ll call as soon as I have something.”

  MONICA WOKE with the sensation of a tree lying across her chest. The familiar smell of her room at the Saud mansion told her she was safe—and sick. No point in opening her eyes until she remembered . . . Finding the mystery man on the café’s security footage. The pouring rain. Shooters. HPD in pursuit of a getaway car. Youssof Dagher nearly dead. She battled the weakness. Head, throat, and chest pain. What had she missed? Her mind started to drift and she forced herself to figure out how she’d gotten into bed. Oh yes. Kord carried her from his car. A doctor told her she had double pneumonia. She moaned and hoped neither of the princesses had heard about it. Thank goodness her condition wasn’t contagious.

  God had taken care of her when the shooters first opened fire.

  No other way to explain it. Thank You.

  While in God territory, she thanked Him for sparing Kord’s life too. A gentle tug at her spirit brought the unforgiveness of her past center point in her mind. How could she talk to Kord or anyone about God if she shoved aside what He asked of her? She listened when others complimented her skills and then brushed aside their accolades. Even appeared strong when others joked about her faith. But no one knew the real Monica E. Alden. The E stood for Elizabeth, not elite or exceptional.

  She failed in the good-enough arena—for Kord or any man.

  She’d gotten so far from God with Liam. Difficult to admit even to herself. Forgiveness had become an ocean she couldn’t cross. She’d viewed Liam as her soul mate, her savior of sorts. Looks. Charm. Intelligence. The two worked missions others deemed impossible. Monica believed it was God blessing both of them, and Liam agreed.

  Don’t go there.

  She took a journey in her mind to escape the nightmare, to a place she used to visit at her grandparents’ farm. Instantly she relaxed. She and Granddad walked along the creek. He taught her about the different plants and types of trees on the green, rolling acres. Most times, his conversation moved to God. “Little girl, you can do in life what matters most as long as God’s in it. He’ll show you the way.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. An IV bag dripped into her veins.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Sounded like Fatima. Monica looked toward the voice to see the sisters on a sofa. “I’m better. How long have you been here?”

  “Since you returned in the early hours of morning.”

  The shades were pulled. Had it been a few hours? This was awkward. Blinking to shove aside the drowsiness, she glanced at the time: 4:36 p.m. How had she slept so long? “It’s Sunday afternoon. You’ve been here all this time?”

  Yasmine walked to her bedside. “Mr. Davidson said you’d be upset at sleeping so long. He said ‘cranky.’”

  “He was right. I should talk to him.”

  “He’s not here.” Fatima reached into her pocket and produced a folded slip of paper. “He gave this to our brother for you.”

  She took the note.

  Monica, Youssof Dagher wakened. I’m heading to the hospital. It’s about 1 p.m. Call or text when you get this. Mind the doctor and the princesses.

  Kord

  She sighed and refolded it. Her cell was missing from the nightstand. “Do you know where my phone is?”

  “It’s in my room,” Yasmine said. “We didn’t want it bothering you.”

  Normally the vibration roused her.

  Yasmine quickly brought it to her. No texts or calls to return. She pressed in Kord’s number. “Can you talk?”

  “First off, how are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “Medicine is on the nightstand.”

  She turned to see two bottles of prescription meds and a bottle of syrup that was probably for her cough. “I’ll take it in a few minutes.”

  “I’m wrapping things up with Agent Richardson. On my way back there. Will give you an update then.”

  “Do we have enough info to close this case?”

  “No.”

  “When will you be here?”

  “Within thirty minutes. The doctor will be making another house call around five thirty.”

  She’d wasted far too many work hours. Yet she should be grateful. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Get used to it.”

  But they didn’t have a future together. She pressed End and placed her phone beside her. “The doctor is coming in less than an hour. I need to get cleaned up.”

  “We’re here to help you,” Fatima said. “The steam in the shower will be good for your lungs, and you can sit on the bench.”

  She didn’t have the strength to get out of bed.

  “You can’t do this by yourself,” Fatima said.

  Yasmine shook her head. “We’re afraid you’ll fall.”

  A heavy dose of humiliation warmed her, not the first occurrence in this mission. “Not since my mother has anyone helped me bathe.”

  “Oh, we’ll honor your modesty,” Fatima said. “I’ll start the water. Washing your hair will be the biggest obstacle. We can do this together.”

  She choked back emotion. “How can I thank you for tending to me like a baby?”

  Fatima touched her face. “This is a small kindness for what you’ve done for us.”

  “Self-defense classes are on hold.”

  “Yasmine and I will practice.”

  Monica wanted to cry. Crazy medicine. Stupid pneumonia in both lungs. Since when did a CIA operative resort to tears because of a shower? They slipped down her cheeks despite the self-talk.

  KORD PACED THE NATATORIUM while the doctor from the FBI examined Monica upstairs in the women’s quarters. The trickling of water from the fountain might soothe Prince Omar, but it did nothing to ease Kord’s stress and unanswered questions.

  Prince Omar watched him. “Would it be easier for you and Ali if I asked Miss Alden to be wife number three?”

  Kord startled. “Where did you come up with that? My mind’s on Youssof Dagher.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Kord wasn’t going to admit he was right. “She’s my partner.”

  “I see more.”

  “Ali and I are friends.”

  He nodded. “To you, friends are family. You’re loyal.”

  Kord fished for something to say. “Not sure what you’re seeing with Miss Alden.”

  “Personal matters are difficult for you.”

  How well the prince understood him. “I don’t want to damage my friendship with Ali. What’s important is keeping you and your family safe.” He formed his words. “But you’re right.”

  “I won’t make you feel more uncomfortable right now.” Prince Omar gave his typical nod. “How did the questioning go with Youssof?”

  “HPD recovered his weapon in the car. Not registered. We were missing his cell phone, but pieces of it have been found in what’s left of his car. Doubtful anything can be salvaged. At the hotel, a change of clothing hung in the closet. A toothbrush in the bathroom.”

  “Saudi dress?”

  “Yes.”

  Prince Omar muttered an oath in Arabic.

  “Amir, he refused to cooperate even with the knowledge of your having his father in
custody.”

  “I want to talk to him. I can be persuasive, and I have access to every member of his family.”

  Kord might insinuate such actions, but the prince would follow through. “A trip to the hospital could backfire. We have no idea who all is involved.”

  “I’m going with or without you.”

  Kord was tired of dealing with stubborn people. He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’ll wear jeans? Sunglasses? I’ll choose which limo to take?”

  “Yes, and Ali will accompany us. The doctor should be finishing with Miss Alden. We’ll learn how she’s faring before we leave.”

  As if on cue, Ali entered the natatorium. “The doctor is waiting in the foyer.”

  “Tell him we’re on our way,” the prince said, and the three met the FBI-sanctioned doctor, a white-haired man who wore a perfect bedside manner smile.

  The doctor shook hands with the prince and then Ali and Kord.

  “Is she responding to the medication?” Prince Omar said.

  “I’ve prescribed a stronger antibiotic for Miss Alden. She needs one of you to ensure it’s filled. She’s doing well but needs rest. I hope you can influence her to not overdo it. She does need to walk a little, but with assistance and for short distances.” He handed Prince Omar a prescription. “I’ve given her enough of these for two days, then this needs to be filled.”

  “I’ll get it handled promptly. Thank you for coming. When do you need to see her again?”

  “Is Tuesday morning all right, about ten? I asked her to call me if her fever spikes or if the pain doesn’t subside in her chest. I don’t want her out of the house for the next five days or so, or she’ll be in the hospital.”

  “She’ll miss the rodeo and concert on Thursday,” Prince Omar said. “She’d have enjoyed it. Luckily we have plenty of bodyguards.”

  Monica would be in his face if she heard the prince denying her the rodeo event. Although Prince Omar respected her, he still looked at her gender as the weaker sex.

  “Kord,” Prince Omar said, “I’ll let you inform her about Thursday.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled while thinking through what this would mean to her. She’d never allow her job to be neglected.

  “I gave her something to help her sleep. Miss Alden is a trouper.”