High Treason

by DiAnn Mills

  “Hard to say if he told the truth.” She coughed again, this time clutching her chest. “Has Prince Omar made the interview arrangements with the women?”

  “In the morning at ten o’clock.”

  “That’s 6 p.m. for them,” she said. “But you know what? The evening means they could be tired, more prone to open up. What else?”

  “Tell me about Liam Fielder.”

  She stiffened, couldn’t help herself. “Why? We’ve had this conversation.”

  “I think it’s interfering with your state of mind.”

  If she had the strength, she’d black his eyes. “No, it’s not. What is it with you anyway? My personal life has nothing to do with this protection detail.”

  “Monica, you’re lying to yourself if you remotely think his betrayal hasn’t affected your role in the CIA or your personal life.”

  She would not face the reality about Liam with Kord. She needed an exit ramp. Now. Worse yet, she refused to admit the hurt and damage to her relationship with God. “It’s inconceivable.” Her words sounded disgustingly weak, like she felt.

  “Isn’t confession good for the soul?” He scooted the chair closer.

  “Being inches away from me doesn’t mean I’ll talk about Liam. Last I checked, you’re not a shrink.”

  “I’m a friend.”

  A friend who’d kissed her multiple times. Carried her up the stairs when she collapsed with this disgusting pneumonia. The challenge of opening up about Liam meant revealing the extent of her hurt. How could Kord ever understand the depth of her mistakes when he didn’t have a relationship with God?

  “While you’re debating it, here’s my take,” he said. “Monica Alden is a dynamic woman. She can go on being miserable, not trusting anyone. Or she can work through the past and shake it off.”

  “Since when have I given the impression of being miserable?”

  “I can see it in your eyes when you think no one is looking.”

  Her heart thudded. “I’m fine.”

  “And I’m a world intellect. I’m surprised God has allowed you to get away with all the denial stuff. Doesn’t He do the accountability thing?”

  His words knocked at the wall around her heart. She choked back a lump in her raw throat. “Where is your firsthand info about God?”

  “Closer than I’ve ever been. You and I have been through hell and landed on our feet several times. The last few days are part of it, and the danger’s not over. Give me a chance to help you with this.” The tenderness in his eyes should have spelled caution, but the hint of release nudged her forward. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met, but you’ve allowed someone to assume power in your life, someone who doesn’t deserve it. What hit you so hard that you can’t get past the punch?”

  Her eyes watered. “I’ve never admitted all of the story to anyone.”

  “You value your privacy. I get your reasoning.”

  “Why, Kord? What’s in it for you?”

  “To see you happy.”

  Seemed like a lame excuse, but she really wanted to believe him. Dare she move forward when her insides curdled? Tell a man she barely knew the ugly truth? “Why do you care if I’m happy?”

  “Because I don’t understand this crazy attraction to you. Because I’m looking for God and what a Christian worldview means. Because I have a hard time figuring out life too.” He took her hand, and she clung to his.

  Maybe she could find an escape from the nightmares.

  She’d move forward. “Liam’s betrayal paralyzed me, especially when recalling his every word added another rung on the ladder of lies. I believed him. Put him higher in my life than he should have been. I thought we were a divine team destined to bring down enemies of the US. Then I picked up intel pointing to him as a monster, taking thousands of dollars from a known terrorist who’d been suspected of biological warfare. I followed it up. Confirmed his guilt. I tried to confront him, but he disappeared. I went to Jeff with the findings and led a team to bring him down.” She squeezed his hand in an effort to keep her emotions intact. “The faces of the dead men, women, and children will never leave me. Not a day goes by that I don’t see them again.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “There’s more. From the moment he showed interest in me, I let my faith slip. Liam said he was a believer, but he preferred a motorcycle ride in the country or a walk in the park over a church service. At first, I protested. Wasn’t long before I allowed him to dictate what I did not only on Sunday but every day of the week. The things I valued about my faith fizzled. We lived together, though I swore I’d never give myself to a man without the sanctity of marriage. I thought he loved me as much as I loved him.” She stopped to breathe and manage the debilitating weakness hammering against her lungs. “I put Liam in God’s place. When I realized my stupidity killed so many people, the guilt and shame rested on me for forsaking my faith.”

  “From what I’ve learned, God is forgiving.”

  “You’ve uncovered quite a bit.”

  He started to speak, then shook his head. “I’ll tell that story on another day. Am I right in assuming you can’t forgive yourself?”

  Her stomach burned. “I pushed God aside for a man who was the devil incarnate.”

  “You blame yourself for something out of your control.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a shrink?”

  “I need one myself.” His denial soothed her.

  She glanced away, then back to him. “My actions won’t leave me alone.”

  “Has your God indicated you aren’t worth His time?”

  “It’s not Him.”

  “Are you a candidate for change?”

  She wanted to be one. If only she could get past the blackness that mocked her. Had the time arrived for her to accept His forgiveness and herself? She looked into Kord’s eyes, the man who’d offered to spoon-feed her when her hands trembled. The man who confused her in far too many ways. The man who’d found a place in her heart.

  The worst needed to be said. “I’m afraid the shot I fired into Liam was more about my personal vengeance than preventing a man from killing others.”

  “Why?”

  She thought about truth setting her free. “I’ve often thought I should resign from the CIA. Taking a life to get even is motive for a criminal.”

  “What if you hadn’t pulled the trigger? What would have happened?”

  She’d considered the same thing. “He was on his way to take botulism to the Sudanese government when we caught up to him.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You’re not an interrogator. I’ve come this far. Might as well finish. Liam was hiding in a small village. We located the hut, and I asked for an opportunity to confront him. Thought I could talk him into surrendering. If we engaged him in a firefight, innocent people could be killed. Getting Liam to confess and give intel would’ve helped us stop those involved.”

  “So you approached him alone?”

  The whole nightmare replayed, the villagers grabbing their children and scurrying to their huts. The heat and the smell of Africa. “I called out to him. Asked him to put down his weapon. No one else needed to die. He laughed. He reminded me of my weakness and stupidity.” She recalled her threadbare faith and how she’d felt too undeserving to ask God for help. “I made it to the opening and walked inside. I was deadly calm. Filled with rage. He aimed his firearm at my chest. A rustle outside the hut caught his attention, giving me a moment to take the advantage. He lost his balance, and I dove after him. He fired into my shoulder. I sent a bullet to his head.” She paused to rein in her emotions. “The blood covered both of us.”

  “His death was not your fault.”

  She swiped beneath her eyes, and he handed her a tissue from the nightstand. “I hated him for his lies.”

  “You loved him, and he tore out your heart. But if you hadn’t pulled the trigger, you’d be dead along with probably countless others.”

  “That seem
s cold, callous.”

  “When we’re hurt and don’t understand the actions of those we love, nothing seems rational.”

  She feared dissolving into a puddle of despair, and she blamed her illness. But Kord was the voice of reason, although she had no idea how or why she’d unloaded the story. It must be to pave the road to freedom and peace.

  He towered over her. “I’m leaving you alone to take care of business.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a believer?”

  “Working hard on it.”

  “You’re a lot closer than you think.” She bit into her lower lip. “Keep me updated.”

  “I will.” He turned to leave.

  “Kord, do my struggles deter your faith?”

  “You have a grip on God, and I admire it. I think the problems you’re experiencing are more about your perfectionism than the reality of a creator God. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  When he left the room, she sensed a profound loneliness. Except the emptiness had nothing to do with Kord but about the condition of her soul. Perhaps the ugly past happened to draw her close to God again. And in the stillness, the pain in her body subsided to a renewal of spirit. The memories would remain, dim as time passed, but they’d always serve as a reminder of what evil people tried to accomplish.

  MONDAY MORNING, Monica took a glimpse at the clock on the nightstand in her room. Nearly time for the video call with the Dagher women in Riyadh. Fatima and Yasmine had helped her to a chair and dressed her in traditional Saudi black. Although she was forced to wear the IV, by keeping her arm down, the camera shouldn’t detect it. A small table held her laptop as though she were sitting at a desk.

  The physical effort had sapped her, but she’d not admit it. By the time the day hit its end, she’d walk the upstairs hallway to build her strength.

  In five minutes, the interview with Youssof Dagher’s mother and sisters would take place. Kord sat across the room, ready to assist with his mic. He’d be giving Monica prompts or insights from the women’s body language that she could hear through her earbud. He looked at her differently, softer, and it wasn’t her imagination. Prior to dressing for the interview, she’d received his text.

  With God all things r possible.

  Have u chosen belief?

  Yep.

  Knowing his faith in God now had roots, she shouldn’t fear her caring for him. How very strange to fear a relationship while craving it at the same time. Later they’d talk. Most likely after the mission ended.

  The computer screen came to life with four women wearing black from head to toe and seated in a bleak-looking room in total gray scale. The male translator did an audio test, and they were ready to go.

  “Miss Alden, these women are aware you have questions for them.”

  “Thank you,” she said in Arabic and gave a slight smile. “I’m sorry for the tragedies that have fallen upon your family. I understand the heartache of losing loved ones. My hope is to offer comfort and possibly address questions about Youssof and Rashid.”

  One of the women stiffened, but nothing was said.

  “Good,” Kord said into her earbud. “You’ve established your purpose.”

  “I’m so sorry about Youssof’s car accident and your father being detained. We women treasure our relationships with the men in our families, and without them, life is unthinkable.”

  “The older woman’s body language says she distrusts you,” Kord said.

  Monica interpreted the same reaction.

  “How is my son?” the woman said.

  Monica could only imagine how the woman’s heart ached for her child. “He’s critical with serious burns, broken bones, and a concussion. A friend spoke to him, and he expressed concern about his father, you, and his sisters.”

  “Are you a mother?” the woman said.

  “Not yet.”

  “As a woman, what can you do for my husband and son?”

  “I can bring truth to those looking for answers.”

  “Answers for what?” the woman said. “My husband and son are innocent of betraying our country. We are all loyal to Saudi Arabia.”

  “I hear concern in your voice, and I don’t want to see you lose a family member. But evidence is mounting that either Rashid or Youssof has helped in an assassination plot against Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal. People are dead. Right now your husband and son look guilty, which means both face serious charges.” Monica tilted her head. “Are you ready for both of them to face death?”

  The woman rose from her chair. “They are innocent.”

  “Why was Youssof in the US illegally?”

  “I didn’t know he was there.”

  “Pay dirt,” Kord said.

  A younger woman shook her fist at the camera, her anger apparent in her tone. “Mother, you know Youssof believed his friends. Father tried to persuade him, but you saw how he treated Father.”

  “What happened?” Monica said.

  The younger woman rose and took her mother’s hand. “After we moved to Riyadh, Youssof and Father argued about him returning to Iraq. When Father blocked the door and would not let him pass, Youssof pushed him against a table. Father is loyal to Saudi Arabia, and it’s wrong for him to take the blame for Youssof’s actions.”

  The older woman buried her face in her hands. “What am I to do? Choose between my husband and son?”

  “Mother, choose the truth and save my father.”

  “Who is guilty?” Monica waited.

  The older woman looked up with a tearstained face. “My son. He has friends who are bad men.”

  “Why did he choose their ways?” Monica said.

  “Youssof was a small boy. Weak. Many teased him about his size. The bad men promised him money and power.”

  “Do you have names of these men?”

  “No. Rashid followed him a couple of times, but Youssof seemed to sense it and my husband learned nothing.”

  “Your sorrow must be great. What you’ve said will help your husband.”

  “And my son?” She heard the anguish in the mother’s voice.

  “I wish I had an answer for you. He’s getting the best care available for his burns and injuries.”

  “How will we be informed about his condition?” the mother said.

  “I’ll make your request known to Prince Omar.” Monica wished she had the power to ease their minds.

  The mother whispered her thanks, and Monica ended the interview.

  They had corroboration of Youssof’s friendship with possible suspects, but no names. Would Rashid have discovered his son’s friends? Would he go to his death protecting his son?

  MONDAY AT NOON, Kord propped his feet on an ottoman on the rear patio and reviewed intel. A text from SAC Thomas stated Youssof Dagher died twenty minutes earlier. The young man’s injuries overpowered any will to live. He’d become an enemy of the US and Saudi Arabia who’d faced the consequences of saddling up with a terrorist regime. What had convinced Youssof, like so many others, to forsake family and friends for a deadly cause? Kord saw how loners, criminals, and those who’d broken laws looked for companions with a united cause, a family. Youssof found acceptance when others turned him away because of his stature.

  Kord typed into the secure FBI site for updates. The FIG was digging into the many unanswered questions. He texted SAC Thomas for the camera footage near and around the burn unit at Memorial Hermann. Although techs were on it, he needed to see for himself. If questionable visitors had attempted to gain entrance into Youssof’s room, he wanted to identify them. Others involved could fear Youssof might talk and seek to eliminate him.

  Was there an Iranian man in the city who had agreed to help in the prince’s assassination? And where was the intel linking the right people to the crime?

  The camera footage from the hospital arrived. He phoned Monica, who was probably napping, but she’d want the info.

  “What’s happening?” The words were muffled from her obvious dreamworld.

 
“First off, Youssof died before noon. Richardson and another agent were there to see him at ten thirty. He was already unconscious.”

  “Some will view him as better off. But he might have survived and chosen to use his mind and heart for a noble purpose.” She sounded more awake. “I’m a hopeful kinda gal.”

  More like she was complicated.

  “Kord, hold on while I check CIA updates.”

  He heard a shuffle. “Aren’t you supposed to be recuperating, which means staying in bed?”

  “The mind never shuts down, and the IV pole has wheels. Fatima turns off my phone once I go to sleep.”

  “Should I come up there?”

  “It’s the women’s quarters, remember?”

  He chuckled.

  “Finally,” she said. “Jeff sent us something we can use. I’m sending it to you so we can discuss it together. Oh, you’ve sent me camera footage.”

  “We have time to discuss both.” Pics sailed into his phone. “Got ’em.”

  “Youssof and Malik in Baghdad,” she said. “And look at the time stamp.”

  “So what were they doing in Baghdad?”

  “A question for Malik. Look at the men’s body language. Youssof’s shoulders are back. No strain in facial muscles. Definite lack of intimidation.”

  “Cousin-to-cousin conversation or instructions about a conspiracy?” he said.

  “One of them or another person has computer knowledge.”

  “Youssof hinted toward Parvin being set up, and he confessed to planting the virus in Prince Omar’s phone. What if he planted evidence in her apartment to incriminate the Iranians so the Saudis would look innocent?”

  “The Iranian government has denied any knowledge, but they wouldn’t admit to a crime that could destroy them,” she said.

  Neither said the obvious of the shadow that hung over their country if they lost Saudi Arabia as an ally.

  “I wish I was overseas.”

  “We’d be dynamic.” He thought of Liam. “And the past would be behind us.”