Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  Not trusting this situation entirely, Harris tested him. “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “About half as long as it took you,” the man answered.

  It was the test question for this mission, and the man had answered correctly. Tension unwound from Harris’s shoulders. “Why the theatrics? If I was seen getting taken from the souk, it would be hard to explain this.”

  The man waved his hand. “No one saw us, but I am sorry about their approach. We have private military contractors working with us, and they err on the side of aggression. They treat everyone like an enemy and trust no one.”

  Harris had to trust this man understood the politics in Qamsar better than he did. “I didn’t realize we had anyone else on the inside.”

  The man reached into a minifridge and pulled out a can of soda. He tossed it to Harris. “I was late to the game. I managed to get invited to the wedding due to my connections with Aisha, the emir’s bride. Her brother and I were old friends from grade school, and haven’t been in touch in a decade and a half.”

  Which raised more questions than it answered. “Then why did we need to use Laila to get inside?”

  The man gestured for Harris to sit on the edge of one of the beds. Given the smell and look of the room, Harris preferred to stand.

  “She’s part of the royal family. She’s an insider. Besides, this mission is too critical to put it on the shoulders of one person. You aren’t as experienced with the agency as I am, and we never planned this mission to be worked from only one angle,” he said. “By the way, you can call me Devon.”

  The CIA hadn’t trusted Harris enough to tell him about the players on this mission. They’d led him to believe he and Laila were the only ones in the emir’s compound looking for Al-Adel. “I have questions.” A lot of questions, but he guessed he wouldn’t get many answers. Everything he wanted to know would be classified as “need-to-know,” and Harris was someone who didn’t.

  “We can exchange information, but I don’t want to disappoint you. I’ve got intel, but it might not be what you’re seeking.” With that, he sat once more in the plastic chair.

  “Tell me what you know about the captured American,” Harris said.

  Devon took a sip of his soda. “We’re working on that one. Tricky business.”

  “Then it wasn’t a bluff by the emir?” Harris asked. Part of him had been hoping the captured American was a ruse, a warning to the guests who might have been approached by other international police and criminal investigation agencies for information.

  “We know he was working inside the compound gathering intelligence. He’d been employed by one of the vendors handling the emir’s wedding and was undercover as a caterer or waiter. He was discovered by his employer and turned over to the emir.”

  “How many of us are there?”

  “That’s the part that makes this confusing. We believe he’s American, as does the emir, but he isn’t one of us, and we don’t know what agency sent him,” Devon said. “We’re working to find out if he is still alive and, if so, his condition.”

  “Back up a minute. Not one of us?” Harris asked, thinking it over. If he wasn’t CIA or FBI, who was he, and what was he doing working this operation? Perhaps he was a spy from another country.

  “We’re thinking he’s black ops and either works for a part of the government that doesn’t exist,” Devon said, finger quoting the words doesn’t exist, “or he’s some other operative altogether. Either way, we can’t leave him inside. We need you to press Laila for information about where he is. He isn’t being held in the prison in Qamsar. We need to know where else the emir might hold prisoners.”

  “When I spoke to her about this, she didn’t know anything,” Harris said. Laila had been as worried as him. “And if he works for another agency, how do you know they aren’t staging a rescue mission?”

  “We don’t. We have many questions and few answers. We need Laila. She might hear rumors. The women in the compound are much chattier than the men. Or Laila might be able to talk to her brother or Aisha and find out more information,” Devon said.

  Harris wouldn’t throw Laila in harm’s way. She was helping him get inside the emir’s circle to look for Al-Adel, not rescue the captured American. If asking too many questions put her in danger, he’d get the information some other way. “You’re willing to put a civilian in the middle of this?” Harris asked.

  Devon shrugged. “We’ll do what’s needed.”

  Cold. Devon wasn’t the first CIA agent he’d encountered with that attitude. It surprised him the CIA was willing to go out on a limb to help someone who wasn’t their own. He had a feeling Devon was withholding information. “Why do you care so much about this American?” Harris had to know the stakes.

  “He knows something, and we need to find out what it is,” Devon said. “Otherwise he would have been expelled from the country, not jailed. He’s being kept for a reason.”

  Then it wasn’t a humanitarian mission. It wasn’t in the name of the American spirit that the CIA wanted to free the jailed American.

  Harris could ask around and keep his ears open for rumors. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I know you placed the devices. Nice job,” Devon said.

  “I was late.” Harris told Devon about what he’d heard while outside Mikhail’s private quarters and his suspicions that the man had been either Al-Adel or from Al-Adel’s terrorist group. He left off the part about kissing Laila and holding her in his arms. The CIA didn’t need to know about that.

  “But you didn’t see the man the emir met with?” Devon asked.

  “No,” Harris said.

  “Was that because you were distracted by Laila?”

  A direct question. He had been distracted. But even if he had been alone in that closet, he wouldn’t have revealed his presence to get a look at the emir’s counterpart. “I didn’t see the man because the emir’s return was unexpected, and we had to hide.” He worked to keep defensiveness from his tone.

  “You’re looking out for Laila. That’s good. Just don’t look out for her so well that you miss what’s happening around you.”

  “I haven’t missed anything,” Harris said. He hated that Devon’s words had introduced doubts. How much did Devon know about his last operation with the FBI? Did Devon know that Cassie had almost gotten him and his team killed? If he did, he had to also know that Harris had learned his lesson. He was focused on this mission. Nothing would sway him from their objectives.

  “Has Laila told you anything about her family that would help us? Anything that ties the royal family to the Holy Light Brotherhood?” Devon asked.

  Harris didn’t realize the CIA thought Laila knew anything. His defensive response rose and he tempered it. Laila was rapidly becoming special to him, but he understood the boundaries. If she knew something critical, they needed to hear it. “I haven’t asked her anything directly, and she hasn’t mentioned anything I found relevant to this operation. Do you need me to ask her something specific?”

  Harris would ask Laila whatever they wanted. She wasn’t involved in anything untoward. She was as innocent as the word.

  “We don’t believe she or her mother are involved in Mikhail’s relationship with Al-Adel. They aren’t part of the emir’s innermost circle and likely not privy to his dealings with the Holy Light Brotherhood.”

  Did Devon know anything about Saafir’s connection to the Holy Light Brotherhood? “What about his brother? What is Mikhail’s relationship with Saafir?” Harris asked.

  Devon tilted his hand back and forth. “Not great. They get along in public, but they keep their distance in private. They are different in their goals for the country and their methods of handling people. Saafir has a soft side. Mikhail seems to have callused his.”

  Had that changed? Perhaps Saafir and Mikhail had grown closer and were working together toward a common goal. Without more evidence, Harris wouldn’t make an accusation against Saafir, but the nag
ging suspicion remained. “Laila and I saw a book in Mikhail’s library with the Holy Light Brotherhood insignia on the front. The book mentions Saafir. I took a few pictures and passed them on.”

  Devon’s eyebrows shot up. “No one mentioned them to me. Is he in this with his brother?”

  Harris wasn’t the only operative given incomplete information. “I don’t know. I don’t think Laila believes so.”

  Devon nodded. “What do you believe?”

  “She’s a good judge of character, but she’s not objective. I’m not ruling anything out. What about our primary objective? Anything more on that?” Harris asked. As far as he knew, Al-Adel hadn’t been seen on the premises. Perhaps intel had picked up his movements elsewhere in the country.

  “With the devices in place, we’re checking the video consistently. We haven’t given up on the idea that he’ll show.”

  “Intel doesn’t have anything more recent on his movements?” Harris asked.

  “Nothing in two weeks. He’s been quiet. Nothing on the wires and nothing from our assets,” Devon said. He shifted in his chair. “Let me level with you. This is your first CIA mission. It’s easy to get overwhelmed. Some think you might not pull this off. That you’re too softhearted to use whatever means necessary to get the information.”

  Harris squashed the urge to disagree immediately. He had a reputation within the Bureau for working well with victims and witnesses, for being good at sympathizing. He could do his job and be human about it. “I know what the situation calls for, and I know what is and isn’t appropriate.”

  Devon ran his palm over his jawline and appeared skeptical. “When you’re deep undercover, it’s easy to forget. I’ve seen Laila. She’s a beautiful woman. I don’t want you to make a mistake with her that will damage your reputation. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. Guy meets a pretty asset, starts to have feelings for her and then when it’s time to get the intel or uncover a rat, they hesitate in order to protect the pretty asset.”

  Laila’s face sprang to mind. Laila was a charming woman. He didn’t bother denying it. He was attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? Her innocence was refreshing, and her intelligence intriguing. “She and I are working well together. Our cover hasn’t been blown, and part of that is because we make a believable couple. I have no reason to suspect Laila is involved with Al-Adel or the Holy Light Brotherhood. But if anything turns up that she’s involved, I won’t protect her. I know what my job is.” He spoke the words with confidence. Laila hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t involved with Al-Adel.

  “Just don’t make your affair with her too believable and get sucked in,” Devon said.

  “I won’t. I’ve got this under control,” Harris said. He’d learned his lesson. Relationships and covert operations didn’t mix. Yet his reaction to her name told him that his control was precarious and could easily slip from his grasp.

  * * *

  Laila hadn’t spent time with her dear cousins in too long. The henna ceremony was a wonderful place for the women in her family to get together, gossip and catch up on their lives. Men were excluded from the treatment area since hands and feet were bared.

  More than one woman her age was pregnant, some with their third or fourth child. They were making their arranged marriages work. Had she been too hasty in writing off the idea of an arranged marriage? In many ways it was simpler. Fewer emotions were involved, less confusion, not so many decisions. And less room for errors, like errors involving kissing a man she had no future with.

  Before coming to America, Laila had wanted to be married to someone her family approved of. Now she wanted both that and to marry someone who made her feel the way Harris did. Exhilarated. Hot. Achy. Alive.

  Aisha’s hands and feet were being decorated, and several other henna artists were working on the bride’s and groom’s families.

  Laila waited for her turn, sitting between her mother and her cousin Betha. Betha, six months pregnant, was glowing with happiness and excitement. She was also the biggest gossip in the family, and Laila knew she was about to get an earful.

  “Laila, tell me about this German man who’s courting you,” Betha said, leaning close but not lowering her voice.

  Laila could have sworn every ear within ten feet perked at Betha’s words.

  With her mother’s eyes and a dozen ears pinned on her, Laila struggled to remember her lies. She took a deep breath and felt her cheeks heating. She hadn’t expected the blunt question. Lying when put on the spot was harder than Laila had imagined.

  “Oh, she’s blushing! She’s in love,” Betha said, clapping Laila on the back and giving her a hug.

  Laila glanced at her mother. Iba’s face didn’t give away much of a reaction. What was her mother thinking? Was she disappointed? She’d been polite to Harris when they’d had breakfast that morning and had seemed pleased by his gift. Was she worried her daughter was making a mistake? Laila wished she could tell her mother the truth. She reassured herself it was only a matter of time. When she and Harris came clean, her mother would understand why she had lied, and why she had brought Harris to Qamsar. If Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, he needed to be stopped. Finding a terrorist and protecting her country was worth causing her mother some worry about Harris.

  “We met at the coffeehouse near my school,” Laila said. How could she change the subject? Didn’t they have wedding things to discuss?

  “Did he ask you on a date? What did you tell him?” Betha asked.

  Part of her interest was probably in the cultural differences, and how she and Harris were handling them. Mentioning in front of everyone that her relationship beliefs were evolving and changing didn’t seem smart at the moment. “I told him the truth. I had a different idea about dating than he did, and if he wanted to see me, he needed to be serious about courting me, and he had to speak to my uncle and meet my family.”

  “He didn’t turn away and run?” Betha said. “I knew I would marry Abdul from the time I was five years old, and until the day before our wedding, he still broke out in a sweat whenever he saw me.”

  The women laughed. Good. Maybe they would talk about something else. Share their stories of commitment-phobic men.

  “If he was willing to come to the emir’s wedding and meet your family, he must be serious about you,” Betha said.

  Darn. Not as easy as she’d hoped. “He wants the same things I do. A family and a stable home.” Laila glanced at her mother. Still showing no reaction, she was watching and listening. “His family owns a shipping company in Germany, and that could be a match Mikhail approves of. It could help the country to have access to quality import and export services.”

  Iba stroked Laila’s head. “That’s my daughter, thinking like a businessman.”

  “But she’s right, Aunt Iba,” Betha said. “The emir likes to have business ties within the family. That could win him over. You know, since Harris isn’t Muslim.” Count on Betha to speak the honest answer.

  “Yet,” Laila said. “He’s converting.” She felt as if she’d spoken the lie a hundred times since arriving in Qamsar. Why couldn’t she just tell the truth? She didn’t care what Harris believed in, as long as he believed in her.

  The women around them nodded their approval.

  “What does Noor think of this?” Betha asked. “He thought he would claim his bride when you returned home. Imagine when you showed up with another man!”

  Laila repressed the shudder than went through her. She’d worried Mikhail would think to pair her with Noor, and hearing it confirmed, she felt as if she’d dodged a bullet. Not only was Noor one of Mikhail’s best friends, he was a mean little troll to the women in his life. He was even nasty to his own mother. “I haven’t seen Noor or spoken to him since I arrived. Harris hasn’t spoken to Mikhail yet, so we’ll see. I’m waiting for him to speak with my family before I start making plans for the future.” It hurt to speak the words, hurt knowing she wouldn’t have a future with Harris or anyone else, until s
he was settled in America and could figure out what to do.

  Laila wanted to move the conversation along to other topics. She lowered her voice, keeping the conversation as close to her and Betha as possible. “I think it’s more scandalous that an American is being held for spying. How ridiculous! Spying on what? Someone’s wedding?” Laila laughed, pretending to be unaware of Mikhail’s association with a suspected terrorist. Was the rumor mill churning with information?

  “I heard the Americans sent a spy to look into the guests at the wedding. They are looking for a wanted criminal,” Betha said in a near whisper.

  She had it partly true. “With the security Mikhail has on this place? He’s not letting any criminals sneak inside and ruin his wedding,” Laila said, trying to prod her cousin for more information.

  “What if the person the Americans are looking for is an invited guest?” Betha asked, leaning close, her eyes glimmering with excitement.

  She had more to tell. Laila needed to get it out of her without raising flags she was digging too deeply for information about topics she shouldn’t care about. “Powerful people associate with other powerful people,” Laila said. “If some of the men in attendance are of interest to America, I don’t find that surprising.”

  “I heard that the spy wasn’t executed because Aisha didn’t want it to mar her wedding week. But as soon as the ceremony and celebration end, Mikhail won’t wait,” Betha said.

  Aisha glanced in their direction at the sound of her name, casting them a curious look. If she had been closer and already not engaged in a conversation with other friends, she might have given her opinion on the matter. Had she heard what they were discussing or just her name?

  Laila’s heartbeat escalated. If Mikhail was planning to kill the American spy, they only had a few days to find and release him. “Mikhail might try to get information first. Find out if he knows anything useful,” Laila said.

  “No, Mikhail probably wants him dead before he can slip away and deliver information back to America,” Betha said.

  Implying the jailed American had discovered something that Mikhail didn’t want to get out. Laila and Harris had overheard Mikhail talking to someone in his office, perhaps someone in Al-Adel’s inner circle. What else had Mikhail done? Maybe he’d gotten in over his head, and the American spy had discovered a secret the emir wanted silenced.