High Treason Read online

  A black man in his mid- to late thirties sat at a small table in the corner and sipped a double dry short. He’d spoken in a Nigerian accent, piquing her interest. The man’s cell phone rang, and he snatched it. Frowning, he spoke low. She scanned him for recognition while reading his lips.

  “I have no idea when he’s arriving, but he’ll have the rest of the money.” The man listened. “We have to be careful.” A tall black woman entered the café and seated herself beside him. He nodded and smiled. “I have to go. She’s with me now, and we’ll figure out how to surprise Father with a birthday party even if our brother doesn’t get here in time.”

  Monica’s cell phone vibrated twice, paused, then three more times, signifying a notification from her handler.

  “Lori, can you take over?”

  Her friend gave a quick nod. Without a word, she moved to the register. No questions asked. Monica had told Lori months ago when she was hired that personal family issues could demand her attention at any time. Yet Lori kept her employed at the coffee shop. With Monica’s commitment to the CIA, she was forced to lie to her family and friends, but the cover kept them safe. If the truth ever surfaced, the betrayal might destroy the relationships she treasured. Would they ever understand her commitment to keep their country safe?

  With no time to waste, she locked herself inside the restroom, knowing she had less than two minutes to read and respond. Her mental clock counted down to thirty seconds remaining. If she missed confirming the secure notice, it would repeat until she responded. A nagging headache didn’t help the urgency.

  Safe House ASAP

  OMW

  AT 12:30 P.M., Monica pressed on the radio in her car before she clicked her seat belt. News was her go-to station, and she wanted to know what stirred media juices in case it reflected on the reason she’d been contacted.

  “. . . tragic shooting this morning of Zain al-Qureshi, bodyguard of Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal. The victim was shot and killed at the Frozen Rock Ice Cream on Westheimer. He was part of a royal entourage that arrived from Riyadh earlier today. Investigators are on the scene. No arrests have been made.”

  The commentator moved on to sports, and Monica silenced the radio. Not good. The relationship between Saudi Arabia and the US didn’t need a weak link. Many of the Saudis, especially the conservatives, would want to hold the US responsible. Most likely why her handler wanted to see her ASAP.

  Within fifteen minutes, she’d parked her Honda three blocks away from a safe house east of the Galleria area.

  Before emerging from her car, she swallowed two Tylenol with half a bottle of water. Dratted headache attempted to distract her. For a moment, she admired the peaceful setting, basking in the tranquility as though it were sweet nectar, hoping it would chase away the pounding in her head. The weather had coaxed pink azaleas into bloom, and the lawns and shrubs wore a vibrant green like a new spring dress, fresh and welcoming after the sporadic rains.

  Danger often didn’t wear a disguise.

  She walked up the sidewalk to the traditional style, two-story faded brick home built in the eighties. A dog barked. A red cardinal called out from the top of an oak tree. A ten-year-old Ford sat in the driveway—no other vehicles in sight. Seemingly safe, yet her Smith & Wesson was a touch away in her shoulder bag.

  The CIA could send her anywhere. The assignment and the person or persons detailing it waited inside. She’d been at Coffee Gone Dark for over a year, longer than she’d been at any undercover job.

  A momentary snippet of doubt robbed her determination and caused her to tingle. She’d vowed not to allow the past to dictate the future.

  Monica rang the doorbell to the home where she’d find answers. The door opened slightly to reveal Jeff Carlton, her handler. Clad in his usual worn jeans and a black T-shirt with a sports jacket, he offered neither a smile nor a greeting but merely stepped aside for her to enter.

  He closed the door and she eyed him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you being all clandestine on me?”

  He smirked. “You have a new assignment.”

  Her heart sped. “What about the weapon sales to Boko Haram? We’re getting close to the dealer. She’s a regular at the café.”

  “This won’t take but a few weeks.”

  Logic told her she’d been working four months on arresting those responsible for illegal gun sales. Someone else could take a short-term assignment. Questions slammed against her mind, but she’d hold back until Jeff offered more information.

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “The info is in the kitchen.”

  Typical all-CIA Jeff. She followed him down a chipped, tiled hallway to a clean but dated kitchen in drab shades of brown and tan. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee met her nostrils—the kind that was ground, packaged, and set on a warehouse shelf for months.

  She hid her startle—Houston’s FBI Special Agent in Charge Ralph Thomas. He straightened after leaning over a glass-topped table beside a second man. At six foot three and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and conservative tie, he easily towered over her.

  Jeff led out. “I’ll get the intros out of the way before I explain why we’re here. Special Agent in Charge Ralph Thomas, I’d like for you to meet Operative Monica Alden.”

  He grasped her hand. “It’s a pleasure. Jeff has told me a lot about you. He speaks highly of your skills. Your exemplary record in the Middle East is why you’ve been asked here today.”

  A second man scooted back his chair and stood.

  “This is Special Agent Kord Davidson,” SAC Thomas said. “He works the terrorist division.”

  She did a quick once-over of the agent to note he was hostile. Unhappy about something. Clad in a navy-blue suit, he reached for her hand, but his dark-brown gaze, veiled in thick lashes, was icy.

  Jeff gestured to the table. “Have a seat, and we’ll get Monica up to speed. The FBI initiated this meeting, so SAC Thomas will conduct the briefing.”

  The only chair available closed the distance between her and the unhappy agent. A sneaking suspicion said they would be working together. She slid into place and focused on the FBI’s SAC.

  “You probably heard the news about a sniper taking out Zain al-Qureshi, one of Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal’s bodyguards.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Kord was with them. The Saudi prince arrived on his private jet early this morning. His plans are to oversee the care of his mother at MD Anderson. She’s suffering from an aggressive type of breast cancer and will be participating in a clinical trial. His sisters are also with him. Prince Omar has an agenda other than his mother’s health. He’s here to negotiate with oil and gas companies to lease Saudi oil reserves to Americans.”

  That was a significant step forward in Saudi and US relations. The White House had been holding meetings regarding business between the two countries. “Were threats made about the prince’s visit?” she said. “Specifically the opposition within Saudi Arabia concerning his business plans?”

  “Definitely. We haven’t detected an outbreak of violence here or a carryover from Saudi protests.”

  The incomplete information bothered her. Was this truly all they had? With the bodyguard’s assassination and no arrests, the US was embarrassed and had to regain its position in the international community. She gave SAC Thomas her attention. “Surely the CIA or FBI have leads. Could Iran, Syria, or ISIS be spearheading the assassination plot?”

  “All possibilities. Prior to his arrival, Prince Omar requested his friend Special Agent Kord Davidson for protection detail. Kord met him at Hobby Airport and joined the entourage. The prince brought eight bodyguards, three servants, one office staffer, two sisters, his mother, but neither of his two wives. Prior arrangements had been made for a 9 a.m. reservation at the Frozen Rock on Westheimer. There a sniper killed a bodyguard who looks like the prince. Which means his schedule was leaked.” He turned to his agent. “Kord, I’m sorry. I know you and Zain were fri
ends. The critical factor is an assassination took place on American soil, indicating a plot has Prince Omar’s name on it. It could also extend to his family. The prince has questioned our security methods and indicated a possible leak to the media about his arrival. Due to the serious ramifications of this issue going unresolved, I felt it was in the best interest of national security to bring in the CIA. We can’t lose Saudi Arabia as an ally.”

  Kord raised a brow. “I still question whether a task force is necessary.”

  Now she understood—Kord had a personal stake and wanted to handle the mission himself. Did he have a case of guilt in the bodyguard’s death? Later she’d offer condolences. Right now it would sound canned, non-caring.

  “The decision’s been made,” SAC Thomas said. “I requested an operative to work with you on this assignment. However, if you feel you cannot remain unbiased or work with the CIA, then I will replace you. We have a powder keg here, and a lit match just waiting to fall.” His silence punctuated the seriousness of the earlier tragedy.

  Kord bored his gaze into his boss’s face. “My allegiance has always been to the FBI and the United States. No one knows better than I do that the US is being held partially responsible.”

  Monica studied him. How did his priorities fit into his friendship with the prince?

  “You’ve stated Prince Omar is like a brother,” SAC Thomas said. “I’m concerned about your loyalty to him versus the United States. What if you learn info that’s contrary to the FBI mission and the good of the American people?”

  “I resent the implications. But for the record, I’d report the findings to you immediately.”

  “Thank you.” SAC Thomas turned to Jeff. “What would you like to add?”

  Jeff paced the small room. He looked like a scruffy-faced kid, but he had a mind like a roomful of computers. “Forming a protection task force is the best course of action to keep the prince and his guests safe while maintaining diplomatic relationships between the US and Saudi Arabia. The US needs them on our side, especially in view of the hostile forces in Iran.”

  “Has Prince Omar provided names for us to investigate?” she said.

  Agent Davidson gave stoic a new line in the dictionary. “If Prince Omar had a suspect, we’d all know about it.”

  Monica sorted through her intel and experiences in the Middle East. “Wouldn’t he want to change his plans, possibly have another male family member oversee the care and well-being of his mother while the prince handles business transactions from Saudi Arabia?”

  “He has a genuine concern for his mother,” Kord said. “And a desire for his country to grow economically. He’s chosen a face-to-face with oil and gas executives.”

  “That’s commendable. But what about the danger to himself and all those in his company?”

  “I’ve talked to the prince at great length about the danger of his staying. He claims running back home only postpones the reasons for his trip. And it doesn’t solve Zain’s murder. If you think about it, that’s why you’re here: to help oversee his protection.”

  If Agent Davidson’s words were intended to sting, he’d better brush up on his tactics. She held back a retort. Did he want to discuss the implications of losing Saudi Arabia as an ally?

  Monica wished she had the agent’s résumé and could speak to his expertise. “How long has the trip been public?”

  “Two and a half months,” Agent Davidson said.

  “Time to put an assassination attempt into action. Just as Prince Omar flew to the US, so can his enemies. We know it was a security leak from somewhere, whether the plot is based here or abroad.”

  “Operative Alden, you’re not as close to the situation as I am.”

  MONICA HAD ANGERED AGENT DAVIDSON with her perspective. Not a good idea when they would be working together. While SAC Thomas voiced a concern about Kord’s relationship to the prince, Monica viewed the connection as a plus. If the two men were like brothers, then Kord had gained the prince’s trust. She’d worked enough in the Middle East to understand trust held the most weight.

  “Agent Davidson, it’s not my intention to undermine your skills or your relationship with Prince Omar. Today has been filled with tragedy. I’m trying to compile information while looking at the current threat.”

  “Bringing you into a task force wastes time when the case is fresh,” Davidson said.

  “I’m a fast learner.” She poured pleasantries into her words with the realization he had already decided her help wasn’t an asset.

  Jeff stepped in. “Unfortunately, the prince’s agenda strays far from his mother’s health. My guess is his interests also include the purchase of another race car to add to his fifty-million-dollar hobby. Or acquiring another string of hotels. Benevolence tours have never fallen into his behavior patterns in the past.”

  “Take another look at the man,” Agent Davidson said. “I’ve found him honorable in his personal and professional dealings. Right now he’s grieving the loss of a good friend, and so am I. While I’m positioned to help protect Prince Omar, I’d rather be working on finding who murdered Zain.”

  Silence hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Monica waited for the varying personalities to simmer.

  “We all want the same thing,” SAC Thomas said. “Flying by the seat of our pants is not our preferred mode of operation. But until we have facts, all we can do is investigate and query informants. We have no idea who’s behind the plot, but we’re moving on it. Other agents are exploring any local leads, but you, Operative Alden and Agent Davidson, are assigned to the security detail. Kord will work as an assistant to the prince’s media secretary, Malik al-Kazaz, for US communications. Operative Alden, you’ll pose as Kord’s assistant. You now have credentials to show you’re FBI. Only Prince Omar knows your CIA status. Besides protection, you can be keeping an eye out for any internal leaks.”

  “I don’t need a partner.” Kord’s words rumbled low.

  Ego had roots in her new partner’s attitude. She’d have felt the same way. Almost a slap in the face that he wasn’t doing his job. She’d been there.

  “We’re all sweating this. Are you on board with Operative Alden, or do you want to be replaced?”

  Second time the question had been posed to him.

  Kord swung to Monica as though he were sizing up her potential as his partner.

  “What’s it going to be? I haven’t time to waste.”

  “I’m in.”

  Jeff faced the table. “You two can get started here. No time to waste. Kord, your car is parked two blocks south, and you will use it to transport Monica to the Saud family estate in River Oaks. Everything you need will be brought to you. Monica, your vehicle has been removed.”

  SAC Thomas handed her a copy of Prince Omar’s itinerary. His agent must already have one. “You’ve been given access to a secure site for all communications. I don’t care if the prince is heading to the bathroom, we want to know what he’s doing. Operative Alden, Prince Omar’s sisters may have info, and they’d be hesitant to talk to a man. Kord has Middle Eastern experience working undercover and has knowledge of the language, culture, and familiarity with the Saud family. Use it. Kord, your partner has completed two missions in Iran and one in Iraq. She speaks Farsi, Arabic, and Swahili. She has a photographic memory, reads lips, is a bomb expert, and is superior in pulling info from unsuspecting targets.”

  Jeff cleared his throat. “Nine months ago, Monica believed a terrorist planned to bomb the city’s underground tunnels and was right. We’d discounted the scheme while she pursued it.”

  Kord raised his right index finger. “The family has state-of-the-art security equipment ensuring the premises are protected. Have we detected any weaknesses within our control?”

  Jeff deferred to SAC Thomas. “You have that covered.”

  “It’s solid,” he said. “Not much we can do about preventing an attack via a drone.”

  SAC Thomas pulled two phones from his pocket and s
lid them across the table along with an ID naming Monica as FBI. “Use the FBI badges and IDs. Are there any questions before you two read the intel sent to your new secure phones? Kord, most of it is redundant.”

  “Will local agents be aware of a new agent bearing her name?” Kord said.

  “Have it handled,” SAC Thomas said.

  “How long will Prince Omar’s mother be here for treatments?” Monica said.

  “Approximately four weeks. If she survives.”

  She rose from the table. “I’d like to make a phone call to secure my cover. It should take all of five minutes.”

  “Go ahead,” Jeff said. “That has to stay intact.”

  Reaching inside her handbag, she pulled out her iPhone and listened to SAC Thomas talk to his agent before she left the room. “The urgency of a task force and the work ahead is your style. Behave yourself and get the job done.”

  “The prince will object to any American on his protective detail but me, especially a woman.”

  “It’s not your call.”

  MONICA TAPPED HER FOOT and waited for Lori to answer her cell phone at the Coffee Gone Dark café. The time registered at 1:35, and the shop didn’t close until 3 p.m. Few customers ventured in midafternoon, making the last hour easier to prepare for the following day.

  “How’s everything?” Lori said, a bit breathless.

  “Okay, I think. Were you running?”

  “Took a late delivery order and left my phone in the office. You didn’t answer my question.”

  A heavy shot of remorse hit her. “I’m going to be out of pocket for the next few weeks, maybe a month. I’m so sorry.”

  “Forget it. Don’t worry about your job. Take care of what’s pressing, and I’ll get my niece to fill in until you’re back.”