Page 138 of High Treason
He even had two sets of security credentials.
A baby Glock with a silencer.
A bomb strapped under his shirt and vest.
And a dead-man switch in his left hand.
A foolproof plan was not easy, and his confidence had worn thin with past failures. For Parvin, he’d do this.
Jafar entered the men’s room not far from Prince Omar’s private suite, knowing the prince would leave for the bathroom at some point with only two bodyguards. He picked the lock of a built-in janitors’ closet and found a few cleaning supplies.
Within fifty minutes, the bodyguard Ali Dukali stepped into the men’s room. Jafar greeted him.
“Sir, this area must be cleared immediately by order of the rodeo management and HPD,” Ali said. “I’m in the company of a Saudi prince who is under tight security.”
Jafar stiffened his shoulders and swung into action. He added a limp to his stride, then pulled two signs that said Closed and placed them outside the entrances.
The men using the restroom finished and exited. When the areahad been vacated, Prince Omar entered with a phone in his hand. His features were drawn.
“I’m sorry, Amir,” Ali said. “We were all hopeful of Princess Gharam’s recovery.”
A second bodyguard offered condolences. The prince headed for the handicap stall. The others must not suit his royal blood.
“Perdone, señor.No clean there.” Jafar moved behind Ali, closer to the prince, reached up, and shoved a syringe into the bodyguard’s neck. He let go of the syringe, then grabbed his gun with the same hand. Ali struggled to yank it out, but the needle did its job and the big man fell. The second guard pulled his weapon, but Jafar fired into the man’s shoulder and turned the gun on Prince Omar. “Step into the stall or you’re a dead man.”
Jafar fumbled with his gun as he pulled out another syringe. He sent it into the second bodyguard’s neck.
Prince Omar lifted an arm, but Jafar slammed the butt of his weapon into the side of the prince’s head, hard enough to draw blood. The prince stumbled inside the handicap stall.
Jafar pulled the second volunteer badge, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a black T-shirt from inside his own shirt. “Your phone, now. Into these clothes and give me everything. One word, and it’s over.” Jafar showed his bomb strapped to his body and raised his left hand holding the dead-man switch. “I’m watching, Prince Omar.”
In less than forty-five seconds, the prince was ready. Jafar stepped on the prince’s phone, smashed it, and dropped the pieces along with the prince’s Saudi clothes into the trash. He yanked out paper towels and covered them.
“We’ll walk out together. You’ll not look at any law enforcement. One word, and the bomb goes off.”
Prince Omar didn’t utter a word.
KORD’S ATTENTION SWUNG UPand down the corridor. People walked by, but not the men he was looking for. He turned to Monica. “The prince received a phone call from the hospital and headed to the restroom. From there he’d find a private place to talk.” He touched his earbud. “Ali, everything okay?”
No response.
“Ali?” Kord broke into a run.
He hurried toward the restroom and Monica followed. Signs at both entrances indicated the facility was closed. Correct procedure for Ali and Wasi to clear the area. He entered with Monica on his heels. Ali lay facedown on the floor. He moaned and lifted his head. Wasi had a bleeding upper shoulder wound, and he looked unconscious.
“Find the prince,” Ali whispered.
“Where is he?” Kord bent to his side while Monica called 911 and checked Wasi.
“Don’t know. A man got me with a needle. I remember him pulling a weapon before I blacked out.”
Ali should be glad he was alive. Must not have been a big enough dose for such a huge man. “Did you recognize him?”
Ali rubbed the back of his neck. “From the size, could have been Jafar Turan. But he sounded like a Hispanic.”
“Another disguise,” Kord said.
Monica poked through the trash. “Prince Omar’sthobeandghutraare here.”
