Page 58 of High Treason
Promises to secure her cooperation? “Has Malik asked you to do anything strange or unusual?”
“Only to keep our meetings secret.”
“Has he talked to you about his work for Prince Omar?”
“He enjoys his position as press secretary.”
“Any dislikes or what he’d like to see different in politics or specific reforms?”
Yasmine straightened. “He agrees with me that women need more rights.”
Again to draw her into his confidence? “Has he shared with you about his day-to-day duties?”
“I’ve heard one-sided conversations on his mobile phone. I found them fascinating. Just listening to Malik detail and arrange my brother’s schedule built my pride and love for him.”
“Give me an example,” Monica said.
Yasmine tilted her head. “Arranging speeches at home, times and such. Nothing about this trip.”
“Have you heard anything forbidden or frightening?”
“Not about Omar. In January, he traveled to Mosul in Iraq as a favor to his aging father. A distant cousin lived there and Malik was to persuade him and his family to return home. I feared for him. Too many enemies there. He was gone for ten days.”
“Why did the cousin live in Iraq?”
“I asked Malik the same thing. He told me his cousin had married an Iraqi woman, and his father forbade him to return home. Then his father died, and the family wanted him in Saudi Arabia.”
“Did he contact you during this time?”
“A few texts. Too risky for someone to intercept the call. But he was successful in bringing his cousin and his family to Riyadh.”
Yasmine’s story matched what Kord had texted her. “What do you know about the family?”
“The cousin’s name is Rashid Dagher, and he’s a baker. He has an Iraqi wife, three daughters, and one son. All living in Riyadh.”
One thing about Malik sounded amiss—his lack of discretion. Both gave her spirit caution. Monica wanted everything available about the cousin, a man who had lived outside his country where it was potentially dangerous.
She stood and walked to a window. When assured no cameras were in sight, she typed into a secure site and requested a background and photos for Rashid Dagher and his family.
FROM THE FRONT PASSENGER SEATof the limo, Kord stretched to see the shadowed, empty street ahead through the blinding rain. Wasi drove with the same frown he wore every day. At the moment, his look fit. Rain attacked the windshield while the wipers swiped back and forth at lightning speed. The gush of tires moving forward through high water had the six men in Prince Omar’s limo quiet. Or maybe it was the seriousness of taking Malik in for questioning. If any doubt of Malik’s innocence surfaced, the bodyguards would slit his throat.
They’d barely driven to Paramount High School, and memories of watching Zain die played out in Kord’s mind. He assumed the crime replayed in the other men’s too.
Kord reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his weapon. If they were being followed in the torrential rain, the outcome could be ugly. The windows were bulletproof but not bomb resistant.
“I want to know about anything suspicious,” he said. “Hard to see a tail in the rain.”
Prince Omar no longer used his original cell phone, so if attacked, the theory about his phone being infected with a virus might not hold ground, or in this case water.
Kord caught sight of a barricade ahead. Lights flashed, and two emergency trucks were parked to aid those stranded. “Don’t attempt to go through.”
Wasi stopped the vehicle. Even so, the water outside was nearly knee-deep. He placed the limo in reverse and slowly made it back to higher ground. Still the water rose steadily, and none of the streets looked any better. Kord pulled up his phone for weather info, and the dismal report cast doubts of making it to the FBI building on Highway 290. No signs of rain ending and flash flood warnings in low-lying areas.
Kord phoned SAC Thomas and explained the problem.
“The streets are impassable from that part of town,” the SAC said. “Hold on to your man for a few hours.”
If Malik survived until then. “There’s a helicopter pad at the property.”
