Page 67 of High Treason
Monica bit her tongue. The intricately designed scheme hadwell-plottedstamped on it—and Middle Eastern money, in her opinion.
“The driver spoke English when Ali questioned him in Arabic,” Kord said.
Reality swirled in her stomach. Today had come dangerously close to the enemy claiming victory. The driver had failed but for certain he had plans B and C with every detail covered.
“How was the original driver injured? A blow to the head?” she said.
“No, ma’am. I’ve been told a medically induced coma.”
“Probably a barbiturate.” She’d contact Jeff at the next possible moment. Her handler had a way of pulling facts from thin air.
Ali interrupted her thoughts with his announcement of her heroism. “Miss Alden disarmed the bomb or we’d all be dead.”
She sensed Prince Omar’s gaze. Dare she be Western and give him eye contact, or should she avoid those dark pools of power and age-old culture? She chose the latter, feeling God wanted her testimony to be respectful.
“Miss Alden, I sincerely appreciate your contribution to saving lives today. My family is indebted to you,” he said. “Later, we should discuss other matters.”
A nudging in her spirit told her two things—she’d succeeded in gaining his favor, and he’d overheard the earlier conversation with Fatima and Yasmine. The prince would have questions, and she hoped none of them dealt with Liam.
Within the hour, Monica had identified the coma-inducing drug used against the food-service driver—injected pentobarbital. The original driver was a naturalized Iranian, been in the US for sixteen years. No priors or ties to terrorists. She wanted to talk to him, but her duties stayed intact at the Saud home.
Jeff offered to patch her and Kord into an FBI interview with the driver at the hospital. She connected to the video feed while Kord watched the interview with Prince Omar in the prince’s office.
“While I was leaving the warehouse parking lot, a car pulled in front of me so I couldn’t move. A short, round man wearing a ball cap and sunglasses exited and approached me. Beard too. He smiled and waved. He said he needed directions and had a hearing problem. That’s when I saw his car, a Honda.”
“Did he speak English?”
“Farsi.”
Was the man they were seeking Iranian?
“Did you see the license plate?”
“No, sir. But I do remember a huge dent on the passenger side of his car.” He paused as though trying to recall any details. “I got out of my van. It happened so fast. He stuck a needle into my neck. That’s all I remember until I woke up here.”
“Had you seen the man before?” a female FBI agent said.
“No, ma’am.” Tight facial muscles.
“Can you give us more of a description?”
“He was Iranian like me.”
“Could you identify the man in a lineup?”
“Not sure. But I’d try. Don’t you have people who can draw a picture of what I remember?”
“We do, and we value your help.”
When the interview ended, Monica closed her eyes. She’d not seen the potential bomber to recall his identity, her one trait that had raised her status for this mission. The Iranian driver could have been victim number four. Her phone rang, and as she expected, it was Kord.
“Not much to go on, but the assailant’s description is similar to the man who posed as the consul general’s limo driver outside MD Anderson.”
“Kord, the two men have different body shapes, but I agree he can’t conceal his height unless he wears platform shoes. Is the driver alive because of his nationality or is he lying?”
“I requested a surveillance team.”
“And I’ll see if there’s anything hiding in his background.” She saw the hour approached 3:30. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes. Has SAC Thomas questioned Malik about the bomb?”
