Page 8 of High Treason
“Right. What else are you thinking?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I sense there’s more.”
“Are you a mind reader? That isn’t on your bio.”
“Intuitive. So, partner, what’s spinning in your head?”
She had a quirk or two. “If I were in Saudi Arabia, I’d be following up different leads. Prince Omar’s designs to negotiate with American oil and gas companies to lease oil reserves is a shrewd business move. Oil demands are declining, and better to conduct the business now than when the country has little choice.”
“How are the Saudi conservatives handling the leases?” Monica said.
Kord breathed in deeply. “They’re furious. They believe the oil reserves are given by Allah to the Saudis and therefore for the wealth of the kingdom. A dangerous move for Prince Omar and those who support him, but if the conservatives wanted the prince dead, they’d have made the attempt there.”
“The oil leases could get him killed,” she said. “Or one of Saudi Arabia’s spiderweb of enemies is using the controversy to eliminate him. Is he wanting the negotiations to be completed before the Offshore Technology Conference in May?”
“Most likely so. He’s on the roster for this year.”
“Why is Prince Omar the one escorting his mother instead of his father? Then he could tend to business while she received care.” When Kord didn’t respond, she dove in. “Is he using his mother’s medical condition as a smoke screen?”
“He’s keeping the media at bay.”
“How much are they aware of his plans?”
“Viewed as rumor. Fear missed Prince Omar’s DNA, and what happened today was unfortunate but not a barrier to his plans.”
“Before we check out the crime scene, I want to hear the reporter,” she said.
He couldn’t argue the point. Actually a good one. They clipped on their FBI IDs and moved to where a solemn-faced Hispanic woman took a deep breath before speaking into the live feed.
She repeated information that Monica and Kord had been briefed on. “Police officers and the FBI are combing the area for information leading to the sniper’s identity. No other details are known at this time.”
Neither Monica nor Kord said a word, instead continuing to the Frozen Rock, where a team of FBI agents were investigating the crime scene. Eeriness clamped on his heart, a vise of grief and dread.Zain had taken this same path earlier today. Nothing justified the murder of a good man.
One of the agents, a man with premature gray hair, recognized him.
“Davidson, you’re on this one?” the agent said.
He nodded. “Richardson, this is my partner, Monica Alden.”
Richardson reached out to take her hand. “We haven’t met. Keep this guy in line. He can be a maverick.”
She laughed, and Kord liked the sound. “I will,” she said. “Good to meet you.”
Kord got back to business. “Anything additional you can tell me?”
“Clean kill. Professional hit. You already know that. We’re looking for anything left behind.”
“I hear the shooter was across the street on the roof of the academic building at Paramount High School.”
“Take a look at this.” Richardson pointed to the hole in the glass door facing the parking area.
Kord followed the trajectory from where Zain had stood to the bullet lodged lower in the opposite wall of the store, an angle indicating the sniper had been positioned several feet away and higher at the high school. He should have concluded the sniper’s location this morning, but his attention had been diverted to the prince’s and his entourage’s safety.
“We dug a round out of this wall. It’s mangled, but I’d say possibly a .300 Win Mag.”
“Has security footage given us a lead?”
