Page 109 of High Treason
“Forget it. I have a law practice and a new girlfriend. Why the interest now?”
Great question. “To understand the dysfunction. Help them find quality of life.”
“Leave that to professional shrinks.”
He and Blake talked awhile longer about sports and the weather until they both grew tired of talking to a stranger.
Why had Kord chosen today to probe deeper into their parents’ lives? If he admitted the truth, it was more about wanting proof of God. His parents’ inability to handle a tragedy only left him feeling empty. The more he deliberated it, the more he felt like a kid wanting attention from Mom and Dad, embarrassed he’d wasted time on a hopeless cause. No one in this world looked out for another, unless they were trained.
KORD MET AGENT RICHARDSONin the waiting area of the ICU burn care unit. Together they walked to Youssof Dagher’s room. The man had also suffered multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and a concussion.
Kord turned to Richardson. “Thanks for joining me on this one.”
“Glad to. What’s the status on this guy?”
“Barely alive. Treating him with aggressive pain management. Awake but hasn’t spoken.”
“He’s in the best place for burn treatment.”
“His attitude might be the determining factor. Not much of a future for him,” Kord said. “An exchange of a hospital bed for a cell cot. And that’s if his cohorts don’t get to him first.”
“With the charges against him, why would he want to live?”
“We can try a few promises.”
“True. How’s Miss Alden?”
“Sleeping.”
“Will she be replaced?”
“Don’t think so. By the time I get back to the Saud home, she’ll be sprinting.”
“Impressive. Odd, I hadn’t met her before.”
“From the DC office. You’ve seen what we have of Youssof Dagher’s file?”
“Choice piece of work. Saudi living in Iraq and possibly working for the Iranians or Saudi conservatives in an assassination plot.”
“We’ll see if he’s ready to open up.”
The two agents showed their IDs to the officers guarding Dagher’s room and stepped inside. Screens beeped in time to the man’s heartbeat, displaying vitals and showing his oxygen levels. Two IV bags hung from a pole, providing antibiotics and fluids. Gauze covered some areas, while creams were spread over his exposed face and neck. Huge blisters and seared flesh were the biggest source of agony.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Dagher.” Kord closed the door. “We’re from the FBI, and we have a few questions about what led to your unfortunate accident. I’m Agent Davidson, and this is Agent Richardson.” He spoke Arabic. “I’m recording our conversation, so I encourage you to cooperate. Would you like to talk in English or Arabic?”
He glared at Kord from charred flesh, a body that would never be the same. Surprising he was alive.
Kord and Richardson grabbed chairs and set them on each side of the bed. “English is my preference,” Kord said. “Mr. Dagher, you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble. Illegally entering the US, attempted murder, resisting arrest, and more. We’d like to help.”
“No use for you,” the man whispered in English.
“That’s understandable, since you tried to kill my partner and me early this morning. But I’ll give you a pass on the murder charges in exchange for information.”
“Nothing.”
“Your address?”
“You’re FBI. You find out.”
