Page 137 of High Treason
“Everything set?”
“Appears so. FBI has cameras positioned inside and outside the building. HPD is in place.”
She nodded. “If Jafar is here, he’ll be dodging security like his sister.”
White-jacketed caterers loaded a serving table with buffet warming trays filled with food. A chef examined a station where he would slice prime rib according to each guest’s specifications. A designated area contained traditional Middle Eastern foods. Another table held cold dishes, and still another had additional hot Texas favorites and breads. Nonalcoholic drinks were on ice. The aroma of freshly ground coffee swirled about the room. Certainly more food than the twenty guests would eat. Two rectangular tables, each large enough to serve twelve people, were covered in white linen, crystal, china, and more silver alongside the plates than she owned.
The elegance and wealth bothered her, especially when she’d seen starving nations. Shaking her head, she chose to dwell on the men enjoying every moment of the event. And keeping every person there safe.
Consul General Nasser al-Fakeeh and two of his bodyguards arrived. She hadn’t been aware of their invitations. But not surprised.
She joined Kord and Ali. “I’ll be in the background with you.” Premonition caused her to shiver. “I’m nervous.”
“I haven’t seen you so ... concentrated,” Ali said.
His description made her smile. Like she’d been condensed into a frozen orange juice can. “I’m worried I might miss something. Meds aren’t my best friend when I’m working.”
“You’re not alone,” Kord whispered. “None of us are once we accept God’s sacrifice.”
“You’ve found Jesus?”
“I have and will show you from this moment on.”
The sincerity in his voice shoved aside her doubts about his new faith.
Kord handed Ali an earbud. “This way the three of us can keep in touch on a separate network. I don’t trust anyone today.”
Within minutes, guests arrived. Oil oozed from the handshakes of those greeting the prince, well-known figures in Houston hailed for their contributions in keeping Texas floating above the prosperity of many other states.
Monica memorized every face. No one hostile or suspicious. Nothing spoken alerted her. Body language appeared appropriate. She’d maintain a watchful stance and do what she did best: look for a man—or a woman—who plotted murder.
After the meal, Prince Omar rose to give a short speech before the rodeo portion of the entertainment began. He lifted his arms, a figure of wealth and power, and reiterated a few of his statements from the previous press conference. “By cooperating together, we are the future. By sharing knowledge and resources, our countries can flourish while creating job opportunities for all our people.Please enjoy tonight’s rodeo. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to be a part of this event.”
The guests applauded, and she didn’t detect hostility. Prince Omar toured the tables and shook each man’s hand.
The meal concluded, guests mingled and the rodeo readied to start before the concert. Perhaps the prince’s goodwill intentions would continue. The world’s ability to shrink brought races and cultures into close quarters. Peace for all stayed on her heart. Definitely her prayer life would stay busy.
The rodeo began with cowboys riding broncs and bulls, marking up records and dollars, followed by a race of horses and wagons setting the stage for a glimpse of the Wild West. The next event brought schoolchildren into the arena along with several calves. Each child who caught a calf not only received the animal to raise but also secured an educational scholarship. All the while, her gaze darted about.
Exhaustion soon hit. Prince Omar said something to Kord, then left the box with Ali and Wasi.
Five minutes passed.
Then five more.
Monica joined Kord. “Where are Prince Omar, Ali, and Wasi?”
JAFAR STARED UPat the Ferris wheel at the rodeo. He’d prepared himself mentally for revenge in the death of his sister. He understood Parvin’s reasons for wanting to kill Prince Omar. Like every good Iranian, he hated the Saudis. Parvin was drawn into the assassination plot by the love of money and sweet words of devotion from Malik al-Kazaz. Jafar held back, not sure he wanted to get involved when so much could go wrong. To encourage his sister, he’d continued her training once she was in the US. Few knew of his skills obtained inside Iran as a dark agent.
Then Parvin was gunned down, and honor took over Jafar’s very being.
Youssof Dagher contacted him within minutes of her death. Together they’d bring down the woman who’d pulled the trigger and her FBI partner, then finish what Parvin started.
A smile tugged at his mouth. The US and Saudi Arabia were headed for historic disaster. Within a few short hours, Prince Omarwould be dead. The Saudis would sever ties with the US. No longer would the US have an ally in the Middle East, and Jafar intended to inflict all the damage possible and, if necessary, die a hero.
He and Youssof had designed a plan. The stupid Saudi had gotten caught up in his own ego and died. No matter. Jafar would now carry it out. Youssof had informed him of the prince’s rodeo event. They falsified gold volunteer badges, which made access to any part of the rodeo doable.
This afternoon he wore loose jeans and an oversize shirt to store needed items and a vest with his volunteer badge. To anyone who glanced his way, he looked like a Hispanic who was volunteering for the rodeo.
