Page 29 of High Treason
“But I’ve spoken to Omar, and he’s planning outings for us.”Yasmine’s voice grew shrill. “Must you always spoil things because you’re angry with our brother?”
Monica mentally highlighted the question.
Fatima rose from the elegant sofa. “Hush, Sister. Miss Alden dare not hear your immature whining. She is not one of us.”
“I apologize for upsetting you,” Monica said. “Can we enjoy our breakfast and each other’s company?”
“I think not.” Fatima whirled around and walked away. The door to her room slammed shut.
Monica questioned the anger again. “Yasmine, I’m sorry.”
“No need. She’s grieving a loss.”
“Your mother? MD Anderson is highly successful in treating cancer.”
“Another matter. She’s not happy one of Omar’s friends is here.”
“A bodyguard?”
Yasmine sighed.
“Who? Can I help?”
Yasmine moistened her lips and reached for a date. “Are your parents in the city?”
Maybe Yasmine would open up at another time. “They live in Ohio, as well as my four brothers.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes, but my work is here.” Or wherever the CIA sent her.
Yasmine chatted on about her brother assuring her of seeing the sights of the city. No more mention of Fatima.
The animosity between siblings raised some questions, but Monica doubted she’d get answers from Fatima. Last night, the older sister displayed hospitality and a willingness to help Monica dress appropriately. What happened between then and now?
Monica kept a pleasant demeanor intact. The problem lay with Kord. He’d neglected to tell her a few things about him and Fatima.
KORD QUESTIONED THE SURFACE TALKbetween Prince Omar and Consul General al-Fakeeh. Malik typed notes on an iPad while the two men discussed diplomatic relations between the two countries. All pleasant, as though for Kord’s benefit, which exasperated him. He wanted names and motive, not useless words.
“You’re aware of the changes to benefit our country. All will have a positive impact on every citizen,” Prince Omar said. “Education for women, less of a dependence on oil, and strengthening our military.”
The consul general frowned and reached for his coffee cup. “Be careful, Amir. There are those who prefer the old ways. I’ve heard rumors that you intend to lease Saudi oil reserves to Americans.”
“Who told you that?” the prince said.
“My sources.”
“Let me just say, my enemies are many, but they won’t succeed. I’ll inform you of any important business decisions. I ask that you come to me with any unconfirmed statements.”
World politics were unpredictable, with simmering disagreements between Saudi Arabia and those who wanted the country out of the hands of the Saud family. Kord lived with the burden of which country had designs to blow up another. Too many people had no thought of the innocent killed in the name of power and ideologies. A reason why he’d dedicated his life to protecting others from power-hungry predators.
Kord disagreed with many of the country’s practices, but Prince Omar knew and respected his beliefs—not a typical response from a man who lived and breathed his culture.
“Prince Omar,” Consul General al-Fakeeh said, “how can I help you with the attempts on your life?”
“Report every detail to me. Release a statement that indicates the killer has been arrested and is willing to give up all accomplices.”
Not a good idea, but first Kord would listen to the prince’s analysis of the situation.
