Page 35 of High Treason
The white-haired man grimaced. “As well as can be expected. The surgery and clinical test is her last chance to lengthen her life. The prince said longevity is more important to her than quality, and her condition grieves him.”
“I have no idea how I’d feel in her position. Has to be different for each person. The doctors here have worldwide distinction for their success in treating her type of cancer. I hope they can bring her and the prince promising news. Strength and optimism are a disease’s enemy.”
Consul General al-Fakeeh stared at the descending elevatornumbers. “I understand she doesn’t know about the threats to the amir, only about Zain’s death. She expressed her sorrow in the loss.”
“Princess Gharam is an intelligent woman. I’m sure she’s aware of danger wherever the royal family travels.”
He turned to Kord. “For his own safety, the amir must return home and allow another family member to oversee her care.”
How well Kord knew Prince Omar’s stubborn stance. “I’ve tried, sir. But he insists on fulfilling his responsibility.”
“I gave him my most convincing speech while you were on the phone this morning.”
“And?”
“He believes the attempt is for any male member of the Saud family, and he refuses to subject others to an assassin’s hand. He also has business matters, but I have no idea what.”
“Noble but deadly.” Kord carefully worded his thoughts. “Has he mentioned a name?”
Consul General al-Fakeeh said nothing.
“I can’t help the prince if I don’t have a suspect.”
“He hasn’t mentioned anyone specifically. My plans were to persuade him to listen to reason. For now he has this appointment with Princess Gharam’s doctor. He assured me we’d talk soon. But each moment that passes, I’m fearful for his safety.”
“I understand.”
The elevator door opened, and the consul general’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “My office. I’d better take this. Kindly wait for me, as I have another matter to discuss with you.”
Kord waited in the foyer while Consul General al-Fakeeh strolled about twenty feet away with his bodyguards. What was on the man’s mind? Had the prince said more in Kord’s absence? Moments later, he returned, his face a mass of lines.
“Are you all right?” Kord said.
“No.” He shook his head. “My original driver was found dead. His replacement must be an impostor. Call the police.”
“Usher the consul to hospital security,” Kord said to the two bodyguards while pressing in 911. “One of you alert security. We need HPD.” He hurried through the hospital entrance, quickly spotting the limo. Kord approached the driver, an olive-skinned man wearing an expensive suit that appeared tailor-made—more reason to suspect a considerable amount of money had been tossed at this plot. A beard, kaffiyeh, and sunglasses completed his appearance. Kord noted the gloves, no fingerprints.
The driver eyed him and hurriedly slid inside the limo.
Kord raced toward him. “Stop! FBI.” He pulled his weapon.
The man sped east on Holcombe, tires squealing into traffic. Kord fired into the passenger-side window, making a dent in the glass. He’d banked on the limo not being bulletproof. Fat chance.
He fired several more shots. The vehicle disappeared through a red light. Horns blowing. Brakes protesting.
An HPD vehicle sped around traffic after the limo, and it too vanished.
Kord clenched his fist. Prince Omar originally intended to accompany the consul general to his office. The mole must be one of the bodyguards or house staff. Who? And why?
Monica heard multiple police sirens outside the hospital. A normal occurrence, but caution moved her to contact Kord.
She touched her earbud and brought the mic on her wrist to her mouth. “Everything okay?”
“Had a close call with Consul General al-Fakeeh. I’ll be there in a few.”
“What happened?”
“His replacement driver could be our sniper.”
