Page 3 of High Treason
She walked up the sidewalk to the traditional style, two-story faded brick home built in the eighties. A dog barked. A red cardinal called out from the top of an oak tree. A ten-year-old Ford sat in the driveway—no other vehicles in sight. Seemingly safe, yet her Smith & Wesson was a touch away in her shoulder bag.
The CIA could send her anywhere. The assignment and the person or persons detailing it waited inside. She’d been at Coffee Gone Dark for over a year, longer than she’d been at any undercover job.
A momentary snippet of doubt robbed her determination and caused her to tingle. She’d vowed not to allow the past to dictate the future.
Monica rang the doorbell to the home where she’d find answers. The door opened slightly to reveal Jeff Carlton, her handler. Clad in his usual worn jeans and a black T-shirt with a sports jacket, he offered neither a smile nor a greeting but merely stepped aside for her to enter.
He closed the door and she eyed him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you being all clandestine on me?”
He smirked. “You have a new assignment.”
Her heart sped. “What about the weapon sales to Boko Haram? We’re getting close to the dealer. She’s a regular at the café.”
“This won’t take but a few weeks.”
Logic told her she’d been working four months on arresting those responsible for illegal gun sales. Someone else could take a short-term assignment. Questions slammed against her mind, but she’d hold back until Jeff offered more information.
“What else can you tell me?”
“The info is in the kitchen.”
Typical all-CIA Jeff. She followed him down a chipped, tiled hallway to a clean but dated kitchen in drab shades of brown and tan. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee met her nostrils—the kind that was ground, packaged, and set on a warehouse shelf for months.
She hid her startle—Houston’s FBI Special Agent in Charge Ralph Thomas. He straightened after leaning over a glass-topped table beside a second man. At six foot three and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and conservative tie, he easily towered over her.
Jeff led out. “I’ll get the intros out of the way before I explain why we’re here. Special Agent in Charge Ralph Thomas, I’d like for you to meet Operative Monica Alden.”
He grasped her hand. “It’s a pleasure. Jeff has told me a lot about you. He speaks highly of your skills. Your exemplary record in the Middle East is why you’ve been asked here today.”
A second man scooted back his chair and stood.
“This is Special Agent Kord Davidson,” SAC Thomas said. “He works the terrorist division.”
She did a quick once-over of the agent to note he was hostile. Unhappy about something. Clad in a navy-blue suit, he reached for her hand, but his dark-brown gaze, veiled in thick lashes, was icy.
Jeff gestured to the table. “Have a seat, and we’ll get Monica up to speed. The FBI initiated this meeting, so SAC Thomas will conduct the briefing.”
The only chair available closed the distance between her and theunhappy agent. A sneaking suspicion said they would be working together. She slid into place and focused on the FBI’s SAC.
“You probably heard the news about a sniper taking out Zain al-Qureshi, one of Saudi Prince Omar bin Talal’s bodyguards.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Kord was with them. The Saudi prince arrived on his private jet early this morning. His plans are to oversee the care of his mother at MD Anderson. She’s suffering from an aggressive type of breast cancer and will be participating in a clinical trial. His sisters are also with him. Prince Omar has an agenda other than his mother’s health. He’s here to negotiate with oil and gas companies to lease Saudi oil reserves to Americans.”
That was a significant step forward in Saudi and US relations. The White House had been holding meetings regarding business between the two countries. “Were threats made about the prince’s visit?” she said. “Specifically the opposition within Saudi Arabia concerning his business plans?”
“Definitely. We haven’t detected an outbreak of violence here or a carryover from Saudi protests.”
The incomplete information bothered her. Was this truly all they had? With the bodyguard’s assassination and no arrests, the US was embarrassed and had to regain its position in the international community. She gave SAC Thomas her attention. “Surely the CIA or FBI have leads. Could Iran, Syria, or ISIS be spearheading the assassination plot?”
“All possibilities. Prior to his arrival, Prince Omar requested his friend Special Agent Kord Davidson for protection detail. Kord met him at Hobby Airport and joined the entourage. The prince brought eight bodyguards, three servants, one office staffer, two sisters, his mother, but neither of his two wives. Prior arrangements had been made for a 9a.m. reservation at the Frozen Rock onWestheimer. There a sniper killed a bodyguard who looks like the prince. Which means his schedule was leaked.” He turned to his agent. “Kord, I’m sorry. I know you and Zain were friends. The critical factor is an assassination took place on American soil, indicating a plot has Prince Omar’s name on it. It could also extend to his family. The prince has questioned our security methods and indicated a possible leak to the media about his arrival. Due to the serious ramifications of this issue going unresolved, I felt it was in the best interest of national security to bring in the CIA. We can’t lose Saudi Arabia as an ally.”
Kord raised a brow. “I still question whether a task force is necessary.”
Now she understood—Kord had a personal stake and wanted to handle the mission himself. Did he have a case of guilt in the bodyguard’s death? Later she’d offer condolences. Right now it would sound canned, non-caring.
“The decision’s been made,” SAC Thomas said. “I requested an operative to work with you on this assignment. However, if you feel you cannot remain unbiased or work with the CIA, then I will replace you. We have a powder keg here, and a lit match just waiting to fall.” His silence punctuated the seriousness of the earlier tragedy.
