Seduced by His Target (18 page)

“They get security threats all the time,” Caldwell added. “That’s part of their life. They deal with it.”

“But what if the messages are a ruse? What if they’re trying to lead us away from the real threat at the reception?”

Caldwell rose. “Go get some sleep, Rasheed. Keep your eye on the terrorists and leave the al Kahtani woman to us. Like I said, the security team will do a sweep. They’ll try to make contact with her tomorrow night. If she wants out, we’ll get her out. That’s the best we can do.”

It wasn’t enough.

Scowling, Rasheed watched his boss work his way past a cluster of patrons and exit the restaurant. He had his orders. He needed to go back to the hotel and continue watching Amir and Manzoor.

Rising, he tossed his soda cup in the trash bin, then followed his boss into the night. He had his orders, all right. But he’d already failed one woman with deadly results. And he refused to do it twice.

* * *

Nadine’s mother hadn’t only been a courageous woman, she’d been a smart one. And now her intelligence might help save Rasheed’s life.

Nadine stuffed another pillow under her bed covers and bunched up the bedspread, then took a final glance around her room. The fire in the fireplace had died. The mantel clock struck three, its lilting chime loud in the silent night.

She knew she was taking a gamble. Her mother’s secret door led straight through her father’s bedroom where he was asleep. But she couldn’t afford to wait. She might not have another chance to get out. And the odds that Rasheed would try something dangerous mounted with every hour that passed.

Hurrying now, she crossed the room to the walk-in closet built into the common wall between the suites. She flicked on the light, grateful her father’s renovations hadn’t extended to the closet—or the small shelving unit that doubled as a hidden door. Her mother had named it
Bab irr
after a gate in ancient Aden, a gate the townspeople had opened only in emergencies. She’d used it to visit Nadine, bringing her food when she’d been punished, textbooks when her father had insisted that she stop studying and prepare for marriage instead.

Fighting back the memories, she found the key taped beneath the bottom shelf and unlocked the door, revealing the matching shelving unit on the opposite side. Even more cautious now, she cracked it open and listened hard.

The closet on her father’s side was the former nursery. When she’d gotten older, her mother had converted it into an elaborate dressing room. Unbeknownst to her father, she’d also installed the secret door. After her death, the maids had disposed of her shoes and clothes, using the huge space to store extra bedding instead. The door had remained concealed.

Sending her mother her silent thanks, Nadine crawled through the opening, then hurried through the dressing room to her father’s suite. The sound of snoring reached her ears, proof that he was still asleep.
So far, so good.

Praying that he wouldn’t hear her, she raced across the bedroom to the hallway door. The floorboards creaked. The snoring abruptly stopped, and she froze, terrified that he’d wake up. But after a second, the snores resumed. Her pulse going berserk now, she unlocked the door with a quiet snick and slipped outside into the hall.

She was free, thank God.

But she couldn’t breathe easy yet. She had to find the files Rasheed needed first. And she didn’t have much time. Careful to muffle her footsteps, she bolted down the hall to the back staircase and descended to the bottom floor. From there she cut through several rooms to the main block between the wings.

Several minutes later, she entered the study and closed the door. Still breathing hard, she made a beeline to the window and closed the blinds. Convinced that no one could see her, she snapped on a table lamp.

The low light pooled across the room. The study was a man’s domain with dark paneling, dark furniture and a dark-toned Persian rug. Dozens of photos of her father shaking hands with various dignitaries hung on the walls.

She set the timer on her watch and got to work, starting at his executive-size desk. A search of the drawers came up empty, which was no surprise. Her father was smart. He wasn’t going to make this easy by leaving an incriminating file lying around.

She turned on the computer next, but a password prompt came up. After trying various possibilities, she gave up and turned it off. Someone with computer expertise would have to tackle that. But she pocketed a dozen thumb drives on the off chance that they held a clue.

Rising, she studied the room, the quantity of built-in cabinets and cupboards daunting, given her lack of time. But Rasheed was depending on her to find evidence. Resolute, she worked her way clockwise around the room, searching the various drawers and shelves. An hour later, only the antique file cabinet remained.

Her heart sank when she opened the top drawer. There were hundreds of files, crammed together so tightly she could hardly pry one loose. It would take hours to check them all, far more time than she could spare.

Still, she thumbed through a couple of drawers before admitting defeat. She didn’t even know what to look for. And the chance of finding a folder conveniently labeled
hawala network
was nil.

But there was a file marked
Leila
in the bottom drawer. Curious, she yanked it free, then took it over to her father’s desk and spread it out.

The file contained various documents—Leila’s birth certificate, marriage certificate and social security card—fairly typical stuff. There was also what appeared to be a travelogue or itinerary of sorts. Surprised, she studied the list—places Leila had visited, bus and train rides she’d taken, hotels that she’d stayed in. But the more Nadine read, the odder the whole thing seemed.
They were all in Iran.

Was Sultan or her father having Leila followed? But that was ridiculous. Leila never went anywhere alone—let alone to Iran.

She opened a manila envelope next and leafed through the photographs inside. Some were photos of places—villages at the foot of mountains, a dry, high-altitude plateau. Others showed Leila shopping at a local bazaar and standing with people near village huts. The last item in the file was her passport—with entry and exit stamps from Iran.

Totally perplexed now, Nadine lowered herself into the nearest chair. What did this mean? It was true she hadn’t been around Leila in fifteen years, but her sister-in-law hadn’t changed that much. And she couldn’t imagine her traveling without Sultan—especially to Iran. And yet, Sultan didn’t appear in any of the photos. He wasn’t mentioned in the file. There weren’t any ticket stubs belonging to him.

Incredulous, she leaned back, trying to make sense of what she’d found. Leila had been born in Iran. She was an orphan, raised by a legal guardian, the same man who’d owed her father money and arranged the marriage to Sultan. Maybe these were her relatives. Maybe she’d made a trip to find her birth family. She could have been curious about her heritage or wanted to see her old guardian again.

Nadine took another look at the photos, but there was no family resemblance that she could see. And something else struck her as wrong. Leila wasn’t wearing a burka—and she was traveling in public, standing beside various men.

Stunned, she shuffled through the pictures again, the
wrongness
leaping out at her this time. These pictures couldn’t be real. There wasn’t a chance on earth Leila would have gone traipsing through a village in the Middle East, exposing her face to public view. Anyone who’d ever met her knew that.

Were these photos fakes? If so, they were high-quality work, for sure. She doubted even an expert could find a flaw. But she knew better than anyone what money could buy. She’d shelled out thousands of dollars for documentation to support her own fabricated past. And both her father and brother had money. They could definitely afford the best.

But why would they bother? Why fake these photographs? If Nadine was reading the reports right, they’d gone to considerable trouble, creating an elaborate itinerary to make it appear that Leila had visited Iran.

But what was the point? Could it be related to the attack? She couldn’t see how; her sister-in-law might be married to a fanatic, but she wasn’t an activist herself.

Her watch beeped. Glancing at it, she rose. She’d have to mull it over later. Her time had just run out. She needed to get over to the ballroom and hide before anyone in the house woke up. As soon as the workers arrived to prepare for the reception, she’d use the commotion surrounding the preparations for the reception to make her escape, then somehow track down Rasheed.

She straightened the blotter on the desk, erasing any evidence that she’d searched the room. Then, taking Leila’s mysterious file with her, she turned off the lamp, returned to the window and opened the blinds again. She doubted her father would notice the position of the slats, but she couldn’t afford to take the chance.

Without warning, a shout came from outside. She ducked, her heart suddenly sprinting, afraid that she’d been seen. She crept to the corner of the window, pushed aside the edge of the bottom slat and braved a quick peek out.

Several guards stood near the building. They weren’t looking her way, thank God. They seemed to be grappling with someone on the ground, wrestling him into submission. Then they handcuffed him and stepped away.

The prisoner rose awkwardly to his feet. He staggered and turned, his face coming into the light. Her heart stopped dead.

Rasheed.

Chapter 13

N
adine had experienced plenty of desperate moments as a runaway teenager. She’d been attacked and robbed at gunpoint, chased by a gang executioner determined to kill her, and had suffered more cold nights and hungry days than anyone deserved.

But she’d never felt this all-consuming panic, this awful, relentless fear. Her father had captured Rasheed. He was holding him prisoner somewhere on the estate.
And it was all her fault.

She angled the blow-dryer over Leila’s hair, trying hard not to fall apart. She’d been so sure she could pull this off. She’d thought she could sneak into her father’s study and get the information the CIA needed before anyone in her family caught on.

Instead, she’d failed miserably. Not only hadn’t she discovered anything about the
hawala
network that could connect her father to the Rising Light terrorists, but they’d caught Rasheed trying to rescue her. And she had no idea where to find him, no idea how to set him free.

Assuming he wasn’t already dead.

Blanching at that terrible thought, she turned off the blow-dryer, then started twisting Leila’s long hair into a chignon. She’d had no choice but to return to her bedroom after the guards had captured him. She didn’t dare attempt her own escape until she’d figured out how to free Rasheed.

But his presence in the compound had tipped her father off. He’d instantly stepped up his security, posting armed men in the hallway outside her room. She’d had no way to summon help—no computer or cell phone, no old landline to use. And sneaking out again was pointless, assuming she could skirt the guards. Her father’s security people swarmed the grounds.

“What’s the matter?” Leila asked. “You seem worried.”

She
was
worried. She was on the verge of total panic over the disaster she’d caused Rasheed.

She met her sister-in-law’s eyes in the mirror, wishing again that she could confide in her. But Leila would only tell Sultan. “I’m just tired.”

“So am I.”

Shifting forward, Nadine scrutinized Leila’s face. The swelling was down, but her eyes showed signs of strain. “Are you all right?”

“My head’s a little woozy. I think I studied too hard.”

Frowning, she placed her hand on Leila’s forehead. Her skin was flushed and warm, sparking her concern. “You’re still taking the antibiotics, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You have to take the entire course.”

“I am. And I’m sure I’m fine. I just spent a long time memorizing that list of names, that’s all.”

Still not convinced, Nadine continued to study her face. Could she have developed a delayed infection? She didn’t see any nodules or lumps. “Do your cheeks hurt?”

“Maybe a little.”

“We might have to change the antibiotic.” Get her on something systemic. “Let me know if you start feeling any worse.”

Leila’s forehead creased. “You really think something’s wrong?”

Not wanting to worry her unduly, she managed a smile. “I doubt it. Infections are pretty rare after implants. Maybe you just need a vacation—a real one this time.”

Leila shot her a lopsided smile. “Sultan’s always too busy working to take a break.”

Nadine nodded, her mind swerving back to the itinerary in that file. When she wasn’t worrying about Rasheed, she’d spent the day poring over every detail, and was more convinced than ever that Leila was being framed. But she had no idea what for.

“I’ve thought about visiting Jaziirastan again someday if I get a chance,” she said, deciding to probe. “You know, to see the family homeland.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Have you ever gone back to Iran?”

“No.”

“Really? I thought Sultan said you’d gone there recently to visit your old guardian.”

Leila shook her head. “No, I haven’t been back since I married Sultan. My life is with my husband now.” She blushed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We’re trying to start a family. I’d like to have children before it’s too late.”

Nadine nodded, even more confused. Leila sounded sincere—which meant the documents in that file were fake. It also explained Leila’s willingness to undergo surgery. It was a desperate attempt to interest Sultan so she could have the children she desired.

But why would anyone bother forging those documents? For the life of her she couldn’t imagine the point. Leila wasn’t interested in politics. She would never engage in criminal activities or plot to do anyone harm. And the motive couldn’t be personal. If Sultan wanted to divorce her, he could do it easily enough. He didn’t have to fabricate a cause.

Still struggling to make sense of the forged papers, she put the last pins in Leila’s hair. She had to show them to Rasheed. Maybe he, or his CIA cohorts, could figure out what they meant. But first she had to discover where her father had taken him.

“That looks great,” Leila said, peering in the mirror at her hair.

Nadine stepped back to admire her handiwork. She was right. Leila’s hair had turned out lovely. And her face looked better than she’d expected, the swelling too slight to see. Her makeup would cover the faint bruising beneath her eyes.

“Do you need help putting on your makeup?”

“No, I’ll be careful. But if you want to drill me on the guest list again, that would be great. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

“Sure.”

While Leila started applying her makeup, Nadine retrieved the pages from the table and perched in a nearby chair. She had little in common with her sister-in-law. She disagreed with her about marriage and a woman’s role in life. But it was hard to dislike her when she tried so hard to please everyone.

“All right,” she said, eyeing the list. “Where do you want to start?”

“The businesspeople. I have the hardest time keeping them straight.”

Nodding, Nadine worked her way down the list, quizzing her on the names. Leila had definitely studied. She could connect nearly every guest with the right business, an impressive feat.

“That’s great,” she said when they were done. “I circled the ones you missed.”

“Oh, good. I was so afraid I’d mess up.”

“You did a lot better than I could have.” She rose and handed her back the list. The guests were typical of the people her father usually invited to his events—business executives, politicians, foreign diplomats—Washington’s elite.

But while the guest list didn’t surprise her, the timing of the reception did. Could it have any relation to their planned attack? The idea seemed far-fetched. No matter what jihadist nonsense they espoused, neither her father nor her brother wanted to die. They wouldn’t mount an attack in their own home, where they could cause themselves harm. And both the vice president and Senator Riggs—two of Jaziirastan’s biggest advocates—would be attending the reception tonight. What was the point in hurting them?

Unable to come up with an answer, she went to her closet and slipped on her gown. Her dress was a lot like Leila’s with a high neckline, long sleeves, and a hemline that reached the floor. Not an inch of her skin was exposed. But the silk was a gorgeous lilac, the quality and fit superb.

“Will you help me with my scarf?” Leila asked.

“Sure.” Picking up the gauzy fabric, she rejoined her at the dressing table. She draped it carefully over her head, then stepped back to take a look.

“You look beautiful,” she said truthfully. The dark kohl brought out her lovely brown eyes. Her pale yellow dress made her skin tone glow. And thanks to the implants, her cheeks were symmetrical and pronounced, giving her a more youthful look. She’d never be the beauty she once was, and the nerve damage still marred her smile, but with the subtle lighting in the ballroom, she would do her husband proud.

“Thank you,” Leila whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out and squeezed her hand. “I appreciate what you did for me.”

“I was glad to do it. I wish I could have done more.”

The clock on the mantel chimed six. The reception was about to begin. Nadine hesitated, knowing she was taking a risk involving Leila, but she was fast running out of time.

“Maybe you could do something for me,” she said slowly.

“Of course.”

“I just need you to answer a question. Did you notice any odd activity today? I don’t mean the preparations for the reception, or the Secret Service guys. I mean the guards, the men working for my father. Were they doing anything unusual, like patrolling in a place they don’t usually go?”

Leila’s gaze bounced away. She rose quickly and went to the window, looking out toward the inky night.

“Leila?”

“I haven’t really paid attention. I’ve been in my room studying that list.” She shot her a glance over her shoulder, a hint of fear in her eyes.

“I know.” Nadine joined her at the window. “I’m not asking you to share any secrets or do anything disloyal. It’s just... I thought maybe if you saw something a little unusual...you’d do me a favor and tell me where it was, that’s all.”

Leila nibbled her lip. Several more minutes stretched past. “The pool house,” she finally said. She nodded toward the white fairy lights decorating the patio around the pool. “I’ve seen... There’ve been a lot of guards out there today, going inside and coming back out.”

Nadine sagged against the wall in relief. “Thank you.” She knew it was still a long shot. Their movements might not have anything to do with Rasheed. But it was a place to start.

“There’s Sultan,” Leila said, peering out the window again.

“Where?”

“Down there.”

Nadine moved closer to see. Two men walked along the path between the wings, their heads bent close as they talked. Then they stopped, and the man with Sultan lit a cigarette, his face turned toward the light. Her heart missed a beat as she glimpsed his face.

Abu Jabril.
The man she’d seen on the island. What was he doing here?

“Who’s that man with him?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “Do you know?”

“Yes. That’s Kamil al Bitar. His friend from college.”

His old college roommate.
Of course.
No wonder he’d looked familiar. He’d visited the house a few times when she’d lived at home.

She hadn’t paid much attention to him back then. He was Sultan’s age, six years older than she was, and not the least bit interested in her. And she’d been absorbed in her own problems, trying to figure out how to apply to medical school. Then her mother had died, and her world had come crashing apart.

Alert now, she took a closer look. He was older, and not as lanky. His full beard partially covered his face. But now that Leila had confirmed it, she could tell it was definitely him. “Why is he here?”

“He’s probably going to attend the reception.”

She gave Leila a sharp glance. “He wasn’t on the list.”

“He wouldn’t need to be. He’s practically one of the family. He and Sultan spend a lot of time together when he’s in town.”

That made sense. He was wearing a tuxedo like Sultan. And inviting him seemed natural enough. Why wouldn’t Sultan include his close friend?

But warning bells were going off in her head. He’d shown up on the drug cartel’s private island with the terrorists. He used a nom de guerre. And now he was here—at the house of the man presumed to finance the Rising Light’s terror attacks—when rumors of a plot were high.

Could the terror attack be taking place tonight? Ice filled her veins at the thought. But would they really risk the lives of their closest American allies—and in their own house, no less?

And even assuming they were willing to do it,
how
could they pull it off? She hadn’t missed the extensive security preparations, even with the limited view from her room. There was no way anyone could get a gun or bomb within a mile of the estate.

Still, Abu Jabril’s presence couldn’t be a coincidence. These men were up to something big.

“Leila...” She swallowed hard, knowing she had to take the chance. “Listen...I found something I want to show you.”

She hurried over to the dresser and picked up her evening bag, a large, vintage piece she’d found stashed in the dressing room. She couldn’t fit the entire file inside, but she’d crammed in as many pages and photos as she could to show Rasheed.

Carrying it, she started back across the room toward Leila. But then a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Leila opened it before she could stop her, and her nerves suffered another hit. Two men stood in the hallway, their black paratrooper-type uniforms and weapons marking them as her father’s guards.

“It’s time to go to the ballroom,” the taller guard said.

Nadine didn’t move. She wasn’t ready. She needed more time with Leila. What if the attack was tonight and she failed to stop it in time?

Suddenly, Leila wobbled on her feet. She clutched a nearby chair, swaying so badly that Nadine feared she was going to fall. She rushed over to steady her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just dizzy. I think I stood up too fast.”

“You were standing at the window, not sitting down.” Even more alarmed now, she peered at her sister-in-law’s face. The dress color hadn’t caused that glow; she was feverish—and getting worse with every minute that passed. “You need to go back to bed.”

“What? Don’t be silly. I’m not sick.”

“You’ve got a fever, Leila. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later.”

“But—”

“I can’t miss the reception. Sultan’s depending on me to do my part.”

Nadine swallowed her reply. Her sister-in-law wanted to do this. She couldn’t deny her this moment of glory, no matter how ill-advised.

“All right. But if you get any weaker, you’re going to leave.” Even Sultan couldn’t force her to stay if she collapsed. She caught the tall guard’s eye. “Hold on.” She grabbed a water bottle from the dressing table and gave it to her to drink. “You need to keep hydrated. Drink this on the way.”

Leila obediently took a sip, then preceded her into the hall. The short guard fell in behind them, preempting any attempt to escape. They padded down the hall, their slippers soundless on the plush oriental carpet, Nadine’s nerves winding tighter with every step.

The night had turned into a disaster. Everything was going wrong. Not only was Rasheed being held prisoner, but now Leila was getting ill. And for all she knew, they could be waltzing straight into a trap.