SEAL's Deception (Take No Prisoners Book 8) (11 page)

The escort saw her though the door of the east wing. Once inside, Yasmin pulled the veil down from her face and pushed the scarf back behind her.

A couple women lounged in the living area, supervising the play of a three toddlers.

Yasmin smiled in their direction, having completely forgotten their names. She didn’t slow until she reached her room, very aware of the gun in her waistband, afraid if she didn’t get it out soon, it might fall to the ground in front of one of the women.

Once inside her room, she turned and locked the door. Then she headed straight for the suitcase with the hidden panel. The servants had emptied her cases earlier, but hadn’t discovered the hidden compartment. She had the gun safely stowed and the secret panel closed when a knock sounded on her door. Closing the suitcase, she set it on the floor beside the others and hurried to answer.

Erin stood on the other side, a worried frown wrinkling her brow. She darted a glance over her shoulder. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Yasmin stepped aside and held the door for Erin to enter. Once inside, Yasmin closed the door and locked it again. “What’s wrong?” The longer she took to start talking, the more Yasmin’s muscles tensed.

Erin paced across the floor, turned and walked back to stand in front of Yasmin. “It’s okay, I haven’t said anything to Khalid, yet.”

“Come, sit.” Yasmin led her to a small sofa and urged her to take a seat. Then she sat beside her and took her hands in hers. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I really didn’t come here to threaten you or your family.”

Erin nodded. “I consider myself a good judge of character, and I don’t sense any malice in your words or actions. Frankly, I’m not worried about you. After what you told me, I couldn’t sit still, so I went for a walk in the garden to calm my nerves. I happened across Nahla and her sister, Sumbal, talking in a secluded corner. Her sister is married to Khalid’s uncle, Bandar. They didn’t see me and I…I guess I eavesdropped.” She squeezed Yasmin’s hands. “They were talking about changes the king has ordered concerning a woman’s right to drive.”

Yasmin smiled. “Will he allow women to drive?”

Erin nodded. “The decision has the family in an uproar. Sumbal was appealing to Nahla to talk to Khalid, to have him ask the king not to institute this new law. Her husband is against it and thinks it will tear the family apart. He thinks the country is becoming too much like the West. He is in agreement with a movement to remove westerners and democratic ways of thinking from the Arab nation. He wants to reinstitute a more puritanical interpretation of Islamic law with closer connection to Islam.”

Yasmin’s gut clenched, and she shook her head. “Sounds like a propaganda speech.”

Erin snorted. “That’s what has me scared. The ideas sounded like what the Islamic State jihadists are preaching.”

Exactly what Yasmin thought. “And Prince Bandar Sumbal’s husband.”

“Yes.” Erin touched Yasmin’s hand. “I need to talk to my husband. He needs to know what Sumbal and Bandar are saying.”

“I wish we could have our hands on the biological weapons before you talk to him.” Yasmin sighed. “But, you have to do what you feel is right.” She almost asked how she could get a message to Ben, but thought better of it. Her gut told her she could trust Erin, but she didn’t want to include the SEAL team on her search for the weapons. As far as anyone knew, the three men she’d come with were paid bodyguards, nothing more. Hopefully, that belief would keep them safe if Yasmin were detained for spying on the royal family.

A knock sounded on the door.

Erin’s eyes rounded. “You don’t think anyone could have overheard us, do you?” she whispered.

Yasmin shook her head reassuringly and moved toward the exit. “No. Just keep your cool.” She twisted the lock and pulled open the door.

Nahla stood on the other side. “Prince Khalid has summoned Erin. Her escort awaits.”

Erin leaped to her feet and hurried toward Yasmin. She stopped and hugged her, whispering in her ear, “I’ll talk to him. He needs to know.”

With a nod, Yasmin released the young woman and stepped back to allow her to pass. “We’ll chat later.”

Erin covered her red hair and hurried toward the exit.

Nahla stood next to Yasmin for a moment after Erin disappeared, her lips pressed into a tight line. “My son is a good man. He cares about his people, and they care about him.”

“He must be a good man. Erin loves him very much,” Yasmin observed.

“I did not want to like the Irish wife, but only she loves Khalid as much as I do. Perhaps, more so. She will be a good mother to their children.”

“But, her children cannot be considered for the throne?”

“No.” Nahla waved her hand. “A successor must be pure Arab.”

“Does anyone know why Fatimah cannot get pregnant?”

“Oh, she can conceive, but she can’t carry full term. She has had three miscarriages. The doctor said if she attempts to have any more children, she puts herself at too much risk. Each time, she is gravely ill and nearly dies before her body aborts the baby.

“And I’m here because your son needs an heir.” Yasmin’s words were more a statement than a question.

Nahla’s chin tilted upward. “And to honor a bargain made by his parents and yours. My son is an honorable man.”

Eager to get word to Ben, Yasmin eased back into her room. “I just got back from shopping in Riyadh’s old market. I’m tired. I’m going to lie down.”

Nahla bowed her head. “I am preparing a meal in my quarters. You are welcome to join us.”

“Thank you.” Yasmin smiled. To be invited to share a meal with the king’s wife was a huge step toward acceptance. “I’m honored any other time, but tonight I prefer to skip dinner and sleep.”

“If you feel better, please join us.” Nahla left to return to her own apartment.

Yasmin entered the guest suite and closed the door. She dug her cell phone out of one of her pockets. Unfortunately, she had no reception. Her radio headset was tucked in her suitcase, next to the gun she’d acquired. She wondered if the radio would pick up through the thick walls. The SEALs had used theirs the night before with some success. And she really needed to get word to Ben.

What Erin had overheard in the garden backed what Omar had told them. Bandar wasn’t happy with the way the king was handling things. He’d be even angrier if the king appointed Khalid his successor. That didn’t prove Bandar was funding ISIS, or that he was the one who’d purchased biological weapons. But his dissatisfaction with the king’s choice of successor was a motive, and a place to start.

Yasmin pulled the tiny radio headset out of the secret compartment of her suitcase, switched it on and stuck it into her ear. She tapped it like she’d seen Ben do. “Hello, can you read me?”

She heard nothing. No voices, nor static. If she wanted to sneak out of the women’s quarters without an escort, she’d have to wait until after everyone went to sleep. God, she hoped she didn’t have to wait that long. After the altercation in the market, Bandar could be running scared. He could be moving the vials while Yasmin twiddled her thumbs. The situation was unacceptable.

Determined to do something, rather than wait, she pulled the
thobe
and headdress out of her case, took off the
abaya
and dressed in the
thobe
. Then she dragged the black
abaya
over her head, covering all of the white. Where it stuck out beneath the hem, she pulled it up underneath and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, along with the headdress. If she was careful, she might make it through the shared living area and out of the women’s quarters without anyone seeing her. Once outside the women’s area, she’d shuck the
abaya
, put on the headdress and find Khalid, hoping her gut wasn’t wrong. If Khalid was the one who’d purchased the vials instead of Bandar…well then, she’d have to figure out a way to stay alive long enough to warn someone.

B
en
, Stingray and Irish met in their room. All they had was their communication devices and the cell phones they’d purchased in Riyadh. They would be playing with fire, searching during the daytime, but Ben had the feeling time was running out. They had to find the vials before the virus left the palace.

Irish fit the radio headset into his ear. “We need to check out the locked doors in the basement. Think it’s too risky during the day?”

Stingray pounded his fist against his chest. “We’re SEALs. We live for danger.” Then he ruined the impassioned speech with a grin. “Or so they told us in BUD/S training.”

“Whoever brought the vials here had to have stored them somewhere inside the palace,” Irish stated.

Ben nodded. “We can start with the basement, since so many people are still moving about. While you two are checking it out, I want a shot at the hidden room. I figure we might be able to search through the palace’s regular supper time.”

Stingray held up a small brick of C-4 plastic explosives. “I think we can get into any locked door with this.”

“Damn, Stingray.” Irish shook his head. “How the hell did you sneak that in?”

Stingray shrugged. “I never leave home without some. You never know when it might be needed.”

Ben paced the length of the room and back. “I don’t suppose you have a rifle or handgun hidden wherever you had that?”

“Sorry.” Stingray stuffed the C-4 into one pocket and a few detonators in the other.

“We can use some of that to create a diversion when Big Bird infiltrates the secret room.” Irish smiled. “We may not have guns, but maybe these will help.” He pulled up his pant leg and unstrapped one of two wicked-looking knives from his calf. “Stingray and I picked these up in the market today. Thought they might come in handy.”

Ben’s chest swelled. The guys were looking out for him. “Thanks. It’s getting close to supper time. We should work our way to our positions.”

“Will we be missed?”

“If I pass anyone in the hallway, I’ll let them know we ate in the market.”

Irish rubbed his belly. “Wish I’d known that, and I would have grabbed a bite.”

Ben backhanded him in the gut. “You’ll live. Let’s do this.”

They left their quarters and split in the hallway—Ben going one way, Stingray and Irish the other.

Ben headed back to the room with the secret door. If he got lucky, he’d get in without being noticed. He passed several palace guards along the way. He nodded toward them and kept going. As he turned a corner, he glanced back.

The guards watched him, but they hadn’t followed.

So far, so good.

He made it to the study without incident and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he tried the handle. Locked.

With a file he’d brought from his suitcase, he jimmied the lock, keeping a close eye on the hallway. When an Arab turned the corner and walked his way, Ben dropped to his haunches and pretended to tie his shoe. When he’d finished, he turned away from the door and walked a few steps until the Arab passed out of sight around a corner. Back at the study door, he worked the lock until it clicked open. After a quick glance left and right, he entered. The office was empty. He moved to the side of the door and closed it, and then listened for voices coming from inside the hidden room. Though he didn’t hear any, he didn’t know how well soundproofed the room might be.

Ben drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming his racing pulse.

Hurrying to the massive mahogany desk, he opened the top drawer and felt inside for the lever or button that would open the door behind the bookcase. The drawer contained several papers, a stapler and some pens. Ben couldn’t find the button. He squatted on his haunches and peered into the drawer again.

The button was well hidden, just like the door behind the bookcase. Frustrated and afraid he’d be caught, Ben stood again and felt inside the drawer, this time running his finger along the underside of the desktop. A rounded wooden bump stuck out. He pressed on it and waited. Nothing happened. He waited for the sound of footsteps in the hallway, praying the button wasn’t connected to a silent alarm.

No footsteps sounded or voices raised.

He pushed the button harder. This time, it clicked and the wall behind him moved.

Ben stood away from the opening, in case someone was inside and possibly carrying a gun.

The bookcases opened. Lights sprang on, revealing an empty room with a large L-shaped couch, a Persian rug and not much else. Ben entered and checked for doors, drawers, cubbies or a hidden refrigerator where the vials might be stored in. He didn’t find anything. The room appeared to be a private meeting chamber. If he had to guess, the walls were insulated to keep sound from coming in or going out.

He wondered if one of the walls led to yet another secret room, but try as he might, he couldn’t locate a button, lever or a mechanism to open a wall.

Disappointed, he left the secret room and re-entered the outer office.

Just as the bookshelf doors closed, the doorknob wiggled on the office door.

Ben dove for the back of the tan couch pushed up against the wall and squeezed behind it. If he was lucky, no one would look there. If he wasn’t so lucky, someone could discover him and throw him in jail. Pulling his knees to his chest, he scrunched his body into the cramped space and waited, his pulse hammering through his veins, his thoughts churning on a good escape plan should he be discovered.

The hinges made no sound as the door opened, but Ben heard voices speaking Arabic in low tones, talking far too fast for him to translate. He eased to the corner of the sofa and peered around at Prince Khalid and an older man entering through the doorway. His body rubbed against the leather, making a slight squeaking sound.

The older man paused, his gaze swinging toward the sofa.

Ben froze, afraid any movement would cause another squeak.

Prince Khalid spoke and his companion’s attention returned to him.

Rashad followed the two men into the room and crossed to the desk, pushed the button and waited for the bookshelves to part.

Khalid waved his hand toward the room. The older man entered. When Rashad started to follow, Prince Khalid faced him and held up his hand.

Rashad frowned but bowed his head and stepped away from the hidden conference room. The bookshelves slid into place.

Ben scooted back out of sight.

The uninvited Rashad paced the length of the office again and again, coming within inches of where Ben hid behind the sofa. At one point, the sound of his footsteps halted on the other side of the room.

Ben dared to peek out from behind the sofa.

The Arab stared at his cell phone, frowning as if reading a text message that wasn’t making him happy. He glanced at the bookshelf, and then resumed pacing, faster, with more force in his steps.

New information seemed to have made him angry or anxious. Ben waited for the men to clear the room and allow him to continue his search. Perhaps he’d missed something in the inner sanctum—a sconce, a painting, something that wouldn’t be immediately obvious.

Finally, the creak of the wooden bookshelves sliding open came, followed by the voices of the prince and the older man.

Again, Ben peered around the side of the sofa.

Prince Khalid walked beside the older man all the way to the door. The door opened, the prince said one last thing and stepped out, leaving Rashad and the older man in the room to close the door behind him.

Great
. Ben lay still, praying the two men would conclude their business and move on.

Instead, they settled into a heated conversation, their words low but insistent. The older man seemed angry. Rashad spoke fast, as if trying to calm him or explain something.

The older Arab made one last, strong, final statement and left the room, slamming the door.

Near the end of his own patience, Ben wondered what was keeping Rashad from leaving. Looking out one last time, he discovered Rashad texting on his cell phone, his thumbs flying over the keys. He hit a button and looked up, shooting a glance around the room before turning toward the sofa behind which Ben lay.

Ben eased back out of sight. His breath caught and held, and he prayed Rashad hadn’t seen him.

The door opened and closed.

Waiting a minute longer, listening to the silence, Ben finally poked his head out again. The room was empty. He released the breath he’d held and rose from behind the sofa, vowing to brush up on his Arabic before he deployed to Saudi Arabia again. Whatever Prince Khalid, the older man and Rashad had been discussing seemed to have all three men wound tight.

Ben hoped they hadn’t decided on the immediate use of biological warfare.

N
o matter
how many times she glanced out into the living area, Yasmin couldn’t catch a break. One or two of the women seemed to always be lounging on a cushion or playing with a child. She wished they would all go to supper soon so she could sneak out. Getting past the guard at the entrance would be the biggest challenge. He was there to keep men from entering the women’s quarters, but how would he react if a lone female ventured out without an escort?

The risk was one she’d have to take to get word to Ben about Khalid’s uncle. Perhaps they could search his palace apartment. Come to think of it, Yasmin wasn’t certain who lived in the prince’s palace and who didn’t. She didn’t know whether Bandar’s wife had come to visit Nahla or if she lived somewhere in the palace with Bandar.

Just when she was beginning to think she’d have to walk out like she owned the place, she saw the door open.

One of the male palace staff carried a woman through. The woman’s headscarf fell away, revealing red hair and a very pale face.

Yasmin gasped and hurried forward. “Erin?”

The young Irish woman’s eyes were closed…no…they were swelled shut, her face battered and bruised, her lips cracked and bleeding.

Yasmin clamped her jaw tight and counted three before asking calmly, “What happened?”

The man shook his head and glanced around. When he spotted the sofa, he carried Erin across the floor and laid her out on the cushions. The servant hurriedly left the room.

Women emerged from their apartments, gathering around Erin.

Yasmin stared down at the sweet, unconscious woman. Her jaw tightened. She’d been summoned to see Prince Khalid. If this was the way a prince treated his wives, the bastard would have no qualms about using biological warfare on unsuspecting populations.

Anger roiled in Yasmin’s belly.

Nahla appeared at her side and said a few curt words to Fatimah.

The younger woman pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

Khalid’s mother spoke sharply to another woman, who ran into her apartment and returned with a damp cloth and a bag of ice. Nahla went to work treating Erin’s wounds, washing her face and applying ice to her swollen eyes.

Erin remained unconscious, moaning occasionally as her mother-in-law worked.

Torn between staying and helping with Erin and leaving to beat the shit out of whoever did this, Yasmin paced the living area, stopping every pass to check on Erin’s progress.
Where’s the damned doctor?
She wanted to scream it out loud, but couldn’t risk blowing her cover.

The door to the east wing opened, and a woman stepped inside. She wore a white lab coat over loose trousers, a black headscarf and carried a doctor’s satchel with a stethoscope around her neck.

Fatimah hurried forward, touched the woman’s arm and led her back to where Erin lay on the couch.

She peeled back Erin’s eyelids and shone a light on her pupils. Speaking softly in Arabic, the doctor conversed with Nahla, who nodded gravely.

When the doctor rose to leave, Yasmin stepped in front of her. “You can’t go. Erin’s not awake. What’s wrong with her?”

The doctor took a step back and lifted her chin. “The patient has suffered a fall and a possible concussion.”

“Fall?” Yasmin snorted. “Maybe she did fall. But only after being beaten. Someone did this to her. Someone hurt her, and you dare to stand there and suggest she had a fall?”

She stared around at all of the women, stopping on Nahla. “Well, the hell with all of you. Erin cares about you and considers you her family. And yet you’d let this abuse go on as if it didn’t happen?” She spun on her heels and marched toward the door.

Nahla hurried after her and placed a hand on her arm. “What will you do?”

“Confront the bastard who did this.” Yasmin didn’t wait for Nahla’s response. She wrapped her scarf around her head and neck and charged through the door.

Once on the other side, she sailed past the guard, too angry to worry about what he might do. If he tried to stop her, then she’d take him down and move on.

The guard didn’t attack. Yasmin pulled her scarf up around her ear, forming a veil over her mouth and nose. As soon as she could, she ducked into an empty sitting room, stripped off the
abaya
, tucked her hair beneath the red-checkered headdress and planted the black braid on top to hold the cloth in place. When she felt certain she looked sufficiently like one of the men, she hid the
abaya
in a potted plant and checked the hallway for traffic.

An older man with a salt-and-pepper beard hurried down the hallway, his heavy brows pulled into a deep frown.

After he passed, Yasmin continued toward Prince Khalid’s quarters, anger driving her through the many corridors until she found one more opulent than the rest. The one belonging to the prince. The bastard.

How could he profess to love a woman and then beat her to within an inch of her life?

Yasmin meant to tell him exactly what she thought about men who abused women. She might beat
him
to within an inch of his sorry life. Then, maybe he’d confess to where he’d hidden the vials of virus.

She’d been wrong about the prince, thinking he couldn’t possibly have purchased the vials. Erin had convinced her that Khalid was forward thinking, kind, and caring about his people and helping them fit into a changing world.