Protecting His Princess (5 page)

Aisha’s father was a prominent businessman in Qamsar, and their marriage had been arranged when the two were infants.

The emir’s brother, Saafir, sat at a table near the head table, a teacup between his hands. He appeared somber. He wasn’t mingling with other guests, and he didn’t appear thrilled to be at the dinner. Was there bad blood between the brothers? Resentment that Mikhail, as the older brother, had inherited his position and his fortune? Very little had been available to the CIA and FBI about Saafir’s personal life.

Harris memorized the faces of the men Mikhail seemed closest to and made a mental note to speak to them sometime in the next few days if he could. After several minutes Mikhail stood behind his table and gestured to his bride who sat at his side, gazing up at him. She had nailed the role of adoring wife. How much of her behavior was genuine, and how much was an act? Appearances were important to the royal family, but was Aisha pleased about her arranged marriage?

“Thank you to everyone for attending tonight’s festivities, the first of many we have planned over the next several days. Some of you have traveled a great distance to wish me and my bride a happy life together.”

The emir looked around the room. “Because you are my family and my closest friends, I have some upsetting news to share. I considered keeping the news secret to not put a blight on the festivities, but I want everyone to be alert and aware and not confused by gossip.”

Laila tensed. Next to Mikhail, Aisha shifted in her chair, a frown on her face.

“My security team has learned that a member of the American government has attempted to infiltrate my home and to intrude on my wedding.”

Laila’s shoulders hiked, and Harris worked overtime to school his expression. He hadn’t been discovered. He’d been careful. Sweat dripped down his back. He wasn’t armed at the moment. If he had to get out of this room with Laila and her mother, it would be difficult to get past the security and staff.

“He’s been apprehended and will be dealt with swiftly and sternly,” Mikhail said.

Not him, then. Relief washed over Harris and on its heels, more questions. Who had Mikhail jailed? Harris wasn’t aware of another American posted in the compound for the wedding. His communication with the CIA was limited, and he needed to be careful how and when he checked in. He’d have to do what digging he could to uncover if Mikhail’s announcement was being used as a warning or if it was the truth.

If it was the truth, Harris needed to do what he could to free his fellow American or gather information so that he could be freed. Was the CIA aware an American had been on the premises and had been captured?

While the emir’s wedding may mean a moratorium on government-sanctioned deaths for a few days, Qamsar wasn’t known for its leniency or for fair and unbiased trials. They weren’t known for having trials at all for suspected spies.

“I have invited many important guests into my home, and they are to be treated with respect,” Mikhail said. “I have friends all over the world, from countries who are not always allies with each other. But here, inside my home, those resentments are not welcome. This is a place of sanctuary.”

Important guests. Were any of those guests Ahmad Al-Adel? Harris hid his amusement over Mikhail’s announcement implying he wasn’t looking to make enemies and wanted peace within his borders. If he was working with Al-Adel, he was joining himself to a man who had many enemies and left a path of destruction in his wake. Mikhail was not interested in having friends all over the world. His dislike for America was strong in his policies and his resistance of America’s attempts to finalize trade negotiations with Qamsar.

“I will not allow violence or deception to mar my wedding,” Mikhail said.

Aisha forced a smile. It must be the one she pasted on when in public. Having this news delivered close to her wedding couldn’t have thrilled her.

Did she know anything about the captured American? Harris’s team hadn’t determined if the arranged marriage between the emir and his new bride carried any real trust or intimacy or if the arrangement was purely a political and social agreement. If Aisha knew something, could he ask Laila to find out more information?

Harris immediately retracted the thought. He wasn’t putting Laila further at risk to pry information from her brother’s future wife.

Mikhail glanced at Aisha. “No more of this talk. I want everyone to enjoy themselves. Please make my home your home.”

Had Mikhail stopped speaking of the American because he saw Aisha was upset? Doing so would imply actual feelings between the two, and it might mean Aisha knew something about the American spy. Harris would have a hard time speaking to Aisha. Aside from being a male, he wasn’t a relative and had no reason to approach her.

Dozens more waitstaff filled the room, distributing the first dinner course: beef kabobs with peppers and mushrooms; a vegetable salad with tomato, cucumber and chickpeas sprinkled with feta cheese; and couscous with dried fruit.

The conversation at the table returned to Laila and Harris.

“Laila tells me you are converting to Islam,” Khalid said. “I was encouraged to hear this.”

“Yes, that’s my plan. I know to start a life with her, I need us to have a strong foundation, and that means a belief system that guides us both,” Harris said.

Iba and Khalid nodded their heads in approval. “What do you do for a living?” Khalid asked.

Of course, that would be important. His job would need to be the right status for someone like Laila. “I’m taking a leave of absence from the family business to focus on my studies. After I complete my education in America, I’ll return to Germany and take over running the financial side of my family’s company. My father felt it was important for me to have a strong education to best help the business.”

“And what business is that?” Khalid asked.

Did he not know? Harris would have assumed when his name appeared on the guest list, the emir’s staff would have checked him out. Or perhaps Mikhail had and had not shared information he’d found with the rest of the family.

“Uncle, please,” Laila said. “You have days to get to know Harris. You don’t need to ask him so many questions.”

“I don’t mind talking business,” Harris said. “My family runs an international shipping company. Kuhn Freight will transport anything, anywhere, anytime, by land, sea or air.”

“Anything?” Khalid said with a smile. “Sounds like a big company.”

“It started as a small company,” Harris said. “Just my great-grandfather and his brother. It’s grown in leaps and bounds. We primarily help with international moves and work with businesses that transfer their employees to another country for work. But no job is too large or too small.” Let that get back to Mikhail. He’d have to see the value in ties to a shipping company with great resources and connections.

“Why don’t you tell us about your studies?” Iba asked her daughter.

“I’m working on my thesis with my advisor. It’s taking longer than I had planned, since I had some additional classes to complete before I started the program, but I’ll present it next semester,” Laila said.

It was the first Harris had heard her speak of her education.

“A man may not like for his wife to be more educated than he is,” Iba said quietly. “Perhaps you should enjoy the learning, but not pursue the degree.”

Hurt shadowed Laila’s eyes. She’d wanted her mother’s support.

Though he felt strange saying anything, he interjected, “It’s wonderful for Laila to have a master’s degree in communication. So much she can do with that. My parents are pleased to know she’ll be helpful in the family business,” Harris said.

Laila beamed at him.

What were her plans with her degree? Before he’d offered a new life in America, had Laila planned to forget her education after she entered into an arranged marriage?

Laila took control of the conversation, telling her mother and uncle about her classes, and her options for the future. She walked just shy of stating she would not return to Qamsar, though her relationship with Harris implied it.

Making a note to ask her more about it when they were alone, Harris half listened, half scanned the room around him, trying to place names and faces. He’d been given a list of invited guests that were of interest to the CIA. That list ran over four hundred people long. The total invitee list was well over a thousand.

Harris had an encrypted, protected program on his phone that would allow him to check faces later, but for the present, it was safest to observe.

He felt eyes on him and noticed someone in his peripheral vision looking in his direction. Harris forced his gaze to his dinner and then back to the person watching him. Harris didn’t recognize the man, his dark hair and beard giving him a generic, unremarkable look. He wasn’t tall or short, broad or slim, no outstanding features. The type of person the CIA loved to have on their team.

The last Harris had heard, he was the only CIA or FBI resource assigned inside the compound. Then again, he hadn’t known another American spy was being placed inside the compound. Were more agents here to deliver a message to Harris or to support his mission? Or did other operatives have their own agendas?

The CIA operated differently than the FBI. The FBI shared information, and when he was working a case, Harris had access to everyone and everything about that case. The CIA liked to keep information compartmentalized. Perhaps they thought it would limit exposure. If one agent was captured and knew nothing about another, not even torture could drag the information from them, and a multipart mission could find some success.

Harris returned his attention to the conversation. Laila was speaking about her classes the next semester and the research project she was working on with one of her professors. When she was given a new identity, her life would change dramatically. Leaving her school and abandoning the ties she’d made would be difficult for her.

Harris took another look around the dining room and disappointment surged through him. No sign of Ahmad Al-Adel, and therefore nothing to report. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. But he had hoped.

* * *

Their first wedding event in the compound had gone well. At least Laila believed so. She could tell her mother wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Harris being German and interested in her daughter, but she wasn’t opposed to it enough to forbid it from happening. Harris mentioning his plans to convert to Islam had taken the edge off her disapproval. Laila had spoken to Saafir briefly, and he had expressed his happiness that she had met someone in America and appeared content with her life.

Harris had asked Laila to meet him somewhere private after dinner. With the number of people moving around the compound, and the eating and socializing going on well past midnight, she and Harris had agreed the courtyard gardens would suffice for a meeting. It was cold enough at night that not many people would venture outside, and the fountains, gazebos and palm trees gave them enough hiding places that she and Harris could speak without being seen.

Laila stepped into the gardens, the cold of the night sending a shiver up her spine, and she pulled her wool wrap tighter around her shoulders. Her excuse for being outside was to get fresh air. It sounded ridiculous even to her, but if she wanted to talk to Harris alone, this was the best option.

She had a thousand questions about the events of the night. Harris wasn’t obligated to tell her anything about what he’d learned, but Laila needed some salve for her nerves. She was worried about the American spy who Mikhail had captured and concerned what it would mean for her and Harris. Had other CIA spies gotten access to the compound? Was Harris aware of them and keeping her in the dark? If so, what did that mean for her role in bringing Harris to the compound? She hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake.

Harris appeared so suddenly, Laila bit back a scream. “You scared me,” she said.

“Sorry about that,” Harris said. “Are you cold?” He didn’t wait for her answer and took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. It smelled of him, the light scent of sandalwood and spices.

She couldn’t wait to ask her questions. “What did Mikhail mean by an American getting into the compound?”

As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the gardens, she read worry on his face.

“I don’t know. I found that odd, as well. Any Americans on the list were invited guests, at least to my knowledge. I’ll need to find out what happened. It could be a bluff to scare anyone thinking of snooping around. Or maybe it’s part of his plan to turn public opinion against Americans, painting them as spies trying to sabotage his wedding.”

Mind games were Mikhail’s specialty. She didn’t point out that Harris was a spy who would ruin the emir’s wedding if Al-Adel was found in the country. “My mom didn’t like that you weren’t from our country.”

Harris tucked his hands into his pants pockets.

She was struck by his boyish charm. As a former American military man and FBI agent, he had deadly talents, ones she wouldn’t test, but he had an honest and open way about him. He was easy to trust. But wasn’t that the point? Getting people to trust him was part of the job.

“I know she wasn’t thrilled with me. I expected that. I’ll have to win her over. I think telling her I was converting helped.”

Did he care about her mother liking him? They weren’t a real couple. It shouldn’t matter what her mother thought. As long as she didn’t hate him, openly oppose the relationship or have Khalid protest their involvement, she and Harris could struggle through this assignment without her objections becoming another obstacle.

“How are you doing? Has it been difficult for you to be here?” Harris asked.

The question caught her off guard. Since arriving in Qamsar, she’d had an eerie sense of impending doom. So far the dropped bombs hadn’t been what she’d expected. Mikhail hadn’t announced her engagement to one of his lackeys. Mikhail hadn’t refused to allow her to return to America, though he had suggested it would be better for her to stay in Qamsar following the car bombing outside the café.