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Confusion spun through her. If Al-Adel was responsible for the car bombing at the café, as Tyler was implying, and Mikhail was working with him, had her brother tried to kill her?
Despite her efforts to stay unemotional and focused, the information was difficult to swallow, almost unbelievable. “My brother wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t willingly work with a terrorist.” Mikhail could be brutal and cold, but participating, even indirectly, in acts of terrorism against the United States, Europe and the Middle East was declaring a war he couldn’t win. Qamsar was a small country with limited resources. Besides that, she was his sister. It was a huge leap from not getting along to trying to kill her.
“We have a financial trail tying the Holy Light Brotherhood to Mikhail. We have assets in the country who have substantiated rumors of the entanglement,” Tyler said.
As much as she didn’t want to believe it, doubts about her brother flooded her thoughts. If Mikhail had found a way to get more money, he might have agreed to work with Al-Adel. Mikhail was ruthless, driven and bent on gaining power. Even more power than he possessed as the Emir of Qamsar. Mikhail wanted a legitimate, prominent place on the international scene and would do whatever was necessary to get there.
Al-Adel’s money would mean improvements for the country in places where Mikhail believed they were needed—in mosques and government buildings—without engaging in trade agreements with countries like America.
Blindly accepting their words as true could make a fool of her, putting her in a position to betray her country and her family for no reason. Then again, if they were right and Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, stopping him and evicting Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood from Qamsar would protect her country. Mikhail may be ousted from his position as emir, but cutting any ties with a terrorist group would be better for the prosperity of Qamsar. She was out of her depths and indecision rolled through her. “I can’t believe this.” She didn’t want to believe it.
“We believe the emir wants to end trade agreement negotiations with the United States, but because the people of Qamsar want the agreement, Mikhail needs to force public opinion that America will cause greater harm than good. If something were to happen to one of the royal family, Mikhail would blame America and use the incident to incite anti-American anger,” Harris said, his voice gentle.
Mikhail hadn’t stopped her from moving to America. At the time she had believed he was too grief stricken over their father’s death and too busy with his new responsibilities as emir to argue with her. She had been waiting for him to demand she return and had been surprised that he hadn’t yet. Did he have another motive for allowing her to stay in America?
“You think my brother would arrange for someone to kill me just to sway public opinion?” Believing that Mikhail was working with Al-Adel was difficult. Accepting that he would kill her to forward his agenda was impossible. “He wouldn’t do that, and even if you’re right and my brother wants me dead, how does traveling to Qamsar guarantee my safety in any way?”
“No guarantees. But you are safer on Qamsarian soil. It makes it more difficult for Mikhail to pin an incident on America,” Harris said.
“Difficult but not impossible,” Laila said, reading between his words.
“If you agree to do this, regardless of how it plays out, I’ll protect you and your family. I’ll be there,” Harris said.
“If I allow an American into my brother’s compound, and he finds out, he’ll kill me,” Laila said. Any involvement with the American government, even manipulated, could be perceived as a betrayal of Qamsar by Mikhail. Though it would be harder for Mikhail to reach her in America, she would be at Mikhail’s mercy when she returned home.
“If we think the emir suspects anything, we’ll relocate you to the United States. We’ll give you, your mother and your brother Saafir citizenship and a new identity.”
Before coming to America, Laila’s life had been decided for her. Having a taste of freedom, Laila didn’t want to let it go and return to the life she’d had in Qamsar. She wanted to make decisions for herself and her life. Citizenship in America would give her that. Having Saafir and her mother with her would make that transition easier. Not having the deep love of America that she did, would they agree to relocate for their safety?
Mikhail’s name was absent from the list. If he was working with a terrorist, he would face the consequences of that decision.
Chapter 2
Two weeks later, with the contract from the United States government locked in a security box at the bank, Laila and Harris were en route to Qamsar accompanied by Laila’s uncle Aasim. They’d had to loop him into their ruse, and he had agreed to maintain his silence. He wanted no involvement in the politics of his wife’s family. The Qamsar Embassy in America had also agreed to wait for the Americans to complete their investigation before releasing information that the Holy Light Brotherhood might have been responsible for the car bombing.
Their flight had lasted twenty-two hours, and Laila was grateful they’d flown first class. Though she and her mother had often traveled in style with her father, this was her first trip as the girlfriend of Harris Kuhn, fourth generation descendent of the former German royal ruling family and heir to a German shipping company fortune. Laila was presenting him to her family as the man who intended to marry her. Considering her family was likely planning to arrange her marriage with a man of their choosing, she was concerned about this aspect of their cover story. She only hoped Mikhail liked the idea of a wealthy European nobleman with ties to the German government and an international shipping company marrying into the family. Harris was assuming a certain attitude. An I-deserve-to-be-here, I-have-plenty-of-money attitude.
One that normally Laila found classless and rude. In this case Harris assured her that his behavior and arrogant attitude was important. Any show of weakness and the emir could exploit it.
Harris needed to strike a careful balance of strength and gentleness. If he came on too strong, Mikhail would dislike him and feel threatened. If he wasn’t confident enough, Mikhail would dismiss him as useless and weak, and see no benefit in allowing his sister to have a relationship with him. Harris might even be asked to leave the wedding festivities. Mikhail was not known for his patience and calm demeanor.
For the trip Laila had chosen to wear an outfit more conservative than she’d worn in America. The fabric was light and cool, and she wasn’t showing an inch of skin from neck to wrists to ankles. She wouldn’t give her brother a reason to be annoyed with her. She wasn’t Mikhail’s favorite person. Far from it.
The drive to the emir’s compound took forty minutes, and the last five were the most important. If Harris wasn’t permitted inside for the wedding celebration, he couldn’t look for Al-Adel. Laila had let her brother’s event coordinator know about her plans to bring a guest. The liaison hadn’t indicated it was a problem, and Laila hoped she would have heard—either directly or through her mother—if her guest wasn’t welcome.
She was anxious, but Harris seemed at ease and was less apprehensive than her uncle, who wasn’t happy about visiting Qamsar. Her aunt had stayed in Colorado, but Aasim had felt obligated to escort his niece since she was traveling with Harris and to attend the wedding as a show of respect to the emir. At her aunt’s urging, he’d worn more traditional Qamsarian clothes. It was the first time Laila had seen him dressed in that manner.
Harris wore black trousers and a white dress shirt, the top button open at the neck and the sleeves rolled to his elbow. On his wrist was an expensive-looking watch. A simple, understated look and he owned it.
Their chauffer, provided by the emir, drove the black sedan to the entrance of the compound. The maroon iron gates were secured to a perimeter wall constructed of concrete, painted tan to reflect the rays of the sun. The smoothness of the concrete made it impossible to climb the fifteen-foot wall without ropes. Every ten feet along the top of the wall, a security camera was posted and actively monitored by the emir’s private security staff.
Two security guards stepped out from the gatehouse, guns slung over their shoulders. Their khaki uniforms and patches on their shoulders identified them as the emir’s private guards.
Laila glanced at Harris to gauge his reaction. He appeared unimpressed, though he turned to her and smiled. “Are you nervous about having me meet the rest of your family?”
For a minute she forgot the part she was playing. She focused. His question was a good first-meeting question. “My mother won’t be pleased you’re German.” She gave herself a pat on the back for remembering his cover and playing along as if they were a couple. “But she’ll be happy to learn you’re converting to Islam.” Harris had hoped that part of their cover story would convince her family to accept him. Converting was a coup for her family, at least, if it was reality.
Since agreeing to this mission, she’d been thinking that she could have a life that had previously been an impossible dream. The man who she married needed to be faithful and true, but his religious beliefs weren’t as critical as being a good person, a partner to her. She wanted a man who would treat her as an equal, and with love, respect and fairness. If she married any man her brother had selected for her, she had no doubt those dreams would be out of reach.
The armed guards approached the sedan. This level of security was new. Did the additional measures mean her brother suspected a plot was afoot? Did Mikhail know his relationship with Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood put him and the people around him in a more dangerous position? Or did the influx of international guests attending the wedding, some who held visible and high-profile positions, call for enhanced security?
If they were turned away at the entrance to the compound, Laila would have fulfilled her part of their agreement and avoided the deception that would follow. It would have been a relief and a disappointment. If Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, he had to be stopped for the good of Qamsar and for the royal family.
Harris’s hand came over hers, his thumb rubbing hers slightly. The chauffeur lowered his driver’s side window.
“Everyone step out of the car,” the guard said.
Laila glanced at Harris, and he nodded. “It’s okay, Laila. These measures are to keep everyone safe.”
To keep everyone safe or to search for a traitor? Laila got out of the car on trembling legs. Her brother and his security team had eyes and ears everywhere. Did they know she had betrayed him? Harris circled to stand next to her, and her uncle took his position on her other side. If Harris’s cover had been blown and her uncle was charged guilty by association, Laila would never forgive herself.
The guards patted down the driver, her uncle and then Harris. They reached for Laila, sliding their hands down her sides and letting them linger on her hips.
“Watch your hands,” Harris said in Arabic, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.
The guards immediately removed their hold on Laila, appearing startled by Harris’s words. Harris didn’t flinch, and his piercing look communicated he was not backing down and might be willing to be more confrontational.
“We need your identification and to search the car and your luggage. Do you have any weapons you need to declare?” one of the guards asked.
“We don’t,” Harris said.
His answer surprised her. He didn’t have a gun with him? She had wondered how he would sneak it into the compound, but walking around unarmed seemed dangerous. What if he was discovered as an American spy? Mikhail did not treat spies or traitors with leniency. He jailed them, or in some cases, they disappeared.
“If you could please stand over here.” The guard gestured to his left.
Harris said he didn’t have a weapon, but had he packed anything else that would get them in trouble? Laila’s mouth went dry. Equipment Harris planned to install inside the compound? Some technical gizmo that would raise questions? The chauffeur popped the trunk, and the guards began their search.
Harris clasped his hands behind his back. He took sunglasses dangling in the front of his shirt and slipped them over his eyes. “It’s hotter than I thought.”
Was that a coded message? He was looking around with a bored expression on his face. How did he manage it? She felt as if she would sweat through her clothes and melt in a puddle of nerves.
Laila fiddled with the ends of her head scarf. Was Harris worried about what the guards would find? After several agonizing minutes, the guards put their luggage back in the trunk and opened their car doors. “Sorry for the delay. Enjoy your visit. As-salaam alaykum.” Peace be upon you.
“Wa alaykum as-salaam,” Harris and her uncle said in reply. And with you peace.
Laila gave Harris extra credit for knowing the proper response. He had indicated to her he’d prepared for this operation. Perhaps he had prepared more than she’d thought.
They climbed into the car and drove through the gate into the emir’s compound. Despite passing the security screening at the gate, Laila didn’t feel relief that the first gauntlet had been passed. They were now in the lion’s den.
* * *
The foyer of the emir’s main house was four stories high, a large aviary filled with colorful birds hung from the ceiling. On ground level, blue marble fountains located on either side of the double mahogany doors of the formal entryway spurted water.
They were greeted by the emir’s head butler who snapped his fingers for an attendant to appear and escort them to their room. Or more precisely, their rooms. Within the walls of the compound, Harris and Laila would not be permitted to spend time together in private without supervision. If they needed to speak alone, they would have to arrange a secret meeting.
With a bid goodbye, Laila’s uncle followed an attendant to his room.
Once she was escorted to her room, another attendant waited at Laila’s door, making it clear he wasn’t leaving her and Harris without a chaperone. Never mind that she’d been living in another country where she might have been alone with a man at any time, in the emir’s home, his rules applied. For that matter, in the emir’s country, his rules applied. She’d grown up with the same rules and restrictions, but in the last couple of years, she’d grown accustomed to freedom. Being here already felt stifling.
She was Qamsarian royalty and with that came intrusions into every aspect of her life. She’d been raised to accept that her life was not her own. Only since the death of her father two years ago and her subsequent time in America had she questioned that eventuality.
“I’ll unpack my things and take a shower. How about we meet in an hour?” Harris asked. “You can show me Qamsar. You’ve spoken so often about the souk, I’d love to see it. Maybe get a gift for your mother.”
She and Harris would be staying in rooms on opposite ends of the guest corridor. Laila wished he could stay closer. At least within shouting distance. She’d never spoken to Harris about the marketplace, but Laila nodded along. If he needed to go to the souk, she’d provide what cover she could.
She closed the door to her suite. What would she do for the next hour? She should call her mother to tell her that she’d arrived. Her mother was staying in the family’s country home about twenty minutes from the compound.
Nervous about speaking to her mother and giving something away, Laila stalled. She opened her luggage and hung her dresses and veils. The trip had pressed wrinkles into the fabric, but she could send them to be pressed later. She set her toiletries in the en suite on the counter.
She jumped at the sensation of hands on her waist. She whirled and found herself looking at Harris. His blue eyes were bright, and his full lips caught her attention.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I missed you,” he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
Her heart rate jumped. He had? They’d been apart for less than twenty minutes. She pushed his hands away.
“I need to check your room,” he said.
Disappointment plowed through her. He’d been teasing. Flirting with her. As part of their role or because he liked her? Before they’d left the States, Harris had made it clear, once he was in character, he stayed that way. It was easier to live the lie fully immersed, as opposed to switching roles. How much of his flirtation was the real Harris, and how much was him playing a role? It was their first day in this charade, and Laila was questioning their relationship. It was a disquieting emotional place to be.
“How do you know no one saw you come in here?” she asked.
“I was careful. I came in through the balcony.” He pointed across the room to the sliding glass doors.
She hadn’t heard him open the doors. Or land on the balcony for that matter. She needed to be more alert.
Harris walked around her room, fiddling with his cell phone. “I can’t get a signal.” He swung the phone in every direction. After several minutes, he stopped. “Your room is clean. Mine is not.”
Laila lifted her brow. He’d been using his phone to check for surveillance equipment. “Your room is bugged?”
“Audio surveillance. Probably not video, but I can’t be sure. I had to get creative with leaving my room. Good thing all of the balconies are close together.”
“Did you remove the bug?” she asked.
“And tip off whoever planted it that I found it? No way. I’ll wait for the right opportunity and have it malfunction. Closer to the wedding, when more guests are staying here, the staff will be stretched too thin to follow up on a broken transmitter. By then I’ll have won them over with my charm.” He grinned at her. His smile threw fuel on the crush she’d developed on him. Some men were too handsome for their own good.
“You won’t win anyone over if someone finds you in my room.” It would be a terrible breach of protocol and inappropriate at best.
His face reflected concern. “No one saw me. I needed to know you were okay.”
Whenever he looked at her that way, his eyes bright and filled with emotion, heat spread across her chest. Did he mean what he said? Or was he being the German boyfriend? She couldn’t bring herself to put it into words. It was too embarrassing and too needy to ask, “Do you like me or are you using me?”
It was better for both of them to assume the latter.
A knock at her door sounded and fear raced through her. Harris had to hide. If he was discovered in her room, she would be in serious trouble. Could he fit under the bed? Should he go out the balcony? Harris didn’t wait for instruction. He was nearest to the closet, and he pulled open the bifold door, gestured to her and the suite’s door, and then silently closed the door behind him.
Laila steadied her nerves and opened the door to her room. Mikhail was on the other side, hands clasped behind his back, a somber expression on his face. He stepped into her room and looked around. “Do you find your accommodations pleasing?” he asked.
Did he know something? Mikhail was her brother, but her nerves tightened, and her mouth went dry. He’d never been easy to get along with, and since becoming emir, he was more difficult, his temper on a hair trigger.
As a child, Mikhail had been hot-tempered. As a young adult, he’d had an elitist, entitled attitude. Growing up, Mikhail had been close with her uncle, her father’s youngest brother, Hakim. Hakim didn’t believe in changing Qamsar’s culture or in civil rights for minorities or the poor. He supported the old ways and believed that power was best placed with the royal family, and everyone else should do as commanded for the betterment of the country. Hakim was killed in a sandstorm when he was thirty, and his death had affected Mikhail deeply. Mikhail had admired him and his beliefs about preserving the culture of Qamsar. If Al-Adel was feeding into Mikhail’s ideas, perhaps Mikhail had found the coconspirator he’d been missing since Hakim had died. It was the best explanation she could come up with for why her brother was so different from their father and her other brother, Saafir.
Instead of the guest suites, Laila would have rather stayed in her old room, but Mikhail had remodeled that part of the compound, and her and her brother Saafir’s bedrooms had been repurposed. “Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” Her decorum with her brother lacked warmth, but that had been the case for years. Despite her father’s insistence they behave amicably with each other, they’d never developed a close relationship, and with the shadow of the car bombing looming, anxiety in her brother’s company was high.
Mikhail lifted his chin, looking down at her. “I was surprised to learn you’d attend the wedding. You gave the impression you had too much work to do in America.” The last word of his sentence sounded like he was spitting bile.
“I made arrangements. I wanted to be part of your special day. I know how important this is to you and Qamsar.” She hated lying. Was her face turning red? Heat flamed up her body, and her cheeks felt hot.
Mikhail nodded his approval of her decision. “I was worried you were turning into a liberal Yank.”
Mikhail’s dislike for America wasn’t a secret. He wanted to move the Qamsarian economy forward and bring more wealth to the country. He saw America as both an impediment and a necessity to that end. Negotiating with the American government frustrated Mikhail. He was accustomed to having power, and as the smaller country with fewer resources, he had to compromise his goals to gain the support of the larger country. Turning away from working with America wasn’t an option unless he could build a lucrative alliance with another country. The people of Qamsar wanted those connections, those protections and those ties to market their products internationally.
“Of course not. I am loyal to my country.” She was betraying her brother by being here, by allowing Harris to spy on Mikhail’s wedding and within the compound to find Al-Adel, but she was doing what was right for Qamsar.
“I heard about your car trouble in America,” Mikhail said.
Her car trouble? Was he referring to the attempt on her life? Harris had discussed with her how to play it. “The authorities are looking into it. I am sure they will find the guilty person.”
“Probably some hateful, anti-Middle Eastern American with too much time on his hands. Maybe you should take it as a sign to come home,” Mikhail said.
Laila studied him carefully, looking for indications of guilt. Would he say more on the topic if she remained quiet? Mikhail wouldn’t have set the bomb to force her to return to Qamsar. There were easier, less deadly ways to get her to leave America. Would he insist she move back? “I am enjoying my studies.”
“Father always said you had an inquisitive mind and should be kept busy. That belief is the reason I haven’t made you return.”
At the mention of their father, grief brought tears to her eyes. Mikhail permitting her to study in America was out of deference for their father. She hadn’t considered that.
Mikhail looked away. “We need to talk later about the man you brought to the compound.”
He knew! Laila schooled her expression as panic raged inside her. Had she given herself or Harris away? Watching Mikhail’s face, Laila didn’t see signs of anger or danger. She calmed her racing thoughts. Her brother wanted to talk about the man who she’d brought home. If Mikhail believed Harris to be a spy or an American, they wouldn’t have been allowed to enter the house.
A creak sounded in the closet, and Laila forced herself not to turn. Did Mikhail hear it? Her heart beat a nervous staccato. “We can talk about it now if you’d like.” While Harris was close enough to protect her. Did Harris understand enough Arabic to follow their conversation?