Khalila and Harrison emerged from the car and headed toward the palace entrance, taking in its grandeur. The original seat of Kuwait’s government comprised an artificial lake, manicured gardens, a marina, and several helicopter landing pads. The clock tower, covered in blue tiles and capped with a gold-clad dome, was a magnificent example of Islamic architecture, and the Seif Palace’s most well-known feature.
They were met near the palace entrance by a man who introduced himself as Basim Iqbal, who wore a dark gray suit with a slight bulge under his left shoulder. Harrison concluded he was armed, his suspicion confirmed when they reached the metal detectors at the entrance. Iqbal pulled a pistol from a shoulder holster and placed it in a basket before proceeding through the detector. He retrieved his weapon, returning it to its holster while Harrison and Khalila passed through the detector without incident.
Iqbal led them down a long outdoor concourse with parallel walkways framing a series of pools and fountains. Although Arabic was the official language of Kuwait, English was a compulsory second language in Kuwaiti schools and was used by Kuwaiti businesses. Khalila conversed with Iqbal in English, more for Harrison’s benefit, he assumed, so he could listen in.
Their conversation was of little import to the issue at hand — who was the prisoner taken from the Abbottabad compound and what had happened to him — until they reached the seawall overlooking Kuwait Bay, the palace’s perimeter lights shimmering atop the water’s black surface. There, Khalila made the query.
Iqbal placed both hands on the seawall railing, staring into the darkness. Khalila turned around, leaning back against the seawall as she searched left and right for evidence of others in the distance. Harrison stood a few paces away, also monitoring the area, spotting no one. However, he noticed a small transmitter in Iqbal’s right ear. Someone was likely monitoring their conversation.
“You ask a sensitive question,” Iqbal said.
Khalila signaled for Harrison to approach. When he reached her, she held her hand out for the envelope of money in his jacket pocket, which he handed to her. She extended the thick envelope to Iqbal.
He eyed the envelope, then took it and ran his thumb along the edge of the bills. He slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket.
Khalila repeated her question. “Who was sent to Kuwait from the Abbottabad compound?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
“Malik al-Rashidi. He would have been the one who made the arrangements when the prisoner arrived.”
“Do you know where the prisoner was sent?”
Iqbal shook his head.
“Is there anything else you’d like to share?”
“One thing,” he said. “You should not have asked these questions.”
“Why not?”
“I now have conflicting guidance. On one hand, I have a mandate that says you’re untouchable. On the other hand, I have an edict that requires me to eliminate anyone who asks the questions you just posed.”
“That’s quite the dilemma,” Khalila said. “I recommend instead that you pretend this conversation never happened.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot. The edict to eliminate you outweighs the mandate to protect you.”
“I see,” Khalila replied. “I suppose you’re the one who will execute this edict?”
Iqbal nodded.
Harrison noticed movement in the distance. Two men had appeared on the left, walking briskly toward them. To the right, he spotted two more men approaching, weapons drawn.
Iqbal turned and pulled his pistol on Khalila.
Khalila folded her arms across her chest. “This is very unwise of you, Basim. If any harm comes to me, you will not live long. Your wife and children will not live long.”
Harrison noticed the indecision in the man’s eyes. But his resolve hardened as the four men reached them, stopping a few feet away, two facing Khalila while two focused on Harrison.
“You’ve placed me in an untenable position,” Iqbal said, anger gathering in his voice. “You should have stayed in America and let them send someone else. But no. You come to ask these questions!”
“It wasn’t my decision.”
“You didn’t have to follow through. You could have stayed in your hotel room and arranged a mishap for your partner, then returned safely home.”
Khalila nodded. “Yes, I could have killed him like the others, but it wouldn’t have addressed the issue.” She stepped closer to Iqbal. “I came because I want the information.”
“Well, then,” Iqbal said, “you have chosen your fate.”
“If this is to be my last night,” Khalila said, “perhaps you can satisfy my curiosity. Did this edict to terminate any who inquire about this matter come from Rashidi?”
Iqbal nodded.
There was a tense silence between them until Iqbal spoke. “I’m begging you, Khalila. Walk away and return to America. Pretend this conversation never happened and that whatever clue brought you to Kuwait led to a dead end. I’ll take care of your partner.”
Khalila stared Iqbal down. When she didn’t immediately reply, he said, “For the sake of my wife and children. Don’t make me do this. Walk away!”
She considered the man’s words at length, then turned to Harrison, her eyes meeting his.
“I’m sorry, Jake,” she said. “Basim is right. I need to live to fight another day.”
Harrison couldn’t argue with her logic. It was five men, each armed, against two, with only Khalila wielding weapons. Still, with the element of surprise, as Khalila had explained in the car, they had a chance.
He wasn’t about to give up without a fight, even if Khalila chose not to assist. If there was any hope of survival, he had to act now. If he could wrest the weapon from the nearest agent, he’d have a chance. But he was too far away. He needed to get a step closer without the man suspecting anything.
Time was running out.
Harrison was about to spring into action, despite the unlikely prospect of success, when he noticed something odd about Khalila’s gaze. Her eyes shifted periodically between Harrison and the Kuwaiti agent nearest him.
He could have misinterpreted her eye movements, but he chose to believe Khalila was about to attack and that she was signaling — be ready.
He stalled for time, searching for a way to move closer to the nearest agent.
“You’re just going to walk away? You said I could trust you completely unless I learned your identity.”
“The current situation is hopeless,” she said as her eyes canvassed the five men arrayed against them. “It calls for a reassessment of our partnership.”
Turning back to Iqbal, she lowered her hands, palms outward in supplication as she looked to the sky, then spoke in Arabic.
“We must take what Allah provides and be grateful.”
The code phrase.
Harrison had little time to analyze why Khalila had chosen to engage rather than walk away. He stepped closer to the Kuwaiti agent nearest him. “What did she say?” he asked, since Khalila had spoken in Arabic.
Before the man could respond, Khalila flexed both wrists and a knife slid down into each hand. She swung one upward, driving it beneath Iqbal’s chin into his brain as she threw the other knife at the next closest Kuwaiti agent, impaling him in the center of his chest.
As the man fell to his knees, Khalila used Iqbal as a shield, pulling her knife from his head as a spray of bullets peppered his back. Then she let her remaining knife fly, hitting a third man in the throat. She dropped down, retrieving Iqbal’s pistol as a burst of bullets from the third man passed overhead, then finished off both wounded Kuwaiti agents with a shot to each man’s head.