Page 53 of Dalla's Royal Guards

She returned her attention to the window. Her smile deepened when she noticed her reflection again. Her face warmed when her body reminded her of what had occurred when she returned from her trek to the plateau.

Nasser and Musad had made love to her again after she returned—slowly, fiercely, tenderly. They hadn’t spoken much. Their touch had said everything. And when sleep finally claimed her, it had been dreamless and deep.

She leaned back, enjoying the sound of their voices as they spoke in low tones. She loved listening to them. She… loved them, she suddenly realized with a start.

“Raja Hadi and his wife are good people,” Musad was saying. “We’ve met them at a few diplomatic events.”

Nasser nodded. “Katie is American. She saved Raja’s life.”

Musad laughed. “She disguised herself as a boy and crossed the desert when she overheard a plot to kill Raja. They’ve been inseparable since.”

“I heard they just had their first child,” Nasser commented.

“That’s wonderful,” Dalla murmured.

“Yes,” Nasser said, glancing back with a smile.

She hesitated, then asked, “Do you… know how to reach Harlem?”

Nasser glanced at his phone and gave a brief nod. “I’ve got a good signal. Let me see the number.”

She handed him the letter. He read the digits, typed them into his phone, and handed both the phone and the paper back to her over his shoulder.

“It’s ready. All you have to do is hit the round button.”

“Hold on, and I’ll pull over to make sure you don’t lose the signal on the way back down over the mountain. There’s a scenic view up ahead,” Musad said.

He turned off the main road and onto a small horseshoe-shaped overlook. The lot was nearly empty. A few motorcycles wereparked to one side, and another SUV had its doors open as a group of tourists laughed and snapped photos near the edge.

Musad pulled the SUV into a parking spot near the far end of the lot and turned off the engine.

Dalla opened the door and stepped out, the phone pressed to her chest. The morning air carried the scent of sun-warmed stone, distant blossoms, and fresh mountain air. She walked toward the railing and stared out at the far mountains where Kashir lay like a shadow.

Nasser and Musad joined her, scanning the area with casual watchfulness.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed the call button.

A single ring. Then another.

Her breath caught as the line connected.

No greeting.

Just silence.

And yet… she knew.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Harlem?”

Langley, Virginia – CIA Headquarters

The late afternoon sun filtered through the narrow blinds, casting long, slatted shadows across Deputy Director Debra Carr-Myers’ desk. Her office was a study in utilitarianminimalism—bare walls, a steel bookshelf with procedure binders aligned like soldiers, and a single photo of a family reunion taken from a stock photo site tucked behind her monitor. Just enough to suggest she was human, not a machine. Those who worked with her would probably disagree.

She didn’t believe in decorating the space. This wasn’t home. This was work. And in her line of work, comfort bred complacency.

The softclickof her office door opening caused her to glance up from the file she was reviewing. Her spine stiffened when she saw who entered.

Adam Kindred.