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“Will that hold up if they decide to pick him up and detain him for questioning?”
“The system we’re using is not recognized in court, but for us it’s enough to bring him in—when we locate him.”
He tapped the keyboard a few more times and then frowned.
“What’s wrong? You look confused.”
“Who’s that woman your stepfather is taking to the White House event? Brit-Saud Oil, right?”
“That’s right.” She licked some hummus from her fingers. “Julie Patrick. Her husband owned massive shares of Brit-Saud Oil, and now they’re all hers.”
“Brit-Saud Oil.” Mike tapped his finger against the laptop’s screen. “Don Yousef is a beneficiary of Brit-Saud Oil.”
Her heart jumped. “What does that mean, beneficiary?”
“The company offers scholarships to promising students in the Middle East who have been adversely affected by war.”
“Is that how Yousef got to Oxford?”
“Yes, and you’ll never guess who’s chairperson of that program.”
Claire dropped her pita bread on the counter. “Julie Patrick?”
“Exactly.” He hunched over the laptop. “Where did you read that puff piece about the guest list for the director’s memorial?”
“The Washington Spy.”
“That’s appropriate.” He brought up the website and did a search for the article. “This only mentions Correll and his guest, Julie Patrick. We need to get ahold of that guest list.”
“If Prospero is monitoring security at the White House for the event, they’d have the guest list, right?”
“Yep.” Mike had already lunged for his phone. “Jack, I need that guest list for the Haywood memorial. More specifically, is Julie Patrick bringing a guest?”
Jack’s voice came over the phone’s speaker. “Hang on. Do you want me to send it to you or just tell you over the phone?”
“I just need to know if she’s bringing a guest—over the phone.”
Jack paused and then came back on the line. “Julie Patrick is most definitely bringing a guest.”
“Who is it, Jack?” Claire gripped the edge of her stool. “Is it Donald Yousef?”
“Donald Yousef? Of course not. After ID’ing him as your husband’s executioner, you don’t think we’d notice his name on the White House guest list?”
Mike held up his index finger at Claire. “Then who is it, Jack? Who’s she bringing?”
“Some kid named Assad Ali-Watkins. He’s one of her scholarship kids.”
Claire jumped off her stool and shouted into the phone, “Jack, it’s him. He’s the threat.”
“What’s she talking about, Mike?”
“Donald Yousef was one of those Brit-Saud scholarship recipients, too. There’s a good chance that Julie Patrick is working to help identify possible recruits for Tempest through this program. The kid is clean, right? He’s going to pass any background and he’s presumably already been vetted by Brit-Saud Oil.”
“Son of a bitch. What are you thinking? Suicide vest?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, and if he sees White House security doing a pat-down of dignitaries before they enter the reception, he’s going to know something’s off and he’ll detonate right there or take off.”
“We’ll have to head him off before he gets to that point. You’ll have to head him off, Mike. This is yours.”
Mike glanced at her, his dark eyes gleaming. “We need to be able to tie this Ali-Watkins to Senator Correll.”
“Did you get any more info on him?”
Mike grabbed the thumb drive. “We did, but we haven’t looked at it yet because we got sidetracked with the dossier you sent on the Oxford Don.”
“Well, get on it. I have complete faith in you, Mike.”
On that high note, Mike ended the call and grabbed Claire’s face, kissing her on the lips. “I think this is it, snow queen.”
The pulse in her throat galloped wildly. “Let’s see what Fiona got for us.”
Mike inserted the thumb drive and double-clicked on it to open it. Several email files popped up, and Mike opened the first one.
