Page 18 of Grave Danger
It was eerily reminiscent of the threat from Jack’s attacker:If you make this case about what happened to Ava, someone is going to get hurt.Jack had promised Zahra not to involve the police, but he had to call out this “coincidence.”
“This doesn’t sit well,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Last night I hired a bodyguard to keep my client safe. Some thug put a knife to my throat and threatened me. Now I’m hearing the exact same message from the State Department.”
“I hardly see the parallel,” said Davis. “But I can assure you that we had nothing to do with any threats or thuggery.”
It was a little like talking to Andie; or perhaps it was proof of Andie’s point.Really, Jack? A federal conspiracy under everyrock?
“I’ll accept that,” said Jack. “But let me be clear: I’m going to prove whatever I damn well need to prove to keep my client and her daughter together.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Davis.
“At the risk of sounding like an echo”—Jack deliberately used the director’s own words—“your opinion is not germane.”
He said goodbye and, with the click of a mouse, ended the videoconference.
Chapter 6
Jack and Zahra’s first court appearance was Monday morning. Their troubles began on the courthouse steps. Dozens of demonstrators had gathered outside the Miami federal courthouse to protest the Iranian government’s human rights abuses.
“Women, life, freedom!” they chanted in unison, the English translation of the Iranian rallying cry. Both men and women were among the demonstrators, but the women were more vocal. Some used megaphones. Others brandished posters that readwhere is ava bazzi?
Jack’s advice to his client had been more like a firm warning: turning the case ofFarid Bazzi v. Zahra Bazziinto a media circus about Ava Bazzi was not in the best interest of a six-year-old child. Over the weekend, he had ignored all inquiries from reporters, avoided social media, and done nothing to stimulate media interest. It was to no avail. Interest was both national and international. News vans were lined up on the street, one after another. Camera crews and reporters followed Jack and his client through the crowd, up the granite steps, and through thewhomp-whompof the revolving entrance doors. Cameras were not allowed in the federal courthouse, but reporters continued to pepper Jack and his client with questions all the way to the elevator.
Zahra, is your sister alive or dead?
Why did you use Ava’s name?
What have you told your niece?
The elevator doors closed, shutting out the commotion. They rode in silence for a moment, but Jack had to ask the obvious question.
“Was this your doing?” he asked. “The protests. The media.”
Zahra seemed surprised by his question. “You do realize that this is not just about Ava, don’t you?”
“Obviously, it’s also about you.”
“No, no, no. Jack, hundreds of people, mostly women, were killed or disappeared during the hijab protests. Less than a handful of those murders got international attention. This lawsuit is a chance to shine a spotlight on the regime’s crimes against its own people. Against humanity.”
Jack felt like his eyes had finally opened. “So, when those demonstrators ask, ‘Where is Ava Bazzi,’ they are asking—”
“They’re asking, Where is my niece? Where is my sister? Where is my daughter?”
The case had been assigned to US district judge Samuel Carlton, one of the more senior judges, a grandfather many times over. A crowd had already gathered outside his courtroom on the eighth floor, which indicated to Jack that all public seating in the gallery was taken.
The judge’s bailiff stopped Jack and Zahra the moment they stepped out of the elevator. “Judge Carlton would like to see the lawyers in his chambers,” she said.
Jack was there for a pretrial conference, which judges normally held in the courtroom, open to the public. Jack wondered if it was his opposing counsel who had requested that this one take place behind closed doors. He and Zahra followed the bailiff around the corner to the secure entrance to Judge Carlton’s chambers. The bailiff entered the security code on the keypad, unlocked the heavy door, and led Jack and Zahra inside. Zahra was directed to a small office near the library and told to wait there. The bailiff led Jack to the larger office at the end of the hallway, where Judge Carlton was seated behind his desk. He was wearing his black judicial robe, and the court reporter was present, even though they were not in the courtroom.
“Come in, Mr. Swyteck,” said the judge.
Jack’s opposing counsel was standing before the judge’s desk but slightly to the right of center. Heather Beech was one of the top family lawyers in Miami, a woman who’d made a name for herself defending only men in divorce proceedings. Even in heels, she was barely five feet tall, but she’d slain many a giant in her spectacular career.
Jack approached the judge’s desk and stood slightly to the left, leaving a comfortable distance between himself and Beech.