Page 30 of Grave Danger
“No. It’s nothing like that. I know that both you and your husband have been in conversation with the State Department.”
Andie didn’t confirm or deny. “Who are you?”
“A wife who hasn’t seen or heard from her husband in years.”
Andie noticed she was still wearing a wedding ring. “Who is your husband?”
“My husband is an ordinary American who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s in jail. He’s a political prisoner in Tehran. The Iranian government convicted him on bogus charges of espionage.”
The response could not have been further from what Andie had expected. “I’m very sorry.”
“The State Department is my lifeline, of course. It’s all about political backchanneling between governments, which the family can’t control. I’mtold we were close to negotiating his release last year, but it didn’t work out. My life is an emotional roller coaster.”
“That must be very difficult.”
“It’s unbearable. Which brings me here tonight.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like I said, I’m aware that the State Department met with both you and your husband.”
Andy felt like the woman deserved at least some response. “If you’re asking whether the State Department said anything to me about an American hostage in Tehran, they didn’t.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Excuse me?”
“They told you that now is not the time to resurrect Ava Bazzi and the diplomatic crisis caused by the hijab protests. They told you that, right this minute, the US government is engaged in sensitive negotiations with the Iranians.”
“They didn’t tell me what those negotiations are about.”
“That’s because those negotiations are not directly under the control of the State Department. The National Security Council is involved. The negotiation is for my husband’s release.”
Andie felt a chill. The image of a woman alone at the dinner table, night after night, flashed in her mind, and Righley’s voice was suddenly in her head.Do you miss him?
“I’m begging you. Please do not let your husband try to prove that Ava Bazzi was murdered by the morality police. If he embarrasses the regime, my husband will never come home. That’s all I came to say.”
The woman turned and started across the street. Andie called to her, and she stopped.
“What’s your name?” asked Andie.
She didn’t answer. She climbed into the back seat, the door closed, and the taxi drove away.
Chapter 11
Jack came home from the office to a quiet house.
He’d spent the evening with his client, learning more about Ava Bazzi and other women and girls who fell victim to the morality police during the hijab demonstrations. Zahra found news clips on the internet and translated them for him. The story of a sixteen-year-old girl weighed on Jack’s mind all the way to Key Biscayne.
Nika Shakarami went missing in Tehran on a Tuesday, after telling a friend she was being chased by police. On Wednesday night, a state TV report showed her aunt, Atash, saying, “Nika was killed falling from a building.” Her uncle was also seen on TV. He was denouncing the demonstrations and all those who participated, but only after someone off camera spoke in a harsh whisper to him in words that Zahra translated: “Say it, you scumbag!”
Jack entered quietly through the front door. It occurred to him that his own daughter was only eight years younger than Nika, and it made him shudder to think how quickly the last eight years had gone. He stopped by Righley’s room, stepped around Max the sleepy guard dog, and gently planted a kiss on Righley’s forehead without waking her.
The master bedroom was dark, but he didn’t switch on the lamp. He navigated his way in the darkness, getting ready for bed, so as not to wake Andie. Then he quietly slid beneath the covers. She propped herself up on one elbow, staying on her side of the mattress.