Page 94 of Grave Danger
“Seriously? The Farid Bazzi from my husband’s case?”
“Unless you know another one. He’s waiting in the lobby.”
Andie stepped around the front desk and glanced through the bulletproof glass that separated the employee entrance from the visitors’ lobby. Only one person was waiting, and he looked like the Farid Bazzi she’d seen on the news.
“Would you like me to tell him you’re not available?” the receptionist asked.
Andie had faced danger of every stripe in her career, but the sage advice of an instructor from her training at the Academy in Quantico came to mind: “There’s no situation more dangerous than a domestic dispute.”
“He’s been through the metal detector, right?” asked Andie.
“Yes, of course.”
“It’s fine. I’ll see him. This should be interesting.”
The receptionist buzzed her through the locked security door, and Andie entered the lobby. Farid rose and politely introduced himself.
“How can I help you, Mr. Bazzi?”
“I would like to speak with you,” he said. “It’s about my daughter, Yasmin.”
Andie could see in his eyes that he probably hadn’t slept all night.
“You do understand that my husband is Jack Swyteck, Zahra’s lawyer?”
“Yes, of course. That’s half the reason I’m here.”
“And the other half?”
“The fact that you’re an FBI agent. A mother. And I presume a very intelligent woman. Can we go somewhere and talk, please?”
So far, not so threatening. “Here is fine,” she said.
Farid returned to his seat. Andie took the chair across from him, near an engraved bronze plaque honoring the two Miami field agents killed in a 1986 shootout that left five other agents wounded. They were alone in the lobby, save for the indistinct murmuring of a Weather Channel reporter on the flat-screen television in the corner.
“I know you are busy, Agent Henning. So pardon my directness. Your husband seems convinced that Ava is dead. Do you believe she is dead?”
“My, we are being direct. That’s not for me to say, Mr. Bazzi.”
“The Iranian government says Ava fled the country and is still alive. The US State Department has never contradicted that statement.”
“I can’t speak for the State Department,” she said.
Farid paused, then looked Andie in the eye. “I didn’t kill my wife.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Everyone thinks it.”
“Not everyone,” said Andie. “Some people think you tried to kill her, or that you abused her so badly that she fled the country and went into hiding.”
“What do you believe?” he asked.
Andie couldn’t tell him about the confidential dossier, which contained the visa application with Ava’s fingerprints on it—the State Department’s “proof” that Ava was still alive. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Mr. Bazzi.”
“It does matter,” he said, his voice taking on urgency. Then he took a breath, as if to slow himself down, maybe even take a step back. “Agent Henning, you have a daughter. She’s a little older than Yasmin, no?”
“I do.”