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.

“I have something important to tell you,” she said.

Jack was exhausted, but her tone made it clear that this couldn’t wait. He listened as Andie told him about the unexpected

visitor, saying nothing until she was finished.

“I didn’t see that coming,” said Jack.

“I hope it makes a difference.”

“To my case, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Andie. “I know it’s not my place to tell you how to try your case. But I’m asking—just asking—for you to consider

what this woman said to me. Will you do that?”

“I will, but...”

“But what?”

“I don’t necessarily agree that keeping the Iranians happy in a negotiation to release an American prisoner is more important

than keeping a six-year-old girl safe and with her mother.”

“Jack, I’m a mother, and I get where you’re coming from. But you have to look at the big picture.”

“Meaning what?”

“This is not just about an American or a negotiation. Do you realize that three Americans are kidnapped or wrongfully imprisoned somewhere in the world every day ? That’s a thousand American families a year whose world is turned upside down. Hostage negotiators on both sides have long

institutional memories. If something is promised and not delivered, they don’t forget it when the next negotiation starts.

Undermining the US government’s negotiating power in one case undermines it everywhere.”

“Okay, fair point. Of course, you’re assuming that this woman is on the level and telling you the truth.”

“Why should I question that?”

“Did she give you her name?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you her husband’s name?”

“No. But, Jack, even without names, she is probably breaking every rule in the book just by telling me that the US government

is in active negotiations for her husband’s release.”

“Or...”

“Or what?”

Jack sighed, not sure he should say what he was about to say. “Andie, look at the pattern here. First, a thug jumped me outside

my office and told me I better not make this case about what happened to Ava Bazzi.”

“A thug named Farid.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Then tonight, out of nowhere, a woman shows up and tells you that her husband’s life depends on my courtroom

strategy. Who is this woman? Who is her husband? How do we know she’s really the person she claims to be? How do we know she’s

any more reliable than the so-called medical examiner who testified in court today? That guy was a puppet of the Iranian government.”

“This woman is not a puppet of the Iranian government.”

“I agree. But how do we know she’s not a puppet of her own government?”

“Have you been binge-watching Jack Ryan on Prime again?” she asked, scoffing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? First, the State Department asked me not to prove that Ava Bazzi was murdered. When that failed, they recruited you

to change my mind. When that failed, a woman shows up at our house and tells you her husband’s life is in my hands, depending

on what strategy I adopt in court.”

There was just enough light in the room for Jack to see the incredulity on Andie’s face.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she said. “It’s exactly like Dr. Stanger said in counseling. We have mirror image syndrome.”

“What?”

“We look at the same set of facts. I see a woman in desperate need of help to save her husband. You see a devious scheme by

the US government to support its own diplomatic position.”

“I didn’t say it is a scheme. I said I have questions.”

Andie fell into her pillow. “You make me furious.”

“You’re not even listening to my side of it.”

“I’ve been listening to your side of it for nine years.” She rolled onto her side and showed Jack the back of her head. “I’m tired of the aggravation, Jack. This is fucked up.”

Jack lay in the darkness, staring up at shadows on the ceiling, afraid to ask if by “this” she meant the Ava Bazzi predicament.

Or their entire marriage.