Chapter 41

Andie was alone in her office. Jack had gone home ahead of her. Andie had more work to do.

Her talk with Jack had been a long time coming. She couldn’t say that she’d held back nothing, but she’d shared everything

he’d earned the right to know. The name of the American hostage—Brian Guthrie—was still secret. But it was important for Jack

to understand why the State Department had put so much pressure on him not to upset the negotiation with Iran. And it was

important to Andie that he understand the pressure that the FBI, the State Department, and the CIA had put on her. She told

him that the US was negotiating with Iran for the release of a CIA agent.

“You should have told me sooner,” Jack had said.

“Rules, rules, rules,” she’d said, though it was really just one rule—“The Rule”—that had made their marriage so difficult.

“All set, Agent Henning?”

A young man from office services was standing in the doorway. Andie’s desktop was wiped clean, and the bookshelves were empty.

She loaded the contents of her credenza into a banker’s box and placed it on the moving dolly with the other boxes. She was

officially leaving the third floor. Monday would be her first day in her new office, one floor above, with the international

corruption squad. As the newbie, she’d share an office area with two other agents. The bureau had a strange notion of “promotion.”

“All set,” said Andie.

The young man pushed the cart out the door, but Andie didn’t follow. She settled into her desk chair one last time. Even with

bare shelves on the walls, memories abounded. But there was no reminiscing. Her talk with Jack was still top of mind.

The confidential nature of the State Department’s dossier on Ava Bazzi had not precluded Andie from telling Jack what wasn’t in it. Not a word about fleeing domestic violence. Nothing about Ava’s role in a secret network of messengers. The holes had

only fueled Jack’s suspicions that the State Department was feeding Andie fake evidence that Ava Bazzi was alive. Her talk

with Farid was also weighing on her mind. Even he seemed to have come around to the view that Ava was dead.

Yet Andie couldn’t deny what she had seen in the dossier: an FBI examiner’s certification that the fingerprints on an eight-month-old U visa application belonged

to Ava Bazzi. Andie had noticed the examiner’s name on the report, and with a little brain strain, it came back to her.

It was worth checking out.

She picked up the phone and put in a call to the Criminal Justice Information Services Division, the FBI’s high-tech hub in

the hills of West Virginia. She gave her ID number to the operator, who transferred her to the fingerprint identification

division.

“I’m trying to reach an examiner named Leslie T. Cahill,” said Andie.

“One moment, please.”

Andie waited.

“Can I put you on hold?”

Andie waited another minute.

“Agent Henning, can you spell the name, please?”

Andie did. More waiting, and then the answer came.

“We have no examiner by that name.”

“Could she possibly be at another location?”

“I checked the global database. Not here. Not anywhere.”

“The report I have is eight months old,” said Andie. “Maybe she’s no longer there.”

“Eight months? No. Retired, deceased, terminated—she’d still be in the database. We purge after two years. You must have wrong

information.”

“Okay, thanks for checking.”

Andie ended the call. She could follow up with Human Resources on Monday, but she didn’t see the point. There was no Leslie T. Cahill. There were no fingerprints from Ava Bazzi on the visa application that the State Department had shared with Andie.

Jack, it seemed, had been right. Ava Bazzi was dead. And for some reason, the US government didn’t want Jack, Andie, or the

rest of the world to know it.

She dialed Jack’s cell, and he picked up from his car.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said. “There’s one more thing you should know.”