Chapter 48

“My husband is with Zahra Bazzi and her daughter, and he’s in trouble,” said Andie.

She and her partner were on a videoconference with the Miami ASAC. They were in her car, which was still parked in the lot

at the nature preserve. Andie’s tablet was resting on the dashboard, with the ASAC’s image aglow on the display screen.

“How do you know there’s trouble?” asked Tidwell.

She didn’t even have to use the words Andrea or criminal lawyer .

“The terms of surrender Jack laid out for his client are criminal extortion, pure and simple. Jack would never do that.”

“What are his terms?”

She told him, including the threat to release the video.

“Send me the video and give us Jack’s location. I’ll take it from here.”

Andie used her phone to forward Jack’s email with the attached file.

“Video is on its way,” she said.

“Good. Now delete it from your phone. What’s the location?”

“I’m nearby. Agent Kennedy and I are less than a mile away.”

“Give me the location, Henning. I said I’ll take it from here.”

Andie didn’t like being cut out, especially if Jack was in danger. But she’d already blurred the lines between professional

and personal. She gave up Jack’s location.

“Jack is expecting me to call him back,” said Andie.

“I’ll handle it.”

“What should I do if he calls me?”

“Don’t answer. I’m going to contact him on my terms.”

It took all of Andie’s inner strength to remain respectful. “I’m sorry, sir. I have reason to believe that my husband is in danger. I’m not going to ignore his call.”

Tidwell took a moment to reconsider. “Fine. Take the call. But conference me in immediately. And delete that video.”

The videoconference ended. Andie glanced across the console at Grace in the dim light of the dash.

“There’s a very fishy smell,” said Grace, “and it isn’t coming from the ocean.”

“Which tells me one thing,” said Andie.

“What?”

“Ava Bazzi is bigger than Jack knows. Bigger than you and I can imagine.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Grace.

Andie reached for her tablet on the dashboard. “We’re going to watch that video.”

Jack was in the kitchen with Zahra and Nouri. His cell phone lay on the countertop, and his gaze was locked onto the screen.

Zahra shifted nervously in her seat. “I’m not sure I want to watch.”

“It’s important that everyone see this video,” said Nouri, and he hit the play button.

The video was low quality, and the frames jumped around so randomly that Jack had to strain to discern the image.

“It’s from a body camera,” Nouri explained. “Like the kind police wear.”

Jack watched closely. Whoever had been wearing the body camera finally stopped moving. The frame was still. The image came

into focus on the screen. The camera—cameraman—was positioned at one end of a long corridor that was lined on both sides with

iron prison bars. Hands and elbows protruded through the bars at random intervals, as if the cells were overcrowded, not enough

room for all those detained. The hands appeared delicate, Jack noticed.

“A women’s cellblock?” Jack asked.

“Just watch,” said Nouri.

Two male prison guards appeared at the other end of the cellblock. An inmate stood between them, dressed in prison garb. The

prisoner was much smaller than the guards and appeared to be a woman. Jack couldn’t be certain. A black hood covered the inmate’s

head. The guards started walking toward the camera, bringing the prisoner with them. They walked the entire length of the

cellblock, past the overcrowded cells, and stopped in front of the body camera.

Jack looked at the screen carefully. Even with the hood, it was now clear that the inmate was a woman.

One of the guards moved his mouth, talking, but there was no audio on the recording. The cameraman’s hands occasionally came

into view. He was gesturing the way people do when talking, but it was more than just talk.

“Are they negotiating ?” asked Jack.

The answer came quickly. A wad of cash passed before the lens, from the cameraman’s hand to the prison guard’s pocket. The

guard handed over a plastic bag that, Jack presumed, contained the prisoner’s belongings. The other guard then removed the

hood, apparently to confirm that they were delivering the promised prisoner.

“Oh, my God, Ava!” said Zahra.

The video turned shaky again. Ava and the cameraman were on the move, walking at first and then running. A steel door swung

open to the night sky. They were in a dimly lit parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. A car came into view. More running.

The video went black.

Zahra was overcome with emotion. She ran from the room, leaving Jack alone with Nouri at the kitchen island.

“How did you get this video?” asked Jack.

“How do you think I got it?” asked Nouri.

Jack was still trying to wrap his mind around it, but the conclusion was inescapable.

“Ava wasn’t murdered by Tehran’s morality police. She made it out of Evin Prison, alive and well. With you .”

Nouri stared back at him. “With me,” he said finally.

Jack’s cell phone rang, but no incoming number was displayed. Nouri put the call on speaker, and on his signal, Jack answered.

“This is Jack Swyteck.”

“Jack, this is Todd Tidwell from the Miami field office.”

Nouri hit the mute button. “Who’s Tidwell?”

“My wife’s boss in Miami. The assistant special agent in charge.”

Tidwell’s follow-up came over the speaker. “Jack? Are you there?”

“He’s not high enough in the chain of command,” said Nouri, the call still muted. “Tell him we need someone with complete

authority.”

Jack unmuted the call. “Todd, are you calling to agree to my client’s terms of surrender?”

“I’m calling to give you a dose of reality,” said Tidwell. “I don’t know what you were trying to prove with that video you

sent to your wife, but it’s a complete fake.”

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond, but Tidwell had hit a nerve with Nouri, and Jack was suddenly relegated to the sideline.

“Fuck you, it’s fake ,” said Nouri.

“Who is this?” asked Tidwell.

Nouri was steaming, and the look in his eyes was the same one Jack had seen in the “rehearsal,” when something had triggered

his anger toward the US government.

Jack remembered his words. It uses people. Puts them in a position where they can’t say no, ruins their lives, and then leaves them to fend for themselves.

“This is Nouri Asmoun,” he said, his voice hissing. “I’m sure your friends at the CIA wish this video wasn’t real, the same

way they wish I didn’t exist. I’ve been abused from the day I bought Ava Bazzi out of prison. My life is fucked. My entire

family in Iran is fucked. But the CIA is going to do right by Ava’s sister and daughter. I want this deal wrapped up in thirty

minutes. If the next call doesn’t come from the right person, the truth about Ava Bazzi will no longer be a secret.”

Nouri ended the call. He breathed in and out, bringing his anger under control, and then noticed Jack was watching him.

“What are you looking at, Swyteck?”

Jack didn’t look away. He had no answer for Nouri. Only a question.

“Who are you, Nouri Asmoun?”