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Andie took the Metro back into the district and reached the J. Edgar Hoover Building just after dark. She had several friends

at FBI headquarters, none better than her very first supervisory agent in the Seattle field office.

Isaac Underwood had gone out on a limb for an agent just two years out of the Academy, entrusting Andie with an undercover

assignment that would change the trajectory of her career. Her infiltration of a cult in Washington’s Yakima Valley led to

the apprehension of a serial killer, earning her accolades throughout the bureau. Leaving Isaac had been the hardest part

about her transfer to Miami. Soon after, Isaac was bound for headquarters, though some said he would never have left Seattle

if Andie hadn’t transferred. Rumors. In any event, it had worked out well for him. He became section chief in the international

operations division, overseeing operational units covering Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. Several promotions followed,

most recently to assistant director of the counterterrorism division.

Andie didn’t consider her visit official FBI business, so they met at a bar across the street and found a booth in the back

where they could talk in private. It was after hours, so Isaac ordered a draft beer. Andie had a glass of chardonnay.

“So, you’re a big shot now,” said Andie. “Assistant director.”

“You make it sound like there’s only one assistant director.”

“Not all assistant directors are created equal. What side of the building is your office on?”

“West.”

“Wow, Isaac. A view of Judiciary Square.”

“Meh. It’s not Puget Sound or Mount Rainier, but I can’t complain.”

Andie recalled their “definitely not a date” goodbye dinner for her at Restaurant San Michele in Pike Place Market, when the

other agents on their team were a no-show. It ended up just Andie and Isaac on the terrace, enjoying steamed mussels and a

breathtaking sunset view of Puget Sound with the Olympic Mountains in the distance. Andie still wondered if it was a no-show

by design.

“How’s Jack?” Isaac asked.

“Jack’s good.”

“How are you and Jack?”

“Jack’s good,” she said, not sure why she’d repeated herself.

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing we can’t handle. It’s not easy being an FBI agent married to a criminal lawyer.”

Criminal defense lawyer , she could almost hear Jack saying.

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m around.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” he said, shifting gears. “You didn’t come all the way to Washington to talk about old times. You said you’ve hit a brick

wall with the State Department?”

Andie had called Isaac after tea with Irene Guthrie in Takoma Park. She’d been purposely vague.

“I need some advice. From someone I trust.” She leveled her gaze. “From someone who would never acknowledge that this conversation

ever happened, let alone what was said.”

“I’m sure I owe you one of those.”

Jack’s representation of Zahra Bazzi and the Ava Bazzi angle were public knowledge. The only part she needed to fill in was

the woman in the taxi on Key Biscayne and her talk with Brian Guthrie’s mother in Takoma Park. Isaac listened as Andie talked,

and then he had a few questions.

“Has the State Department told you that the US government is negotiating for the release of a political prisoner?” he asked.

“No.”

“But his wife and mother told you that’s the case?”

“Yes. His name is Brian Guthrie. But here’s the rub. I’ve checked everywhere. I can’t find any record or mention of an American

prisoner in Iran named Brian Guthrie.”

“That’s not unusual, Andie. Remember the last time the United States and Iran swapped prisoners?”

“The six-billion-dollar ransom that was not a ransom?”

“And that was never paid,” said Isaac. “Those funds were frozen in Qatar after Hamas murdered twelve hundred Israelis and

kidnapped two hundred more with Iran’s support. But it took a promise of six billion dollars to get five Americans released

from Evin Prison in Tehran. And the point I’m making here is that the names of two of those hostages were never revealed,

even after they came home.”

“Sounds like I was lucky to find out what little I did about Brian Guthrie.”

“Yeah. What do you know about him?”

“Only what his mother told me. He was an art broker who specialized in antiquities. It was his job to chase down promising

artifacts and bring them to auction houses like Sotheby’s and Christie’s. He was scouting in Iran when the police arrested

him.”

“The art trade in antiquities can be a sketchy business,” said Isaac. “Plenty of the objects that end up in penthouses in

New York or London were looted. One of the most respected trustees at the Met got into hot water over that not too long ago.”

“I read about that. But I don’t think the State Department would prioritize the negotiation of his release from prison if

Mr. Guthrie was an actual criminal.”

“No, but if he has less than a squeaky-clean record in a controversial line of business, that could be the reason the State

Department is keeping his name under the radar. Especially if he’s become a pawn in a bigger diplomatic negotiation with the

Iranian government.”

Andie had been thinking the same thing, but it was reassuring to hear it from Isaac.

“I’d be curious to know what the FBI databases would tell me about him,” she said.

Isaac’s expression turned serious. “Don’t do it, Andie. Margaret Guthrie contacted you because you’re Jack’s wife, not because

you’re an FBI agent. This is not official FBI business. Accessing that database for a personal matter could cost you your

job. You could even end up in jail.”

“I understand,” said Andie.

“Good,” said Isaac. “Pinkie swear?”

She smiled, and they locked fingers. “Pinkie swear. Goofball.”

A man hurried past their booth on the way to the bathroom and then stopped abruptly.

“Andie?” he asked.

It took a minute in the dim lighting, but the name came to her. “Dennis? How are you?”

He smiled at Andie, then looked at Isaac, then glanced at their drinks, and then smiled again at Andie—awkwardly.

“Um...,” he said, flustered. He was clearly under the impression that he’d stumbled upon something he wasn’t supposed

to see.

Andie reacted quickly. “Dennis, this is my former supervisory agent, Isaac Underwood.”

The men shook hands.

“Well, great to see you again, Andie. See you around.” He hurried off.

“That was awkward,” said Isaac. “Who was that guy?”

“Dennis Devoe. He was Jack’s roommate all through law school. He works in the Justice Department. I’ve seen him maybe once

or twice since our wedding, but he and Jack do a golf weekend once a year.”

“Does he think that you and I—”

“Yeah, Dennis would think that way. His ex-wife cheated on him for five years before he finally figured out what was going

on.”

“Do you want me to follow him into the men’s room and straighten him out?”

“No. That’s way too defensive. I’ll call Jack and let him know I had a drink with my old boss after work. No big deal.”

“I hope this isn’t going to create a problem.”

“The only way it would create a problem is if Jack heard it from Dennis.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping. “I’m sure.”

Jack left his office just before nine o’clock. Righley was already asleep, and the babysitter was booked until ten, so he

stopped at Cy’s Place to see Theo. He found an open stool at the bend in the long U-shaped bar.

Theo sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “What the hell, dude? You spill applesauce on yourself while reaching for your bottle

of Ensure?”

Jack took a whiff of his shirt sleeve. “That’s apple-flavored tobacco you’re smelling. Zahra took me to a hookah lounge.”

Jack and Zahra had gone back to his office for the download on Farid. Two hours and two boxes of tissues later, Jack had what

he needed.

“What’re you drinking?” asked Theo.

“Club soda. Big day in court tomorrow.”

“Who’s on the menu?”

“Farid.”

Theo filled Jack’s glass from the fountain. “You got the goods to prove he’s an abuser?”

“I have only what Zahra has told me.”

“You believe her?”

Jack shrugged. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“I suppose not.”

Jack sensed his friend was holding back. “If you have something to say, spit it out.”

Theo wiped down the bar top and placed Jack’s glass on a napkin. “You ever see that old movie where Jimmy Stewart plays the

criminal defense lawyer?”

“ Anatomy of a Murder ? Every trial lawyer has seen it. When did you watch it?”

“We had about five DVDs to watch when I was on death row. This was one of them. You know the story. Jimmy Stewart defends a man accused of murdering the guy who raped his wife. His client admits he killed him. Stewart tells him there’s only one defense. It’s the famous scene where he lays out the legal elements of a temporary insanity defense.”

Jack knew the plot. “And then the client suddenly starts saying all the things he needs to say for his lawyer to build a temporary

insanity defense. But what’s your point here?”

“Dude, your client admits she abducted Farid’s daughter. You laid out a road map with only one path that leads to keeping

her daughter. Zahra has to prove that Farid is an abuser.”

“Are you saying I put ideas in my client’s head? I’m Jimmy Stewart?”

Theo answered in his Jimmy Stewart voice. “Well, uh. You know, Jack. There’s, uh, worse people that you can be, uh... than

Jimmy Stewart.”

“Don’t gloss this over with a joke.”

“Don’t get all defensive on me. I’m not saying for sure that Zahra is lying. There’s just a few things that make me wonder.”

“A few things? What else you got?”

“Well, since you asked. You offered my services as her bodyguard. She’s never taken me up on it. Seems like she would have

jumped on your offer if she was afraid of Farid. I’ve stopped checking in on her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to impose on you,” said Jack.

“I would definitely say you’re right... if I hadn’t talked to Farid myself. The guy was shittin’ his pants when I cornered

him in the men’s room and called him a fucking coward for beating his wives and then threatening you outside your office.

He still denied everything. I told you what I thought.”

Jack remembered: I’m not sure he’s lying.

“It’s all such a blur,” said Jack. “These Hague proceedings move so fast. Too little time to verify the facts.”

“All you can do is go with what your gut tells you.”

“I suppose,” Jack said in a voice that faded.

Theo rested his forearms on the bar and looked at Jack. “Somethin’ else is eatin’ you. I can tell. What’s up?”

Jack looked away, then back. “Andie called me from DC. She was at a bar having a drink with her old supervisory agent from Seattle. Isaac is his name.”

“So?”

“So, what if she’s thinking about taking a job at headquarters?”

“And do what? Commute home on the weekends? She wouldn’t leave you and Righley like that.”

“No,” said Jack. “But she might leave just me.”

Theo’s jaw dropped. “Dude, Andie is crazy about you. This case is making you paranoid. Your wife is not going to take your

daughter and run off.”

Jack turned very serious. “Ten minutes after Andie called me, I got a call from my old law school roommate. He happened to

be in the same bar. He saw them alone in a booth on his way to the bathroom.”

“Stop acting like a middle-schooler. Just because a woman goes into a bar with a man doesn’t mean she’s playing footsie with

his balls under the table.”

“He said they were holding hands.”

“What? Come on. Maybe your friend didn’t see what he thought he saw.”

“Maybe.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Talk to Andie when she gets home. What else can I do?”

“Study for the DC bar exam?”

Jack didn’t laugh.

“Sorry, bad joke,” said Theo. He opened a bottle of beer and set it before Jack. “On the house.”

Jack watched a drop of condensation work its way down the bottleneck. When it finally reached the label, he took a drink.

“I don’t feel like ripping into Farid tomorrow,” said Jack.

“Get over it, dude.”

“Yeah. You know I will.”