“Lewis,” she said.
“What about him?”
“He called and said he would like to come home to discuss things.”
I hesitated. “Discuss what? Divorce? Reconciliation? Where to send his clothes?”
“I do not know, Boom. I asked all of those questions and he said he thinks it is a good idea for us to sit down face-to-face and talk it all through.”
“And what did you say?”
Her large eyes were suddenly darker with some faint disappointment.
“Boom, he’s my husband. I cannot refuse to speak to him.”
“Of course not,” I said. But I felt everything inside me stalling out, as if I’d swallowed poison. “When’s he coming?”
“This weekend.”
“Ah,” I said. I held my breath emotionally for a second and then plunged again into the deep water. “And where will he stay?”
She looked down at her hands. “We didn’t talk about that.”
I nodded. “I’ll go back to Des Indes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s in my interest to leave another bedroom available.”
“Boom, please. I’m sure he’s thinking he’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“You guys deserve your privacy.” Gary Cooper, or some other highly honorable movie hero of the past, couldn’t have uttered that line with greater resolve, but I hated saying it. You knew better, I thought. You warned yourself: Nowhere to live. And a shattered heart.
There was not much more to say right now, and so we ended up going for a run. That night we ended up again in my bed.
On Tuesday, I found myself more wallopingly depressed than I’d been since my mother died. The last five years of my life, my grand adventure, as Ellen called it sarcastically from time to time, were not going to amount to much. Lesson taken: You gamble, sometimes you lose.
After lunch, I went down the hall to Goos’s office, which to almost every appearance could have been mine. He was leaving for Kosovo tomorrow. By now, he’d identified at least a dozen people in Mitrovica who said they had lived in Barupra. None had explained where they had been for more than a decade, or why they had seemingly rematerialized only now. Goos thought it was better to ask those questions in person, a judgment I shared.
“What if I told you,” I asked him, “that while you’re gone, I’m going to head to the United States?” The idea had been growing on me all day. The worst part of how I felt was my sense of utter futility concerning everything we’d done for the last several months. And of course, it would be best to leave The Hague while Nara and Lewis were hashing things out. It would drive me insane to be a few blocks away. A dark night of the imagination.
“For what reason, Boom?”
“To try to corner several people who owe us some answers. Starting with Esma.”
Goos pulled a mouth.
“Think you might be breaking the law,” said Goos.
“Not if I’m there as a private citizen. If I’m asking questions for my own sake, with no intention of using the information here at the Court, that can’t be illegal. We have this thing in the US called the first amendment.”
“You’re the lawyer, Boom.”
“You keep telling me that.”
I thought about it a little more and got on the Internet. Jahanbani v. Jahanbani was listed for a hearing Thursday at 2:00 p.m. A Delta flight at 9:30 a.m. that day would get me to JFK before noon. I e-mailed Akemi and asked to take personal time for the balance of the week. Then I called DC.
“How would you like to take a huge step to restoring a friendship that’s lasted nearly three decades?” I asked Roger as soon as he picked up.
He took his time before he said, “I’d like that a lot.”
“I need a favor,” I told him.
He said “Okay,” in a chastened tone.
“I lost my passport in rather difficult circumstances a month ago that you probably know all about.” They’d been tracking me much too carefully to have missed the kidnapping, especially once it was reported to NATO.
“Without commenting on your assumptions, I may have heard about a nasty encounter you had. On top of a gas tank?”
“Saltwater tank.”
“Right right right,” said Roger.
Coming and going from an EU country, with a pocketful of documents issued by the government of BiH, I’d had no trouble at the Bosnian or Dutch borders, but, ironically, I’d have a much harder time entering my own country without my passport. I’d applied for a replacement, but given the distance, the wheels were turning slowly.
Roger asked for the relevant numbers, then put me on hold.
“Do you know where the embassy is?” he asked, when he returned after several minutes. I did, although because of my role at the Court, I’d avoided the place. “If you present yourself there late tomorrow afternoon and ask for Reeda James, she will have your passport.”
“Thank you.”
“May I ask if this has anything to do with your investigation?”
“I won’t be acting on behalf of the Court, Rog, if that’s what you’re worried about. I may ask some questions for my own sake. Starting with my former girlfriend, as you like to call her.”
“Ah,” said Roger.
“I suspect you know this, but her name isn’t Esma Czarni, and she isn’t a Gypsy. She’s Iranian.”
I didn’t hear Roger’s breath for a second.
“Iranian?” he asked then. “Ir-ranian? You mean all this bullshit traces back to Tehran?”
“Rog, I have no idea where it traces. She’s probably just a sui generis crackpot.”
“Jesus Christ. Why didn’t I know this? Have you got any idea about those people, the delight they take in embarrassing the United States? She’s Ir-ranian?”
We shared a moment of continuing mutual shock, albeit arising from much different sources.
“Roger, you’re not actually telling me that the intelligence services of the United States get their information about people they’re concerned with from Google and Wikipedia, are you?”
He didn’t answer that. “We need to have a word with her,” he said. “What’s her real name?”
“I expect to see her on Thursday. Once I do, you can have at her.” I didn’t want Roger ruining my surprise. Esma/Emira would have a lawyer after a visit from the FBI. He groused about the delay, but knew he had no choice.
“As long as I have you,” he said, “may I ask about the future of your investigation?”
“I’d say it appears to be wrapping up. I’ll know for sure by the end of the week. There are still lots of questions, but being frank, none of them appear to be appropriate concerns for the ICC. I take it that you aren’t the Answer Man?”
“I can’t, Boom. We probably know less than you think about the matters that concern you. Perhaps someone who’s not in the reporting chain any longer could speak a little more freely. As long as it’s completely off the record.”
He meant Merriwell. I paused to think and Roger filled in the silence.
“I handled things badly last week, Boom. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” I said.
I thanked him again for his help with my passport and promised to get back to him about Esma by the end of the week.
“Iranian,” said Roger one more time before we got off the phone.
When Nara arrived home, I was in my room. I’d gotten out a suitcase and was throwing a few things in, as I tried to figure out what I needed to wash for the trip. She looked stricken at the sight of the bag.
“Are you leaving me?”
“Just back to the US for a few days. Tie up some loose ends on my investigation. It’s a good time, in any event, to get out of your way.”
“I don’t need you out of my way. I was actually thinking it might be a good idea if you were here when Lewis comes.”
“That is definitely not the right approach. Nara, you need to do what is best for you. For your life.”
She sat down on the bed shaking her head.
“Please don’t talk like we’re in a play.”
“I mean it. If you can salvage your marriage, you should think seriously about doing that.”
She tilted her small face to look at me, manifestly displeased.
“Do you truly believe that Lewis is the best thing for me?”
I faced her with a couple of T-shirts in my hand.