pensating.
“You realize, don’t you, I’m a doctor and have a confidentiality agreement
with my patients? Who did you want to talk about?”
“Mr. Hassan Rohani.”
Zack’s mind went blank for a split second. “Is he in trouble?”
“No. Not that I know of. Not with us. He’s no longer in this country. We
just want to learn more about him.”
Zack found himself stroking his beard again. He stopped and said, “Let’s
go in here. I don’t know how much I can tell you.” He led her into his office
and indicated the chair vacated by Fay.
Whitehurst irritably glanced around the room as she sat down. Zack real-
ized she was nervous, too. She was as intimidated to be talking to a shrink as
he was to be talking to the FBI. Nervousness made her seem more human.
Otherwise she was a robot.
She took out a notepad and faced Zack. “Do you know why Hassan Ro-
hani was in Williamsburg?”
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
2 8 1
“Yes. He was visiting his brother.”
“His brother? He has a brother?”
“Yes. Abbas Rohani. Who’s artist in residence here at the college.” Zack
was surprised she didn’t know that.
“Do you know how we can reach him?”
“Abbas? He’s in the phone book. He works at the school. He shouldn’t be
hard to find.” Zack didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but it came out that way.
“He’s Iranian too?”
“He was born there, yes. They are brothers. But I think Abbas has a
French passport.”
She glanced again at her notepad. Zack realized she wasn’t writing any-
thing down.
“What’s this about exactly?” said Zack. “I’m not comfortable talking to
you without knowing what it is you’re looking for.”
“We just want some information,” said Whitehurst. “All we know is an
important Iranian official visited the U.S. and didn’t go anywhere except here.
We want to know why.”
“I told you. His brother and his brother’s family are here. He came to visit
them.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we’re friends with the family. We had them over for dinner one
night while Hassan was in town.”
“Who’s we?”
“My boyfriend and I.”
“Okay.” She did not appear surprised to hear he was gay.
“But Hassan flew back to Iran two weeks ago,” said Zack. “You’re inves-
tigating him only now?”
“These are busy times and we are badly understaffed. What did you talk
about at dinner?”
“Religion, Paris, abstract art.” Zack tried to remember what else. “Sufi po-
etry.”
Again, no sarcasm was intended, but Whitehurst didn’t notice. “Did Mr.
Rohani ever indicate he’d be meeting anyone else while he was in the country?”
“No. He spoke to me only about his brother and his brother’s family and
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C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
his concern for their welfare. He really did seem to be visiting this country
only to see them.”
“What were his concerns?”
“Uh, personal matters.” Zack paused. “I assure you it was nothing politi-
cal or potentially criminal.”
Whitehurst looked back down at the notepad. “Is that what you and Mr.
Rohani were discussing at Barnes and Noble two days before he flew home?”
Zack froze. And he understood: She didn’t need to write anything down
because her notepad was already full of notes.
She was looking straight at him now. There was a pinched, attentive look
to her eyes, like she was a lab assistant watching a lab rat make a choice.
“Yes,” Zack finally said. “That’s what we discussed.” His mouth was dry;
he swallowed. “How did you know that? Did Hassan tell you?” He had to
swallow again. “Has Hassan been arrested?”
She remained very still, as if surprised by the question.
“Tell me!” said Zack. “I’ve been cooperating with you. I’m happy to co-
operate. I work with the police all the time. You can at least tell me if he’s been
arrested or not.”
She sat a little straighter, trying to stay stone-faced, poker-faced.
“Look. If you won’t level with me, I’m ending this conversation right now.
I won’t say another word without an attorney present.”
Whitehurst relaxed her expression a little. “Oh, all right. No. He has not
been arrested. He flew straight back to Iran. If he were still in the country,
we’d be talking to him and not to you.”
Zack nodded while he put it together. “So how did you know we met at