Exiles in America(127)

body asking questions.”

“I assume this was FBI, but I’m not sure why. Sorry. I didn’t know this was

normal. I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”

“No. It is good to know people are snooping. So I can be prepared. Thank

you for the warning.”

Abbas looked different: quieter, darker, sadder. Daniel wasn’t sure if he

were different from Christmas night, or different from their good times to-

gether, ages ago. Daniel had seen so many different personalities in this body.

No wonder the man seemed slightly worn out.

Daniel turned to go. Two strangers stood at the door, a young white man

and a young black woman. Both wore overcoats and suits.

“Excuse us,” said the man, pink-faced, with a crew cut that added to his

boyishness. He towered over his partner. “We’re looking for Mr. Abbas Ro-

hani.”

Their timing was disturbingly perfect. Daniel was stunned, but Abbas said

simply, “Speak of the devil.”

“You’re Mr. Rohani?” said the woman, short and bug-eyed, with some

ocher in her skin color. She turned to Daniel. “And you’re—?”

“Daniel Wexler.”

“Oh,” she said, as if disappointed. “My name is Whitehurst, this is Parker.

We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” They flipped open two

badges and snapped them shut, like soft castanets. “If you’ll excuse us, we’d

like a minute alone with Mr. Rohani.”

A chill ran up Daniel’s back, making him stand straighter.

“Go on, Daniel,” said Abbas. “I will be fine.” He sounded cool and confi-

dent and slightly condescending.

“You sure?” But what could Daniel do here? “All right. But if you need

anything, I’ll be in my office. Nice to meet you,” he curtly told the agents and

stepped outside. He considered lingering there, but Abbas gently closed the

door. Daniel headed down the hall.

These were the people who’d talked to Maureen Clark? They looked too

young to be dangerous. If the FBI intended to nail Abbas, wouldn’t they send

someone older and more experienced?

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

2 9 1

Daniel entered his office, intending to call Zack and tell him what was

going on. His message light was blinking. He promptly played the message:

“I just had a disturbing conversation with an FBI agent, an African Amer-

ican woman named Whitehurst . . .”

Zack’s voice remained calm and reasonable. Daniel was surprised he gave

the race of the agent—usually Zack refused to mention race, on principle.

Daniel played the message once, then played it again, feeling more worried

the second time. The FBI had spoken with Zack, which suggested this was

more serious than they claimed. And they knew about him and Abbas, which

unnerved Daniel more than he thought possible. Only what did they know?

That they’d been lovers or fuck buddies or nothing at all to each other?

Daniel didn’t even know the answer there.

He got up to close the door and call Zack, but he heard footsteps ap-

proaching. Abbas came to the door in his winter coat.

“The FBI is taking me to lunch,” he announced. “They want to ask me

about my brother and his visit to the U.S.”

Whitehurst and Parker stood a few feet behind him.

“We’re just gonna talk,” said Parker amiably as he held out a business

card. “Is there a place you’d recommend for burgers?”

“Uh, the Green Leafe?” Daniel took the card.

“It has my beeper and cell phone numbers,” Parker explained. “And our

office in Richmond. So you’ll know how to reach us. But this won’t take long.

Only an hour or so.”

Daniel felt more intimidated than ever. He could read malice and judgment

in their deadpan faces now that he knew they knew he and Abbas had fucked.

They weren’t so innocent after all. They understood more than they let on.

“Do not worry,” said Abbas. “I do this often. I will be fine.”

“He’ll be fine,” echoed Parker. “We’re just gonna eat and talk.”

“You’ll see your pal soon enough,” said Whitehurst in a flat, tired, dismis-

sive tone.

And they left, the agents leading the way.

Daniel waited for Abbas to look back and indicate with a facial expression

or gesture what he was really feeling, but he only looked down, buttoning his

coat.

38

The phone finally rang, and Zack got it. Daniel was calling from

school to report that Abbas had just left with a man and woman from

the FBI. “They said they wanted to talk to him over lunch.”

Zack felt his entire body turn cold. “Maybe you should come home.” He