Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria (5 page)

No man had a right to touch any woman without her permission, especially to do something
as heinous as tearing off her head scarf. I wish I could say the reprehensible act
surprised me, but alas it did not. For a country founded on religious freedom, America
was full of ignorance, intolerance, and distrust. I felt bad for Zardooz and other
Muslims who’d suffered prejudice due to the acts of a small faction of extremists.
It was no different from judging all Christians based on the radical few who murdered
abortion doctors or judging all Jewish people based on the bombings carried out by
the Jewish Defense League.

Zardooz reached into his back pocket and removed a small envelope. Inside the envelope
were wallet-sized photos of the three men who’d been arrested here in Dallas. Zardooz
handed one set to me, another to Eddie.

I spread the photos out on the table in front of me and looked them over. I wasn’t
sure what I had expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the ordinary-looking men
in the photos. All three were clean shaven, with short dark hair and light brown skin.
They appeared to be in their late twenties, around my age. One wore a business suit
and tie in his photo; the other two wore dress shirts. Though none smiled, their expressions
were in no way threatening. Had I not known these benign-looking men were terrorists,
I would’ve assumed they were no different from the thousands of other immigrants who
had come to the United States seeking education, work, and a better life.

Agent Zardooz pointed to each photo in turn. “Their names are Radwan Algafari, Karam
Homsi, and Hani Nasser.”

While the sounds rolled off his tongue, I knew I’d stumble over the unfamiliar names.

“All three men were raised in very rigid, fundamentalist families,” Zardooz continued.
“They went to school together in Syria, then immigrated to the United States to attend
college at the University of Texas.”

Whoa. These guys had attended UT, my alma mater? Scary to think I might have crossed
paths with terrorists on campus. Then again, the university was no stranger to terror.
In 1966, a student named Charles Whitman purchased scopes and an arsenal of rifles,
murdered his wife and mother in their home, then ascended to the observation deck
of the administration building tower and proceeded shooting randomly at those down
on the campus and streets below. In the end, sixteen people lay dead and more than
thirty others were wounded. More recently, in 2010, a student with an AK-47 opened
fire on campus. The university was better prepared this time and went into immediate
lockdown mode. Fortunately, no others were injured this time around, though the shooter
took his own life in the main library. I’d been lucky there’d been no incidents during
my period of attendance.

“Algafari was an engineering major,” Zardooz informed us. “Nasser studied chemistry
and Homsi majored in physics.”

Smart guys, huh? Too bad they didn’t use their intelligence for good instead of evil.

Zardooz went on to tell us that Algafari and Nasser obtained jobs in Dallas after
completing college, while Homsi went to work for a small start-up company in neighboring
Fort Worth. They’d stayed in close contact and sometimes prayed together. They traveled
back to Syria often and maintained close ties to their relatives and homeland. The
CIA had obtained extensive evidence linking them to acts of terror that had taken
place in and around Syria at the times the men were visiting their native country.
One of those acts involved the school bus.

A queasiness invaded my stomach at the mention of the bus. Luckily, the agent spared
us the gory details and moved on to other matters.

Zardooz looked from me to Eddie. “How much do you two know about Arab history?”

Eddie and I exchanged glances. Sure, we heard snippets about events in the Arab world
all the time on the news. Another car bomb had exploded; another embassy had been
firebombed; another political leader had been assassinated. The snippets failed to
provide a complete picture, however. What information was available seemed confusing
and contradictory, complicated and conflicting. To make matters worse, allegiances
were tenuous and constantly shifting. Countries that fought side by side in one war
would be at each other’s throats not long afterward.

Admittedly I’d never bothered to research the issues in detail. It wasn’t that I didn’t
care; it’s just that I got my fill of violence on my job. I lived in Dallas, thousands
of miles away from these Arab countries, and had no control over the events that took
place there. Heck, I paid just as little attention to the political unrest here in
America. I never did quite get that whole “Occupy Wall Street” movement. I hated corporate
fat cats as much as the next guy, but where would the little guy be if his bank went
kaput? Honestly, I couldn’t tell who was right and who was wrong in many cases. I
didn’t have the answers. Plus, Neiman’s was usually having a shoe sale. A 30 percent
discount could be quite distracting. No doubt Eddie also found little time to devote
to world politics. Between his job as a special agent and his duties as a husband,
father of twin girls, and soccer coach the guy was lucky to find a spare ten minutes
to take a peek at a Mavericks game.

Yep, as ashamed as I was to admit it, to a certain degree I was one of those people
who’d rather stick her head in the sand and pretend the world is a happy, sunshiny
place full of nice people. I knew it was naïve and wrong, but the alternative was
to be upset and depressed all the time, wasn’t it? Who wants to live like that? Besides,
it wasn’t like I was doing nothing. I contributed to human rights groups. Just take
a look at the charitable deductions on my last tax return.

“What do we know about Arab history?” I repeated, eyeing Zardooz. “Try squat.”

“Okay,” Zardooz said, thankfully accepting our ignorance without an eye roll or sigh.
“Back in the seventh century, the prophet Muhammad—”

Zardooz was interrupted when Agent Wang tossed a fried green bean at him. “We don’t
have all day, dude. Bring it up to this century, at least.”

Zardooz picked up the green bean, dipped it into Wang’s chipotle ranch sauce, and
took a bite. “All right. You two have heard of the ‘Arab Spring,’ right?”

Eddie and I nodded. Our heads had not been
completely
up our asses.

Zardooz gave us a quick rundown. In recent months, many of those living in the Arab
world had reached the limits of their tolerance and revolted against their country’s
oppressive regimes. This so-called Arab Spring led to rulers being forced from power
in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen. While lesser protests took place in Algeria,
Iraq, Jordan, Kuwait, and Morocco, serious civil uprisings occurred in Bahrain and
Syria. The clashes were often violent, with thousands killed as a result.

Militant groups took advantage of the recent unrest to unleash further terror across
the Arab world. But attacking thousands of people ain’t cheap. When they needed funds
for weapons and bomb-making materials, they’d hit up their cohorts here in Dallas,
playing on their emotions, reminding the men that while they lived in their cushy
apartments in the relatively safe United States their family members were risking
their lives overseas. It was like some type of sick, sadistic soap opera, with psychological
manipulation, constant strife, and goals and motivations that were far from clear.

Still, despite what I’d been told and the evidence I’d been given, I didn’t want to
accept the facts. The men who’d been arrested lived and worked in this country, interacted
with Americans on a daily basis, ate Oreos just like the rest of us. How could they
enjoy the freedoms this country offered while supporting radicals who murdered their
former neighbors and countrymen back in their homelands? Couldn’t they see that, by
and large, people all over the world were basically good?

I supposed it was pointless to even try to make sense of their thinking. Their acts
could never be rationalized or justified.

Our history lesson now completed, I turned to Wang. “What have you done so far in
the investigation?”

“The usual. Searched their homes and cars. Talked to their coworkers and neighbors.
Visited their banks.” He took a sip of his iced tea. “Our next step is to visit MSBs
near their homes and workplaces, see if any of them sent the funds overseas.”

Treasury regulations not only included provisions to prevent and detect money laundering,
but they also prohibited trade between Americans and certain foreign persons and entities
suspected in the promotion of terrorism. Money services businesses, often referred
to as MSBs, were subject to extensive regulation to prevent illegal financing. The
regulations covered a wide range of financial transactions and gave the government
broad authority over any business that cashed checks, performed wire transfers, or
sold money orders, traveler’s checks, or foreign currency.

In most legitimate financial transactions, funds were transferred directly from the
payer’s account at one institution to the recipient’s account at another, with neither
party actually handling cash. In such cases, banking records provided a clear money
trail. Cash, however, was an entirely different matter. Large cash transactions were
unusual these days and, therefore, suspicious. Because cash was essentially untraceable,
it was often used in criminal activity. Thus, the Bank Secrecy Act required MSBs to
report cash transactions involving amounts of ten thousand dollars or more.

Recent legislation had been passed to cover loopholes related to the sale or redemption
of prepaid stored-value cards, which could easily be purchased in the United States
and sent overseas to prohibited parties for redemption. Cash-for-gold transactions
were also now subject to record-keeping requirements after it was discovered that
gold bars and jewelry had been used as a means of illegally moving assets between
the United States and foreign countries. Unfortunately, regulations were often reactive
rather than proactive, with the laws put in place only after a scheme had been discovered.

Agent Wang pulled out three copies of a computer-generated map and an accompanying
list with addresses for local MSBs. The list covered a diverse range of businesses,
including liquor stores, tobacco shops, travel agencies, gas stations, grocery stores,
convenience stores, and bus terminals. Heck, there was even a state correctional facility
on the list.

“I’ve divided up the list,” Wang said. “With three of us working on this, we should
be able to visit each of the businesses within the next few weeks.”

I took my copy from him and ran my eyes over it. Many of the MSBs were located in
the North Dallas sector that surrounded the TI location where one of the men arrested
had worked as a product engineer.
Sheesh.
I wondered if any of his coworkers had suspected him of links to terror cells overseas.
I hoped he hadn’t programmed any of the products to explode. It would be an awful
shame for some high school sophomore to be working on his geometry homework and have
his TI calculator burst into flaming shards.

The cosine of B
=
KABLOOEY!

“Be careful,” Zardooz warned. “We know that whoever helped the men move their money
is on the loose, but it’s possible there are others still out there, too.”

Eddie’s brows drew together. “Say what?”

“We’re not certain we got all the terrorists,” Zardooz clarified. “Some of the communications
we intercepted implied there was another here in the Dallas area, but we feared we’d
lose the main targets if we waited any longer to bring them in. They had plans to
return to Syria shortly.”

“These men don’t play games and they don’t like getting caught.” Wang shot us a meaningful
look. “Don’t let your guard down.”

chapter four

Old Flames

Eddie and I returned to the IRS office and stepped off the elevator. Voices from down
the hall drew my attention to Lu’s office, where she sat in her high-backed chair
behind her enormous desk, Josh and Nick flanking her on either side. The three huddled,
looking down at her computer screen.

While Eddie headed back to his office, curiosity led me to the Lobo’s digs. I stopped
in the doorway. “What’s up?”

Lu glanced up through her false eyelashes. “We’re checking the results from Big D
Dating Service, seeing if we’ve got any hits.”

I stepped into her office, taking a place next to Nick. He glanced down at me. Though
I gave him a smile, his face remained impassive. Surely his response would be different
if he knew I planned to talk to Brett tonight, to make arrangements to take Nick for
a test-drive.

The three checked Josh’s account first.

His cherubic face lit up when he noted he’d had a response. Just one, but that was
all he needed, right? He reached down and maneuvered the mouse, clicking on the link.
The screen brought up a photo of a skinny young woman with white-blond hair pulled
up into two long pigtails on either side of her head. Her blue eyes were opened wide,
giving her a youthful, innocent look. She wore a white short-sleeved sailor-style
top with a blue collar that ended in a big red bow over her chest.

“Does she work for a cruise line?” I asked.

“No.” Josh rolled his eyes. “She’s dressed as Sailor Moon.”

“Sailor
who
?”

“Sailor Moon,” he repeated. “She’s an anime character.”

No wonder I hadn’t recognized her. I knew less than squat about anime, though I could
quote Homer Simpson, Hank Hill, and SpongeBob SquarePants verbatim. Hey, I’m not totally
uncultured.

“She fights evil by moonlight,” Josh said, “and wins love by daylight.”

“The girl who responded to your ad?”

“No!” Another eye roll. “Sailor Moon.”

“Oh.” I supposed I was a bit like Sailor Moon, though I generally fought evil between
8:00
AM
and 5:00
PM
and preferred to win my love in the more romantic evening hours.