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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