“A month ago I went to four funerals. My brothers are dead. Our shop was burned. The machines we used are destroyed. The technology changes so fast, I don’t even know what I’d buy to replace them. I have to find out what the next thing is and get some training. The one thing I can do for people right now is passports.”

“How can you do that if you can’t make a driver’s license anymore?”

“I can do it. This is very difficult, but it works. It takes great artistry, things nobody else but me can do. If you want one, I’ll do it.” What she did was to begin with a genuine expired passport. Most of the artistry she was referring to was done on the old passport sent in with an application for renewal. She would show a change of address, alter the name, and sometimes she would tamper with and replace the original picture so that it looked like a younger version of the client and match the new photographs. Then she would submit the application, including the old passport she had transformed.

“How much is it?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Hundred?”

“Thousand. It’s a federal crime. It’s probably twenty-five years in prison—a lousy thousand dollars a year. And what you get is a real passport, good for ten years, not a street counterfeit. And once you’ve got the new one, you can renew it in ten years yourself. It’s real.”

“That’s a good offer, but maybe not right now. How long does it take to do?”

“It takes as long as it takes. You’re dealing with delicate work, and with the U.S. government. If you might need one, don’t wait.”

Regina Varga sold four passports that day. Since the originals were ones she picked up in bulk from people who resold papers and identification from estate sales, she paid an average of $10 for them, and $145 plus postage for a renewal application. But she was not lying about the forgery work. It was difficult and risky.

The six men called each other and arranged to meet in the best place any of them had. The best was an out-of-the-way spot in northwest Arkansas, not far from the Missouri border. The place was called Ararat, and it was the world headquarters of the Swift Sword of the Savior, USA.