"Can you call up a map that shows our units' positions? We might need to guide them if the van tries to double back."
"One second," the agent replied, typing away.
All of the agents assigned to the stakeout were huddled around the computer monitor, blocking her view of the larger, central screen. She moved to a more centralized location to view the map.
"Agent Bedford, take these and make sure the van doesn't come back down Jay Street," she said, giving the binoculars to the newest agent to join her team.
"Yes, ma'am."
When the agent reached the window, her headset came to life.
"Suspect van just turned left onto Central Avenue. Moving forward to block. My second unit is less than fifty feet behind them. Send back-up units! The van just slowed and is now turning into oncoming traffic! Unit two just rammed them from behind. Stand by. Out."
The line went dead.
"Send FBI and police units to their location, Central Avenue between Norfolk and Hudson. Give them one of our radio frequencies for coordination. What the fuck? Why does this map show all of our units headed north? You ordered SWAT south, right?"
"Yes! You just talked to them! Where did they say they were?"
"On Central Avenue," she muttered, utterly confused.
"SWAT Mobile, this is Overlook. What is your status, over?"
"Overlook. This is SWAT Mobile. I just turned left on Orange. No sign of the suspect van. Approaching Jay Street. Do you want me to turn down Jay and start searching? I can keep unit two at the top of the street to prevent an escape."
"SWAT Mobile. You just reported to me that you had engaged the suspect van on Central Avenue? Confirm your location again?" she said.
"I'm at the top of Jay Street. I've been taking my orders from the mobile tablet. I haven't sent an update since we started driving north," the voice replied.
"They drove north? Shit!" she yelled.
"His GPS location matches. According to the system, both SWAT Mobile units are at the northern end of Jay Street."
"Something is wrong with the system. Can you play back my conversation with SWAT Mobile?" she said.
"Which one?"
"The one supposedly on Central Avenue. Put it on speaker," she ordered.
Three seconds later, her conversation echoed through the room, filling her with dread. There was a stark difference between the two voices and the quality of the transmission. Her conversation with the SWAT leader on Central Avenue had been full of static, and there was something off with the voice.
"What do you hear in that conversation?" she asked the other agents.
"I don't mean this to sound like a racial comment, but it sounded like you were on a bad connection with Dell technical support in Bangalore, India."
Nobody laughed at his comment.
"Is it possible for this system to be hijacked or hacked?" Agent Riehms asked.
"It's not impossible," conceded the agent sitting in front of the command screen.
"Shit. Communicate with cell phones only, until we figure out what happened. I want all units headed south. We have to assume they're already on Central Avenue. I want blocks set up at every entrance to Interstate 280 for ten miles in either direction. Can you give us a directory of cell phone numbers for everyone assigned to our group?"
The agent typed a few commands, and a list appeared. He ordered the computer to print several copies. Agent Riehms entered the numbers for the SWAT team leader's cell phone and pressed send. A second later, she heard a buzzing sound coming from Agent Bedford, who was dutifully watching Jay Street through his binoculars. He reached for his belt and took out his Blackberry. When he read the screen, he lowered the binoculars and held up the phone so she could see the screen.
"I think it's safe to assume that our system was hacked," Agent Bedford said, "unless you misdialed an entire cell phone number."
Aleem Fayed hit the van's sliding door and toppled to the carpeted floor, keeping a grip on Hamid Muhammad's arm. Tariq had fared better during the wild turn, having immediately grabbed the only permanently affixed passenger seat available in the back of the converted van. Tariq had expressed his concern about using the surveillance team for this kind of a precision timed maneuver, but they really didn't have a choice. If he had left the mosque at midnight to join up with the van, there was a solid chance that the FBI would follow him. The van took another sharp turn, which elicited a few excited hollers and sent Aleem careening into Tariq and Hamid.
"Take it easy, Graves! We're clear! The last thing we need is to attract any local police attention. Cars speeding around corners at midnight attract a lot of attention! Slow the fuck down!"
"All right! All right! I just wanted to get us off Central Avenue. We're fine. Right in the middle of Rutgers University. I'll cruise us through campus, and we'll head south," Timothy Graves said.
Graves was the leader and default driver for the team, which had fallen short by one over the course of the past week. They had lost their secondary hacker, Benjamin Weindorf, to a startup computer security company that had just secured several million dollars of funding from the U.S. Navy. Tariq had personally visited Weindorf upon arriving in the States, to impress upon the young man that any mention of his previous "benefactor" would result in an early burial. Graves had been unable to find a trustworthy replacement in such a short period of time, but they might not need one in the future. Their primary systems hacker seemed more than capable of handling the excess workload.
Anish Gupta raised his hands above his head, palms facing upward, and slowly pumped his arms up and down. "Raise the roof, bitches! Those motherfuckers have no idea what just hit them. Watch this!" he said, typing a command on his keyboard.
"All mobile units, this is over watch. Suspect van spotted heading north on Mount Prospect Ave. Local units in pursuit. Proceed down Clifton Avenue to Bloomfield Avenue for intercept. Set up a block at intersection of Clifton and Bloomfied."
Through the speaker, they all heard several units responding affirmatively to his command.
"I'm tracking them by individual cell phone. Every FBI unit is headed north on Clifton. Local police are a different story. Agents at over watch successfully made several calls to 911," Gupta said. "He doesn't look too badly burned," he added, nodding at Hamid.
The Imam lay flat on the van floor with a fresh band of duct tape over his mouth. They had kept the duct tape off while transporting him to the van, in order to maintain the appearance that his escorted departure was an escape. Aleem sat on his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor until they were far enough away to risk propping him up in a seat.
"How long until they get their shit together?" Aleem asked.
"Not long. They'll unscrew the cell phone issue shortly. I just scrambled their directories, so if they didn't have a number memorized, they'd dial the wrong number. I didn't mess with their back-up system at the field office, so they'll probably get a data refresh. Depends on who's working IT at the field office. If it was me, I would sever all connection to the mobile site. I'd order them to physically cut the fucking cable modem wires. Not that it would matter. I already have full access to the field office. This was more fun than I had anticipated."
"He's going to drive me crazy, isn't he?" Aleem asked Graves.
"You get used to it. He's one of the best in the business…and he actually seems to enjoy this cloak and dagger shit," Graves said.
"Good. Because this looks like the very beginning of a long operation. We'll need to do something with this van before we reach the safe house. How portable is all of your equipment?"
"Thirty minutes to strip it down, including the antenna and satellite rig. We'll probably have to burn the van," Gupta said.