The phone itself looked exactly like an Apple iPhone, but the similarities ended after the Apple logo. Instead of Facebook or YouTube, the phone had a wealth of applications designed to enhance Taskforce capabilities. One was a Blue Force Tracking program interconnected with all team phones, which allowed anyone on the team to know in real time where the rest of the team was located, thereby facilitating rapid decision making on the fly. A new addition to the application was the ability to covertly inject it into another phone via a Bluetooth wireless connection, whereby that phone would appear as an icon as well on the scalable moving map.
Retro figured he could make a fortune if he sold it on the open market.
Getting within thirty feet of his target, he started the scan and picked up more than forty cell phones within range. Scrolling down until he found the terrorist’s number, he locked onto it, interrogating the phone for Bluetooth connectivity. In short order, it registered, and he hit the key sequence to inject the application.
His target reached a corner and turned right, causing him to lose visual contact. He quickened his pace, but not so much that he’d stand out. Reaching the corner, he rapidly searched the area, knowing that if the target phone got too far away, it would break the Bluetooth connection and thus the download. He caught a glimpse of his quarry getting on an escalator to the metro. He waited a beat, then followed.
He entered a well-lit tunnel on possibly the longest escalator he had ever seen. It stretched so far out in front of him, it gave him vertigo. Ten steps below him, he saw the Arab. Worried about losing the cell signal underground, he gave a verbal update.
“Jug-ears is headed down to the metro. Republiky stop. I might lose coverage down here, but I’ll be able to complete the download while we ride together.”
Pike came back. “Roger all. I’ll leapfrog to the next station headed south. Buckshot, you take the station to the north.”
Retro heard Buckshot acknowledge, then noticed a man standing at the bottom of the escalator, at what still seemed like a football field away. The metro itself was deserted, with nobody coming up on the opposite escalator and only him and the target going down. The man was looking at them both.
He came back on the net. “Pike, Pike, target might have help. I’m being eye-fucked hard.”
“You burned?”
“Not yet, but I will be. I’m at turn two. If this guy’s deliberate, he’ll know something’s up if I stick with Jug- ears.”
Retro knew the easiest way to spot surveillance was simply to see the same person over both time and distance. He’d now made two deliberate decisions along with the target, but luckily the metro was a focal point that could explain both of them. Getting on the metro with Jug-ears would be okay, but getting off and continuing to shadow the target would be turn three and four, and if this man
Pike said, “Okay, I’m at the Mustek station. If he comes this way, I’ll get on and pick up the target. You get off. Buckshot, you do the same if he heads the other way. Copy?”
“Roger all.”
Retro finally reached the end of the escalator, buying time by acting a little confused and looking at the wall map until Jug-ears had committed to a train line. Finally, he went left, toward the Mustek stop. Retro gave him a moment, then followed. Behind came the man at the escalator.
He checked the download bar on the phone and saw that he’d injected only half of the application.
Only the three of them were waiting at the metro stop, so he texted Pike to avoid being overheard, studiously ignoring the target and the other man. The text was routed to every member of the team, just like a radio call, alleviating gaps in information.
A second later, his phone vibrated.
PIKE:
No issues. I have a signal down here. I can see you on the map. I’ll meet you coming off the metro. Any idea about the CS?
RETRO:
No. He’s not Arab. Looks Eastern European. Need to pass you phone. Downloads still going.
PIKE:
K. Brush pass coming off metro.
Retro tapped “QSL” and waited for the train to arrive.
40
I received the QSL, which was old-fashioned radio shorthand for “message received and understood,” used originally during Morse code days, then later during data-burst transmissions from cold-war radios. Now in use again for texting.
I had no idea how our little band of terrorists had managed to integrate into some sort of Eastern European countersurveillance network, but it was just one more data point in the string of things that had made no sense, starting with Johnny’s mission in Indonesia and ending with a traitor in the U.S. Congress. All we could do was continue what we were doing. Sooner or later, it would sort itself out. I would have liked a full-on support package, but this operation was way outside the standard Taskforce template. Which was to say that we didn’t usually pull everything out of our ass.
I knew I’d have very little time when the metro doors opened. Retro’d get about a half second to pass me the phone as he walked by. Done right, nobody would know something had occurred. Done wrong, and we’d signal to the world that we were involved in amateur-hour illegal shit. And I hated amateur-hour shit. Illegal or otherwise.
My phone vibrated with another text message. Apparently, the unknown countersurveillance guy had now made physical contact with the target, sitting down and giving him instructions. It looked like Retro had managed to deflect attention from himself.
Five seconds later, I got a text saying that Jug-ears had stood up, intent on getting off the metro.
I texted Retro, asking what the CS was doing.
RETRO: Sitting still. Probably waiting on me to make a move.
PIKE: Stay on. Drag him with you. Get off couple stops later.
RETRO: K. What about download?
PIKE: I’ll just start again. What car?
RETRO: 2nd from front.
